Page 121 of All The Ways to Miss You

“I heard Google’s shopping for property in the Loop for a new campus,” he says, tossing a printed copy of the article from Crain’s Chicago Business on his desk.

“Oh yeah? What will you give me for closing that deal?”

The Palmer House Hotel’s ballroom is exquisite. High rollers mingle around a bar, linger over dinner at tables, and dance near a stage to the beat of a live band. I smooth my lace cocktail dress and weave through the crowd in search of Aggie. Across the room, I find her arguing with Lou.

“What’s going on?” I ask.

At the sound of my voice, they halt and turn to me. Aggie’s eyes are wide, while Lou appears self-satisfied.

“Nope. Not a thing. All good here. Carry on,” Aggie rambles before darting away as if on a mission. Her yellow tulle dress swishes as she scurries.

“Don’t pay attention to her.” Lou waves a dismissive hand before leading me to the dance floor.

“Uh, okay,” I say, but something’s clearly up.

“Let’s dance.” He rumbas to a Flock of Seagulls song. His arms, hips, and shoulders gyrate with perfect rhythm. I watch, trying to learn the steps, but as I begin to move, a voice interrupts.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” Evan appears next to me, his warm brown gaze sparkling. His lips tip into a smirk. He glances away and tugs at the cuffs of his tuxedo.

My heart flips and my mouth turns dry. He’s more than handsome. He’s godly.

I dance anyway and stare at him while I do, knowing full well how I look—like a freak.

There’s a new memory from my junior year. After a stressful exam, I climbed on top of our coffee table and danced like a pop princess. Evan recorded it on his cell, but when he shared it with me the following day, I saw what I was—a graceless, twitchy woman, jolting with convulsions. Not a dancing queen. Not even close. Then Evan used the evidence to blackmail me. It was a joke, of course, but a good memory.

“Maybe you should record me?” I say as I jerk my arms, shoulders, and hips in awkward movements to the music.

Evan’s eyes widen and his mouth falls slack. “You. That. How?” He stumbles over his words.

“Or do you still have my dance video?” I shimmy playfully.

“I’m afraid I do.” His mouth curls up on one side.

The song ends and a slower one begins. Lou steps away and finds Aggie. They hold each other awkwardly and pretend to dance, but the way they’re watching us makes me think they set up this meeting.

In fact, I’m positive they did when they both make kissy faces at me and giggle. My face warms.

Unfazed by them, Evan reaches for me. One strong hand splays across my lower back, pulling me close, and the other clasps my hand. With our hips and chests touching, he controls my movements, joining us in a unifying motion to a slow song by Madonna.

“You remember?”

When Evan breathes the words near my ear, my eyelids sink shut. It feels so good to be close to him again.

“A little,” I whisper.

He pulls me closer. “What about this song?”

I press my cheek closer to his. The warmth of his stubble caresses my skin. “I remember.”

At those two words, goose bumps race across his neck. I melt into him, swaying until the song ends, just like the last time we danced to this song so long ago. We pause but don’t disconnect. Our eyes meet as our lips hover inches apart. I suck in a sharp breath and glance down when his mouth parts. I know what I want to do, but I don’t want to do it here.

“Do you want to get out of here?” he whispers.

I nod, and with our hands clasped, Evan tugs me for the exit as an emcee appears onstage. Everyone in the room presses forward when the lights darken for the charity auction. We hurry through the gilded hotel. After picking up our coats, we emerge outdoors into a swirl of flurries. A warmed black SUV waits at the curb. Evan and I slide into the back seat, huddling close.

Between us, he grips my hand. For most of the ride, it’s our only communication. My fingers twine with his. His other hand traces the ridges of my knuckles, but we don’t talk. What we have to say is too personal to discuss in front of a driver. When we pass our street, I become alarmed.

“Where are we going?” My attention swings to him.