Page 105 of Changing the Playbook
“Good different.”
The DJ shifts from elevator music to something with an actual beat. Maine immediately begins what can only be described as aggressive flailing near the dance floor, drawing stares from everyone within a twenty-foot radius.
“Is he having a medical emergency?” I ask.
“That’s his mating dance. We should probably?—”
“Sophie!” Maya appears. “They’re playing actual music!”
She drags us toward the dance floor where a surprising number of my classmates have gathered. Even some faculty members sway awkwardly near the edges, clearly calculating the professional risks of rhythm.
Mike raises an eyebrow at me. “You sure you want to?”
“We don’t have to,” I say quickly. “I know dancing wasn’t exactly?—”
But he’s already guiding me into the crowd, finding us a spot where the lights dim slightly. When he pulls me against him, his movements are controlled and confident. One hand settles low on my back while the other cradles mine.
“You’ve been holding out on me.” I have to tilt my head back to meet his eyes. “You can actually dance.”
“Andy made me take lessons before her winter formal. She was going through an unfortunate phase.”
“You took your sister to her school dance?”
“She asked.” He shrugs, but fondness colors his voice. “I couldn’t let her go alone when she was rocking braces and that aggressive bob haircut.”
Another glimpse of Mike beyond the hockey star—protective brother, family man, someone who shows up. My chest tightens with an emotion I’m not ready to name.
The music slows, shifting to something sultry with a heavy bass line. More couples join us, creating a buffer of anonymity. Mike’s hand spreads wider on my back, fingertips grazing the edge of my zipper.
“You’re thinking very loudly,” he murmurs against my ear.
“Just wondering how I went from dreading this to actually enjoying myself.”
“My devastating good looks?”
“Your humility, obviously.”
His laugh rumbles through his chest where I’m pressed against him. The song gets slower, more intimate, and suddenly I’m hyperaware of every point where our bodies touch. His thigh brushes between mine as we move, and I almost gasp.
“Sophie.” His voice roughens. “You can’t make sounds like that in public.”
“I didn’t make any sound.”
“You were about to,” he says.
“That’s very presumptuous.”
“That’s very accurate. You’re trying very hard to maintain your composure.”
I smirk. “And you’re trying very hard to break it.”
“Guilty.” His lips graze my ear. “Is it working?”
Heat pools low in my belly, insistent and demanding. “You know it is.”
“Fair warning. This is just the warm-up for later.”
My breathing goes shallow. “For what exactly?”
