Mine, on the other hand, are erratic, and he immediately plunges into laughter at my expense. It’s fine, though. His laughter is one of my favorite things in the world. Maybe I hurt him by walking away earlier, but I can fix it now by bringing him joy. With that thought in mind, I put a little extra zeal into my legs.
He grabs my wrist to keep me from toppling into a flower girl. “Easy there, wild thing.”
I pat his shoulder. “We good?”
“We’re always good, Joss.”
We both slow after that, and he matches my smile with a soft one of his own. The pop music drifts into some smooth tune of Michael Bublé, and my stomach knots once more. Without hesitation, his warm hand engulfs mine. He takes me into his arms like I’m precious. His heated touch slides around my waist. “This okay?”
“Yeah.” I wish it weren’t, but it’s so,sookay. I can’t resist letting him closer.Wantinghim closer.
“I didn’t mean to put you on the spot earlier,” he whispers. “It was impulsive. Can you forget it?”
I compel my face to smile. It feels awkward. “It’s forgotten.”
I’ll never forget it, though.
I kind of think you know I’d take more if you’d give it.
He’s opened a door, ripped it off its hinges, so I can’t close it.
We dance slower than the surrounding couples. His hand brings mine close to his chest, and his other settles low on my back, heat bleeding through the thin satin, scalding my skin. My fingers slide up to rest on his shoulder and my temple nuzzles against the bristle of his cheek.
And everything is right.
But so, so, so, so wrong.
His arms are like home. Like safety. Like a life jacket in a heavy swell.
Why am I still swimming so hard against this riptide? My throat closes. Illogical tears burn behind my eyes. What iswrongwith me?
The song ends, and he releases me. At the edge of the dance floor, he points at the food. “You hungry?”
I take in the buffet tables, silver chafers gleaming in the light. The food smells delicious, but I’ve lost my appetite, so I shake my head. Candles on each table lend the room a romantic glow, but the clinking of silverware on china, the gentle hum of conversation and laughter—it’s suffocating.
The ding of silver on crystal alerts us to an impending toast, and I whirl toward Asher. “Let’s go for a walk.”
The room quiets, and an older gentleman takes the microphone stand near the DJ.
“Now?” Asher whispers.
“Do you care about the speeches?”
He looks around. Guests settle into their chairs. Catering staff pass out flutes of champagne. “No.” He takes my elbow. “Let’s go for a walk.”
In the hallway beyond, the man’s speech dims to the background, and Asher turns to me. “Where to?”
I set off toward the exit that leads to the beach, but outside the doors, I hang a right, and we walk along a path lined with tropical plants. The humid air wraps around us, and Asher rolls up the sleeves of his button-up.
“Already tired of the wedding festivities?” he asks.
“Starting to feel a bit crowded in there.”
He glances at me, but says nothing, and we continue to walk the path that hugs the hotel. We pass the pool and the raucous cabana. He smiles over at the whoops and hollers from the bar. “Sounds like they’re having fun. Should we join?”
Without looking over, I shake my head and keep walking, my sandals crunching along the sand-dusted path.
He falls behind and lets me lead, his voice dropping. “Something wrong, Joss?”
