The song ends and another one picks up with a faster beat, worthy of a good hip shake. I’m definitely out of the loop with this song. Her mom waves us over, but I shake my head.
“She’ll eventually come for you,” Grace says with a laugh. “She can be very persistent.”
The thought alone terrifies me because I don’t have any moves to brag about. I’ve been to a few parties with Ivan over the years, but I always end up standing next to a wall somewhere, far enough away that it’s clear to everyone I have no intentions of dancing.
“So, want a beer? Vodka?”
My eyebrows hit my hairline, but the mischievous twinkle in her eyes says she’s trying to shock me. Grace walks to the counter, and I force my eyes to stay firmly on the ceiling to keep from staring at her ass, my fists tightly closed with the effort.
She returns and hands me a can of Coke. In her other hand, she’s holding a white mug, and I catch a waft of alcohol as she brushes past me to sit in a booth to our right.
“I guess that’s not Coke.”
“Nope.” She pops the ‘p’ and drinks deeply from her mug.
“Does your mom know?”
“Well, hello there, Mr. Good Boy.” She swallows another sip, shrugging as her gaze drops to the dark liquid in her cup. “She’s otherwise preoccupied.”
Staring at her closely, I see moisture gather in the corners of her eyes. She wipes it away abruptly with the back of her hand, then gulps down more of whatever she’s drinking.
I was right. Something’s going on. And I’d be lying if I said the look on her face, pain and sadness mixing in her big eyes, didn’t feel like a kick to my stomach.
What’s upsetting you so much, Grace?
“Hey, is everything okay?” I ask her in a low voice, hands twitching to reach out and touch hers to soothe her pain. I doubt she’d appreciate my touch, even if it was meant to comfort her.
“It’s going to rain tonight. I can feel it.”
I’m so confused at the abrupt shift of conversation that it has me wondering if I’ve imagined her words altogether. Is she drunk already?
“What?” I squint at her, trying to gauge where she’s going with this.
“I love it when it rains in the summertime. There’s something so magical about it.” She tips the mug against her lips once more, throat bobbing as she empties it into her mouth, then sets it on the table. “Have you ever kissed someone in the rain? Like in the movies?”
Holy queen of randomness—
She jumps to her feet, all thoughts of kisses and rain forgotten, and grabs my hand. “Come on, Sol. Let’s dance.”
Still reeling from the unexpected turn of conversation, I need a few seconds to catch my breath. Plus, my head is still stuck on the ‘Have you ever kissed someone in the rain?’ part of her question because now I can’t stop imagining her full lips on mine and wondering how they’d feel.
She seems to sense my confusion. She stops tugging my hand, seeing as she can’t move my big body with her tiny hands. She curves a finger in the hoop of her earring instead. “What? Is the offer of friendship no longer on the table?”
I have a feeling if I open my mouth, I might end up saying something highly inappropriate, so I just nod, hoping she understands the offer is still on the table.
She stretches her hand out to me again, fingers wiggling impatiently. “Let’s dance, then. I’m offering you an olive branch. You better take it because it might not happen again anytime soon.”
Thoughts of our lips fused together finally clear out from my mind at her words. “You don’t know what you’re asking for, Grace. These babies”—I point at my feet—“might look nice, and sure enough, they walk all right, but they’re weapons of mass destruction when it comes to dancing.”
What I don’t say is that after a day in the sun working on the gazebo, I’m also pretty sure the smell coming off me will make her eyes water. I cringe at the thought. I’d rather she not be forced to deal with the scent of my sweat so early on in our newly formed friendship. If ever.
She snorts so loudly, a rather unladylike sound, and the fact she doesn’t even look concerned about it is such a huge turn-on. “Show me what you got, Mr. Good Boy.”
I sigh and stand, setting the unopened can of Coke on the table. “I think I should leave—”
“Just one dance,” she rushes out. “I’ll try not to corrupt you too much, I promise.” She looks up at me innocently, but her lips twitch, fighting a smile.
I roll my eyes and smile. I study her for a heartbeat, knowing full well I should really book it out of here. Like right this second. But the thought of dancing with her is like a siren song, and everything else fades as the loud thumping in my ears grows louder. My only motivation right now is to keep that mischievous look on her face. And if that means showing her just how bad of a dancer I am, then so be it.
I’d been so focused on her I didn’t notice the songs had shifted from fast to slow while we’d been talking. But now here I am, standing in front of Grace and wondering what to do with my hands. And legs. And hips. And eyes because they might try to stray below her neckline and get a good look at her—
I swallow hard and clear my throat.
She takes my hands and places them on her waist, then puts her hands around my shoulders, hugging my neck as best as she can. We’re a little awkward, but she feels amazing against me as though my hands were built to rest on her like this.
I shouldn’t be feeling happy about this. I should step away. Instead, I press closer, her soft body curving into my hard one.
She looks up at me, and even though she has this dazed look telling me she’s not quite sober, I can’t help being sucked into those rich maple-syrupy depths.
I’m so fucked.
I’m about to mutter a quick, “I can’t do this, Grace,” under my breath, but the second she shifts closer and her head hits my chest, she relaxes in my arms, and the words fly out of my head.
Wow. She’s so short. I knew she was, but this position makes our height difference that much more obvious.
Especially when her stomach is literally brushing against my crotch.
I groan inwardly, wondering if she can feel how hard I am, or if she’s ignoring it to spare me the embarrassment. If I don’t get my body under control and stop the lustful thoughts, she’ll be herding me out of the diner door.
The second she drops her gaze to my chest, I exhale, relieved. I look around us and find Debra watching, and I can’t tell whether she’s curious or happy.
“Is your mom okay?” I ask Grace.
She stiffens but stays in my arms.
“She’s just having a bad week. Bev and I thought this little party would cheer her up.”
I’m dying to ask her what’s going on, but I have a feeling she would find it intrusive. So I say, “I think it’s working. She looks much better than she did this morning.”
Grace doesn’t say anything. I focus on swaying my body without moving my feet until the song ends. I drop my hands and hastily stumble away from her, tugging my T-shirt down. My whole face feels like it’s on fire. Being this close to her affects me more than I expected.