Dean gave my shoulders a light squeeze. “Let’s go in. You don’t have to be near me tonight. But you’re here. You have a sitter. You look amazing. We both like these people. Go have some fun.” He took a step back, letting his hands drop from my shoulders, maybe knowing I couldn’t make a decision until he gave me the space to do so.
How was I supposed to argue against fun? I did love to dance. I might never get this opportunity again. I took in a deep breath. “You’re really Knead?”
“One hundred percent. I guess we’re just compatible, Grace. Is that so hard to believe?”
“Yeah, it’s a little hard to believe.” And I did need space from him. More space than just having his incredibly warm hands off of me. This was a lot to take in. “Fine. I’ll stay. You stay, too. Just, stay not in my general area.” I walked around him, giving him a wide berth, and hurried into where the dance was going at full tilt. Jackson had a light show spinning overhead and a Max Frost song with a funky vibe blasted out of the speakers. I stinking loved Max Frost. Maybe it was a sign. I could still be fun. That part of me hadn’t died.
I found Lacey, who was overjoyed to meet me in person, and we danced next to each other for three pop songs before I caught Dean staring at me from across the room. I half expected him to pull a Ken move and saunter his way over, but he onlysmiled and went back to dancing with the small group of admirers he’d cultivated.
I’d overheard a few people giving him grief about his stupid profile picture, but unsurprisingly, he was easily forgiven. He’d even promised to change it. Might as well. He had no one to hide his face from now.
I couldn’t decide if I believed his highly coincidental story or not, but my theories weren’t any more believable than his explanation. Yes, Dean liked to mess with me, but the lengths he’d have to go to for this one? There were at least twenty-five different groups in the Phoenix area, if the app was to be believed. And each group had about twenty-five to thirty people in them at any given time. I guess I had to accept that, on some level, Dean and I were compatible enough to get put in the same one. I was still mad about the fake name and no-face thing. Compatible or not, he’d hidden from me. That was indisputable.
A slow song came on, and Lacey went to go ask a guy she’d met earlier to dance. She was bold like that. I was just here to… well, I didn’t want to think about that right now because Knead was Dean. Man, that ruined everything, including a possible return to just talking to these people online. I couldn’t even do that now.
I walked outside to check on Piper. No updates from Carmen or Isaac. I sent them a quick text.
Grace: Everything good there?
Isaac: That bad, huh?
Grace: No, I’m having fun.
Carmen: Good!
Isaac: Take your time. Carmen has me looking for a guitar stand the size of an eyelash. It fell in the carpet. Polly Pockets were created by demons.
Carmen: We found the guitar stand. I’m just enjoying the view.
Grace: You two deserve each other.
Carmen: We really do. Now put your phone away. Piper is having a good time. She says she loves you.
Grace: Love you right back.
I returned my phone to my dress pocket and looked up just in time to see Dean peeking out before he hid behind the door again. He’d been checking on me. “I wasn’t leaving, Dean.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he called back.
“I thought you hated liars.” I’d heard him say that many times before. Ironic, since he’d been lying to me about his identity for the past three weeks.
He came around the door and walked over, leaning his back against the wall next to me. “Okay, I was checking on you. I thought you were leaving.”
“You told me you were going on a date tonight.” I poked him in the chest. “That was a lie.”
“Was it?”
“Yes.”
He stared into my eyes. “I came tonight to come clean to you.”
“That doesn’t make it a date.”
“Well, it doesn’t make it a group activity either.”
Semantics. It shouldn’t matter, but with Dean, I always felt like there was a language barrier between us. Like there was something he was hinting at but never coming out and saying.Wasn’t that what flirting was all about? Testing the waters, but not committing to any particular truth?
“I’m too old for games. Is that what this is?” I moved my hand between us. “Is this a game?”
