“Why? When?”
“A while ago.” I shrug.
“But why?” she presses.
“Because I knew it would make you happy.”
She lets her head fall forward onto my chest. “Do you ever listen to it on your own?”
“Sometimes. Mainly when I want to feel closer to you,” I admit.
She pulls back, and a slow smile crosses her face. “Max, are you a romantic?” she teases.
“So what if I am? Do you have a problem with it?” I tease.
“No, not at all. In fact, I think I would like it.” She sways even closer, her body melded to my own.
“Good to know,” I murmur.
I step back and spin her away from me before pulling her back as the song comes to a close and the next begins.
“You’re a good dancer,” I whisper.
“I have a good partner,” she whispers back.
I smile warmly at her. “No, it’s all you.”
“Please, you’re the one who took dance lessons when you were younger,” she says, rolling her eyes playfully.
Ah yes, the classes my mother forced Mason and me to take because she thought they would make us proper gentlemen.Before thoughts of my mother can burrow their way in, I change the subject.
“This dress is sinful on you.”
“You like it?” she asks, the corner of her lips kicking up in a smile.
I growl. “You know I do.”
“Thanks. The girls helped me pick it out.”
Something I bet they had to do over FaceTime. I know if we were back in Boston, they would have all gone together and had a blast, but here it was a solo experience.
This is just another reason to push for the move of the company. Another reason moving home is the right choice for us and our future.
Her stomach growls, so I come to a stop.
The food at the banquet was delicious, but that was hours ago. Thankfully, this city never sleeps. Even though it’s close to midnight, there are plenty of places to order in from.
“Do you have anything here you want to eat, or do you want me to order something?” I ask her, pulling away.
“Don’t you dare stop dancing with me,” she says as she forces us to start moving again.
“Are you sure? I don’t want you to be hungry.”
“I’m positive,” she says as she rests her forehead on my chest.
For the next few songs I can’t help but stare down at her. She looks so fucking happy, which, in turn, makes me happy. I did this. I made her look like this.
Me. Not Clint. Not some other nameless dude, but me.
