From his expression, he expects me to say no. He opens the case anyway. Inside are two little controllers, neon blue and neon red, and the console itself, all tucked on a felt divider like a little altar to fun he hasn’t let himself have in the living room. Why would he hide this?
“So,” he says. “I was thinking…Just Dance?”
I stare. “What? No.”
He nods rapidly, a mock-serious expression in place. “Absolutely. Understood.” He’s already walking toward the TV.
“Noah,” I chide, but there’s no heat in it.
“We don’t have to. I just—” He sets the console on the TV unit. “You seem…” He searches for a word. “Tense,” he says finally, one shoulder lifting. “I thought maybe moving would help. Abbie said you were good dancers, so I thought you might like it. Or I can put on a movie, and we could buddy nap. I’m a big fan of all couch-based activities.”
Buddy nap. That’s cute coming from him, for some reason. I stare at his profile, taking him in. Is Noah cute?
I watch his hands as he finishes setting up, and the TV comes on, but he’s still giving me a look, one that saysjust say no, and I’ll put it away.
“I used to love dancing,” I say to the screen. I can’t meet his eyes when I say it, but I also can’t keep the words in. There’s something about Noah that makes me want to be honest.
Noah’s eyes flick to me. “Yeah?”
“Ciarán would drag me and Abbie out during college. Not as often after, but we always had a great time.” The small club with the sticky floor flashes in my head. Lights low, Ciarán’s hand sealing over mine and tugging me into the crowd. Laughing with my friends, head tipped back, stupid and happy. And then later, Kyle’s mouth tightening at the stories, his flat voice saying, “if you loved me, you’d spend more time with me.”It made me feel guilty for enjoying myself with my friends.
“Sounds fun,” Noah says.
“It was.” I’m aware of my fingers white-knuckling the edge of the counter. I ease them open.
“We can do something else,” he offers again.
My mouth says, “Put it on,” without any consent from my brain.
His smile goes almost boyish. “Yes, boss,” he says under his breath, and I shake my head at him, but I’m smiling again.
He pairs the controllers and hands one to me, grip-first. His palm brushes my fingers, and it’s an ordinary touch, but it sets off a line of warmth up my wrist.
The menu comes on. He scrolls through the songs and shoots me a pleased look when he hits the eighties section. “Your choice,” he says. “I won’t be good at any of them, but I will commit.”
“That almost sounds worse.”
I nod at the first song without even checking it.
“That’s my brand. Committing.” He winks and then picks “Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go,” and I make a small, involuntary noise of distress. He hears it and grins wickedly. “This day is getting even better.”
We shift the coffee table a bit and stand side by side. It’s all so domestically unremarkable that I have the urge to rest my head on his shoulder, but I don’t; I only do things like that with Abbie and Ciarán.
“Ready?” he asks.
“No.”
“That’s the spirit.”
The song counts down. Our on-screen avatars start throwing their limbs around like they’re possessed. Noah looks at the screen for a beat and then just… goes. He flails. There’s no other word for it. He puts his whole spine into a hip twist and almost falls over. He sings loudlyandoff-key, and when the“Don’tleave me hanging on like a yo-yo”part comes, he points at me like I need to make some sort of dramatic entrance.
What the hell am I doing right now?
I feel embarrassed as I try to copy the little guy on the screen, hoping Noah isn’t watching me, but the rhythm is right there, waiting. My feet pick it up before I even think about it. It feels like my ribs loosen a notch. Noah stumbles through a spin, and I snort.
“Oh, you’re laughing,” he says, delighted, looking over. “That’s getting saved up here, with all the others.” He taps the side of his temple and winks at me again.
“Shut up and wave your arms,” I say, breathless, and he does, enthusiastic and oh so terrible.
