Page 32 of Awaiting the Storm
“You’re a good dancer,” I say quietly, keeping my eyes on his shoulder because looking him in the eye feels like it’d be dangerous.
He leans in just enough for his breath to tickle my earlobe, sending a shiver down my spine. “You’re just making me look good.”
The corner of my mouth lifts before I can stop it. He swings me out, raising his wrist and sending me into a dizzying twirl before tugging me back to his chest.
Charli mouths,Oh my God, behind him, and Shelby winks at me over his shoulder. As they dance in a huddle that includes Cabe and Elise McDermott. The poor girl’s looking at my clueless cousin like he hung the moon.
The Soused Cow is a special place, filled with memories of the girl I used to be. My friends and I spent many nights in this dimly litbar. It was where I had my first kiss, which Brent Walker stole in the parking lot the night my friend Misty and I snuck out through my bedroom window. The kiss was brief and awkward as we waited for my mother to come pick us up after the bouncer, who had known me my entire life, confiscated our fake IDs and called the ranch. Suffice it to say, it wasn’t one of my finest moments. However, there were many more nights—once I was of age—spent discovering what drinks I liked, what music I enjoyed, and what boys caught my interest.
“Penny for your thoughts?”
I look up to see Caison studying me.
“Just traveling down memory lane,” I reply.
The song changes a moment later, a slower one now. The kind that makes people pull each other in a bit closer. I feel him hesitate for half a breath, like he’s asking without using his words. Then his hand slides further around my waist, drawing me into him until our chests are nearly touching, and there’s nothing casual left about this dance.
I should step back. I should take my ass back to my seat. But I don’t. Because something about this—his nearness, the heat of him, the way my body hums like a live wire—is making me feel like a teenager again. Untethered. A little reckless.
His voice is low when he speaks again. “You ever let go, Matty? Or is the weight of the world always riding on your shoulders?”
I glance up, startled. Not because the question is harsh, but because it’s close to the bone. He’s not flirting now. He’s seeing me. Peeling back a layer.
“I don’t have the luxury of letting go,” I murmur.
“You can tonight,” he says.
His hand is steady at my back, his thumb moving in a lazy circle against the fabric of my dress. It’s intimate. Gentle. I like it. And when he lowers his head, I think—for one wild second—he might kiss my neck.
I close my eyes and tilt my head in anticipation.
But then a different voice cuts through. Deep. Familiar. Sharp.
“Mind if I cut in?”
My head jerks up. Carl stands just to the side of us, jaw tight, hands flexing at his sides. He’s not smiling, and his eyes are locked on Caison.
Caison doesn’t move right away. I feel the shift in him though. Hisshoulders go rigid, his jaw tics, and his fingers tighten on my back—but he doesn’t say anything.
“It’s okay,” I tell him, even though it kind of isn’t. “Really.”
His eyes meet mine for a long second, something unreadable flickering there. Disappointment maybe.
Finally, he nods. “All right.”
He lets go of me slowly, deliberately, like releasing something he doesn’t want to. Then he steps back and disappears in the crowd.
Carl steps in, placing his hand exactly where Caison’s was. The difference is immediate. Like stepping out of sunlight and into a shadow.
“You look beautiful,” he says, pulling me into his chest.
I let him, but not all the way. I keep my hips angled just enough that our bodies don’t fully touch. And I don’t miss the flicker of awareness in his expression when he feels the distance.
“Thanks,” I say, but the word lands flat.
The music swells, and he starts to move us slowly to the music. It’s muscle memory. We used to do this all the time. I used to love dancing with him. Being in his arms felt like home once.
“I miss you,” he whispers. “Miss the feel of you against me.”
