He winces.
“Oh my God. Sorry. Was that your toe?”
I miss the next step entirely and land on his foot again.
“OW!” he yelps, right in my ear.
I jump back, guilt and confusion tangling in my chest. “Maybe if you didn’t have feet the size of the BFG!”
“Maybe if you didn’t dance like you’re trying to air-dry your nipples,” he shoots back, grinning.
Peacock gasps, one hand over his heart. “Children, please! This is the Pavane, notWWE SmackDown!”
The room chuckles, heat climbs my neck, and I focus very hard on resisting the urge to ‘accidentally’ step on Tyler again.
We resume. The music swells, a lilting, haunting melody that makes me feel like I should be coughing delicately into a lace handkerchief while awaiting my tragic fate in a tower somewhere.
The couples glide forward in perfect synchronicity. Tyler guides me with annoying ease, his hand warm and steady against the small of my back, fingers curling just enough to remind me he’s there.
I keep my eyes trained on the floor, determined not to look at him. Not at his face. Not at his mouth. Not at anything that might make me forget I’m supposed to be focusing on not maiming him again.
“You’re getting the hang of it,” he says, voice lower now, sincere in a way I’m not prepared for.
My head snaps up. “I am?”
“Yeah.” His mouth quirks. “You’ve only tried to knee me in the balls twice this round. That’s a record.”
And damn it, a grin slips out before I can stop it.
Tyler grins back, lazy, devastating. It’s not his usual smirk; it’s relaxed, completely disarming. It throws me, this version of him, all boyish edges and unexpected softness, and for a terrifying second I forget how to breathe.
And then he twirls me.
No warning, no hesitation, just a smooth, sure spin that makes my skirt flare and my heart trip over itself. He twirls me like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Like I’m someone he’s meant to hold.
And worst of all?
I giggle.
Not a polite laugh. Not even a dignified snort. An actual, ridiculous, caught-off-guard giggle that bubbles up before I can stop it.
The second I realise what I’ve done, I slap a hand over my mouth like I can shove it back in.
“Did you just…?” Tyler’s eyes light up, wicked and delighted.
“Nope.”
“You did.”
“Absolutely not.”
“Yougiggled.” His grin goes full wolfish. “Like an actual schoolgirl.”
“Shut up or I’ll Pavane you in the bollocks.”
He throws his head back and laughs, a deep, rumbling laugh that feels entirely too intimate, the kind of sound you’d want to hear against your throat in the dark.
Peacock Pants claps his hands, the sound cracking like a gunshot.
