I freeze.
“Up here!” someone shouts.
Before I can object, hands are gently nudging us toward the small stage.
“Wait,” I murmur. “We did not agree to this.”
She squeezes my hand.
“Be brave.”
I huff a laugh. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”
“Absolutely.”
We climb onto the stage.
The band launches into a faster number.
Mindy leans close. “Just mirror me.”
“I’m going to embarrass us.”
“You’re doing great.”
The spotlight is warm. The crowd cheers when we hit a turn in sync.
It’s crazy to admit, but this is fun.
When we step off the stage, flushed and laughing, a guy in a denim shirt and far too much confidence slides up beside us.
“Mind if I cut in?”
My spine goes still.
He’s not threatening. Just cocky.
Mindy looks between us.
I don’t move.
I don’t stake a claim.
I don’t grip her tighter.
Instead, I look at her and say calmly, “Your call.”
She blinks.
“You don’t mind?”
“I’m not here to tell you what to do.”
The other guy smirks.
She studies me for a second.
Then, almost imperceptibly, she gives me the smallest look.
