His mouth twitches. “Yeah, you do.”
My heart stumbles.
“No, I don’t.”
He doesn’t argue. He just takes my hand.
His fingers wrap around mine, warm and steady, and before I can think, he’s pulling me out from behind the bar.
“Dex…”
“Trust me,” he says quietly.
And I go.
The dance floor is already packed, boots hitting the wood in rhythm as laughter spills through the room and the music kicks in.
The lights glow warm overhead, catching on movement, on spinning bodies.
The second I step onto the floor with him, everything else fades.
Dex turns to face me, still holding my hand.
“Just follow me,” he says.
Easy for him to say.
The music starts fast and familiar, and suddenly everyone moves in sync.
I stumble on the first beat, nearly crashing into him, but Dex steadies me instantly, his hand firm at my side, fingers pressing just enough to keep me grounded.
“Relax,” he murmurs.
“I am relaxed,” I lie.
He huffs a quiet laugh, but his hand lingers a second longer before he steps back.
We move again, and this time I catch it.
The rhythm pulls me in, the crowd moving together, boots striking the floor in sync.
We turn again, shifting lines, and for a second he’s right next to me instead of behind me, close enough that our shoulders brush.
I glance at him before I can stop myself.
Big mistake.
He’s smiling, not the teasing smirk he throws around the bar, but something looser, real, like he’s actually enjoying this. His head tips back slightly as he laughs at something behind us, and the movement pulls at his shirt just enough to make my eyes drop for a second before snapping back up.
And then he looks at me.
Still smiling.
Like he caught me.
My stomach tightens, heat rushing through me so fast it leaves me breathless, because that look shifts just slightly, turning sharper, more focused, like the rest of the room just disappeared again.
He looks like he knows exactly what he’s doing to me.
