The Girl Who Fell(102)

Dad winks at Gregg and takes a step back. “I assume you’d like to cut in?” Dad says as he gives me a small bow.

“I would. May I?”

“Uh, I suck at dancing.”

“I know. My toes still ache from prom. But you have to. I’m in the wedding party. I get whatever I want.”

“Is that so?”

“That’s what they tell me.” It is the Gregg Slicer flirt on full beam and Dad gives a chuckle before heading back to our table.

“Okay. One dance.”

I take Gregg’s hand and he pulls me to him. “You’ve been avoiding me, Zephyr. No texts, no phone calls. I have to talk to Lizzie to know what’s going on with you.”

“I thought we were dancing.”

“Dancing and talking.”

“Okay. Let’s talk about what Lani would say if she knew you were dancing with me.”

“Lani and I broke up.”

“Really? Why?” I’ve grown oddly fond of Lani since showing up at her house.

He shrugs. “She’s not the one.”

“If ‘the one’ even exists.”

“That’s a fairly cynical thing to say when you’re dancing at my sister’s wedding.”

The word sorry hangs on my lips, but I pull it back. “Good call.”

Gregg laughs. “You seem happy, like your old self again.”

I want to tell him about Alec and how we’ve broken up but it doesn’t seem the right time. Mostly, I don’t want thoughts of Alec to invade this night. And then, I don’t have to say anything because Gregg’s face pinches with pain.

“How can someone with so much grace on the field be so clumsy on the dance floor?”

I laugh. “Lucky for my teammates, one thing doesn’t have to do with another.” It feels good to smile, spar with Gregg in the relaxed way I’ve always known. I find solace in these parts of me that are resurfacing, finding air.

I focus on my steps. The music is slow and the silk of my dress brushes my legs like wind. I lean my head against Gregg’s chest.

“You look fairly passable tonight, Zipper.”

A laugh bubbles in my chest. “You clean up pretty good yourself.”

“High praise.” Step. Turn. “I’m glad you came.”

“Me too.” Side step.

“Ours will be better.” Step.

“Our what?” I raise my gaze to meet his. Side step. Hand squeeze.

“Our wedding.” He leans down to kiss me, his lips tender, meeting mine. I watch it happen, as if standing outside of myself. The kiss occurs in slow motion. And I don’t stop him.

The room melts away and it is only me and Gregg and his perfect kiss. I can’t help but kiss him back as he holds the small of my back, pleasures my mouth with his.

This is not the kiss in the woods. This is not the hunger of Alec. This is something more. This is . . . safety . . . and forever . . . and scarier than losing myself to Alec.

I pull back. “I can’t.”

“You can, and you did. Splendidly, I might add.” He shrugs then, trying to shrink the moment. “Write it off to wedding romance. I’m not trying to come between you and Alec. I just wanted to get it right this time.”

He did. So right.

“It can be our secret,” he says.

“I don’t want any secrets.”

“Fine. Tell the world, but just don’t be pissed at me or stop talking to me. Deal?”

I nod, my feet unsteady.

“Good. I don’t want to lose you again.”

I don’t want to get lost again.

My thoughts sway with the lights, the beautiful kiss. I dip my ear to his chest, listen for his heartbeat under the chorus of strings. I feel the race of his pulse and how mine responds.

As we dance I can’t help wonder how much would be different if Gregg had kissed me like that back in October.

I practically stumble back to the table where Mom and Dad are huddled together talking. I sit to steady my nerves. Keep from running back to Gregg.

Gregg who is still on the dance floor, his arms outstretched, his feet platforms for his youngest sister’s tiny dress shoes. My heart leaps for another chance at our dance. For another kiss.

I chastise the thought.

I should leave. I shouldn’t be thinking about kissing anyone.

Worse, I shouldn’t be liking kissing anyone.

A waiter taps me on the shoulder and I jump in my guilt. Mom gives me a concerned look.

“Would you care for chicken or salmon?” the waiter asks.

“Nothing for me, thank you.” Every inch of me wants—no, needs—to get out of here. If I could get outside to the ice-cold air my head will clear.

“Are you okay?” Mom asks. Dad is intent on my response.

“Sure. I was just thinking I might leave before the roads get bad.”