“Hey,” Brody shouts over the loud pop country music. “You’re thinking too hard and it’s sucking all the fun from the room.”
Standing, he reaches for my hand. I’m given no time to prepare an argument as he whisks me onto the dance floor.
“I don’t know this song,” I shout. I feel like I’ve just entered a Footloose audition and forgot to study. Everyone, and I mean everyone, seems to have attended some dance class I wasn’t privy to. They’re all partnered up, performing the same moves at the same time.
Brody pulls me against his chest, his eyes glued to what’s happening around us. “You don’t have to know it,” he replies distractedly. “You just have to have fun.”
A startled scream bursts past my lips and I suddenly find myself being spun around and around the dance floor, weaving in and out of other couples’ paths.
And then the most wonderful thing happens.
I’m laughing. I don’t know when I started, but I’m having fun, and when I look around, everyone else is, too. Brody’s smile is wider than I’ve ever seen it. Clasping my hand, he holds it against his chest, and my grip on his shoulder tightens as we pick up the pace to match the beat of the music.
“Where did you learn to dance like this?” I’m winded, but the feeling of my heart beating so fast is exhilarating.
“About five minutes ago!”
I don’t believe him, because he’s that good, but as I watch him studying everyone around us, I realize he’s serious. “Are you telling me you just watched everyone dancing and jumped in?”
“Yep.” His grin is infectious.
I shake my head. “You’re crazy!”
The music cuts off at the exact moment the words leave my lips, and my voice is broadcast to the whole bar. My face heats and I bite my lip.
Brody’s shoulders shake with laughter. It’s then I realize that I’m still holding onto him. With a nervous smile, I drop my hands and sever all contact.
Placing his hand on my lower back, Brody walks us back to our table. Just before we reach it, he leans down, placing his lips against the shell of my ear. “You’re right, I am crazy. For you.”
My jaw drops and my head jerks up. I’m prepared to tell him all the reasons why he shouldn’t like me, why we’ll only ever work as friends, but the words are literally stolen away.
Brody’s lips land firmly on mine. He doesn’t ask my permission. Doesn’t waste time coaxing me to kiss him back. He just takes. Devours. Unbidden, my body sways toward his, and I fall deeper into the kiss.
And just like that, I’ve managed to find myself in a love triangle.
My head is filled with static, as if a bomb just went off, and as my hearing slowly returns, so too does my reasoning. When I realize what I am doing, I break our lip lock so fast Brody has to grip the table to keep from losing his balance.
I know I must look like a girl who just realized her boyfriend is an axe murderer, because Brody’s face morphs from utter bliss to a mask of concern in the split second it takes for me to throw my purse over my shoulder.
“I have to go,” I tell him wildly. “I’m so sorry, but this was a mistake. I have to go.”
I turn to run, but it feels as though I’ve stepped into quicksand. Time slows to a halt and the buzzing in my ears returns en force. Standing less than a few feet away is Ransom. His face is completely void of all emotion, and the lack thereof is so much worse than if he’d yelled. I feel like a fist is in my chest squeezing my heart.
I gasp, but that’s all the sound I get out. I’ve reached the end of the track, and my train is tumbling over the edge right before my eyes.
Unable to watch the wreckage unfold, I force my leaden legs to move and before I know it, I am running out the door, running from Brody, from Ransom. From everything.
I don’t look back.
***
Brody catches up with me on the side of the road, and I am too ashamed to explain to him everything that’s going on in my head. Thankfully, he doesn’t force it. Like the gentleman that he is, he takes me home and when I tell him good-night, he leaves it at that.
I don’t get so lucky with Ransom. He shows up soon after Brody leaves, banging down the door because his key can’t get past the chain. I ignore him until one of the neighbors threatens to call the cops.
Forced to let him in or see him arrested for disturbing the peace, which will no doubt lead to a whole new set of problems, I sit through his long, impassioned speech over how hurt he was to see me kiss another man, which seems so unlike him, until he begins questioning my morals, my integrity. He asks me about my feelings for him, about what I want out of all of this, but my answer keeps coming back the same—I don’t know.