Page 20 of Switch

I stand, pulling her gently toward the small space just off to the side of the table where there’s enough room to move without feeling like everyone is watching. As I draw her close, my arm wraps around her waist, steadying her. Her hands rests lightly on my shoulder, and the warmth of her touch spreads through me like fire.

Having her in my arms feels different than I expected—better. It’s something I’ve been thinking about since she wrapped her arms around me on the back of my bike, trusting me to get her home safe. And now, here she is, trusting me again.

“Don’t worry,” I murmur, looking down at her. “I’ve got you.”

Her lips twitch into a small smile, her fingers tightening slightly on my shoulder. “I’m not worried.”

But I can feel the tension in her, the way she holds herself like she’s waiting to make sure she won’t trip or look awkward. I adjust my grip, pulling her just a little closer, and start moving us slowly in time with the music.

“You’re doing fine,” I tell her, my voice soft but firm.

She glances up at me, her cheeks tinged pink. “I feel like I’m going to step on your toes.”

I grin. “If you do, I’ll survive. Promise.”

She laughs quietly, her shoulders relaxing as she leans into the rhythm.

The room around us seems to blur, the noise fading into the background as we move together. I can feel the curve of her body against mine, the soft brush of her sweater against my skin, and it takes everything in me to stay focused on dancing and not let my thoughts wander.

“You’ve got this,” I say after a moment, meeting her gaze.

Her smile widens, more confident now. “You’re a good teacher.”

“I don’t know about that,” I reply, smirking. “You make it easy.”

Her laugh is soft, almost shy, and it hits me harder than I expect.

As the song draws to a close, I can’t help but hold her just a little tighter, savoring the moment. She trusted me not to let her fall, and I didn’t.

And somewhere deep down, I know I’d never let her fall—not now, not ever.

EIGHT

BELLA

The house isquiet for a Saturday afternoon. The hum of the ceiling fan and the distant sound of traffic outside fill the space as I sit on the couch, scrolling mindlessly through my phone. My to-do list for the weekend sits on the coffee table, but I can’t seem to focus on it.

Because Jax texted me this morning.

It wasn’t a simple “good morning” or “how are you?” No, Jax doesn’t do simple. Instead, he dropped an unexpected, intriguing question right into my lap.

Jax:What are you doing tonight?

I’ve reread it at least a dozen times, overthinking every possible meaning behind it. Is he just asking casually, or does he mean something more?

My phone buzzes on the coffee table, snapping me out of my thoughts. It’s him again.

Jax:Don’t overthink it, Bella. I’m asking you out.

I laugh softly, shaking my head. How does he always know? I pick up my phone and type a response.

Me:Oh, you’re just assuming I don’t have plans? Bold of you.

His reply is almost instant.

Jax:If you had plans, you’d have told me by now. So, what do you say? Let me steal you for a few hours.

My stomach does a little flip. He’s got this way of being direct without coming across as pushy. It’s infuriatingly charming.

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