Page 64 of Party Favors

There was absolutely nothing on the entire planet that I wanted more than to have him hold me in his arms while we swayed to the music. “Yes!”

More enthusiastic than I’d intended, but hopefully the band covered it up.

I explained to him the two-step, figuring we should get that down before I tried to teach him the moves for one of the line dances.

But Max was ... bad at it. There was no other way to describe his total lack of coordination.

I had to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing.

“You think this is funny, don’t you?” he asked with a wry smile.

“Not even a little.”

“You’re a terrible liar,” he said.

“You’re trying, and it’s the trying that counts.”

“You mean it’s the thought that counts.”

“In this case,” I countered, “you already did the thought part. So I’m giving you points for the attempt. But those are the only points you’re going to get, because you are not lord of the dance. You’re more like peasant of the dance.”

“Hey!” he protested, but he was laughing.

Vella made her way over to us and said to Max, “Are you okay? You’re moving like you’re allergic to music.”

Her cowboy spun her away before Max could respond.

“Is she always like that?” he asked.

“No, she’s usually meaner.”

He laughed again. The upbeat song ended, and the band started to play a ballad. For one panicky second I wasn’t sure what to do.

“I may not be able to two-step, but I can do this,” he said as he took me into his arms, pulling me against his chest. His hand went to the small of my back and he used his left hand to hold my right. Without thinking, I put my free hand on the back of his very strong shoulder.

“Is this okay?” he asked.

Which part? The internal combustion that made me feel as if he were revving me up like a race car? Or how all of my limbs were uncooperative and were melting against him, so that if he let go, I was going to turn into an Everly pool?

Then he squeezed my hand to let me know that that was the part he was talking about and then added, just in case it wasn’t clear, “If I hold your hand.”

I made an indecipherable sound and then commanded my vocal cords to work. “Y-yes. It’s fine. We’re dancing.”

“What about after we’re done dancing?” he asked, and again his mouth was close to my ear, my neck, and I shivered. I felt his hand at my back flex, pressing me closer. Like he felt my reaction and enjoyed it.

Wanted it to continue.

“Would it be okay then, too?” he asked.

“Yes.” I breathed the word out, not caring what ramifications it had or whether or not this was going to screw up our friendship. In that moment I did not care.

“So is Vella right?” he asked as we swayed together.

“About?”

“That I dance like I’m allergic to music.”

My inclination was to rest my cheek against his shoulder so that I could be even closer to him, breathing him in, and maybe press a kiss against his throat, so I decided it would be better to do something that might put some distance between us.

---