Earlier, I dusted her cheekbones with gold bronzer—I did all the girls’ makeup because I need training if I want to become as talented as Mona—but that’s not what’s making Rae sparkle. She’s just one of these people who glow no matter the lighting, no matter the makeup.
Harrison steps toward Rae in a suit as black as his hair, nods to me, then grabs her hand and reels her into him. Rae throws her head back and laughs. If I’m to be completely honest, I’m glad she’s set her sights on a boy other than Ten. Although I’ve always fought for what I wanted, I could never have fought with my best friend over a boy.
I return to Ten’s side. Thanks to Mom’s vertiginous pumps, I’m only a few inches shorter than he is. “Sorry Rae interrupted our long and boring conversation.”
His lips curve. “Want to pursue it somewhere more quiet?”
Even though my pulse thumps in time with the heady beat of the drums, my body becomes as quiet as the Bluebird after closing time. “I don’t think we could get off this dance floor even if we tried right now.”
Just as I say that, a body slams into my back, sending me flying into Ten. There wasn’t much space separating us, but now there’s absolutely none.
Ten catches my waist, steadies me. Instead of releasing me, though, he keeps me close. And then he starts moving to a rhythm that’s much slower than the one erupting from the stage, but right on beat. I place my hands on the nape of his warm neck, keeping my touch light so he won’t feel how clammy my palms have become.
I haven’t slow-danced since drama camp two summers ago. If what we’d done then could even be deemed dancing. Killian had two left feet and thirty-three zits—I’d spent the entire song counting them while he’d crushed my toes.
Ten hasn’t stepped on my feet once, and his skin is absolutely flawless. I’m dying to run my fingers over his jaw, to learn if his stubble is soft, or spiky like his hair.
“How’s your knee?” His mouth is so close to mine that I can’t feel my knee anymore.
I can hardly feel my face.
“Why can’t you feel your face?”
I snap out of my trance. “What?”
“You just said you can’t feel your face.” His eyes are wide with genuine alarm.
“I—um… I meant I can hardly feel my knee.”
When I get nervous, I voice my thoughts. One of my many quirks. Obviously this isn’t something I feel like explaining to Ten. He said he liked girls who were spirited, not crazy.
The concern leaves his face, but the tiny groove between his eyebrows remains. “Angie?” He dips his face toward mine.
“Yes?” I breathe.
He dips his head lower but stops again, as though asking for permission to move any closer.
I part my lips and wait for him to bridge the distance between us, but instead of coming closer, his head jerks back violently. I’m not sure what happened. At first, I think someone’s yanked him backward, but no one’s touching him. Gradually, the fog of Ten’s proximity lifts, and I hear the song the band has decided to play. One of Mona Stone’s most epic love songs.
I always dreamed of being kissed to this song, but Ten looks likelier to punch than to kiss. His grip hardens, becomes almost bruising. Carefully, I pry his fingers off my waist, but I don’t let him go.
He tries to remove his hands from mine, but I clasp them tighter.
“I’m sorry. I need to get out of here,” he says.
“Ten…”
He looks down at our joined hands.
“What just happened?” I ask.
His gaze swings back up to my face. As though my idol’s voice is causing him physical pain, the skin around his mouth puckers.
“Why do you have this reaction to Mona Stone’s music?”
He studies every millimeter of my face, as though trying to decide whether I’m trustworthy. In the end, he must decide I’m not, because he says, “I can’t tell you. I’m sorry…”
“Don’t shut me out.”
