lay odds on Megan taking home the prize tonight.
Once the band started playing, however, Wyatt peeled himself off his two sidekicks and came around the table to claim my hand. “Your first dance is mine,” he declared and pulled me toward the quickly filling dance floor.
My body went into autopilot mode as I fit myself into Wyatt’s arms, my right hand in his, and my left hand resting on his shoulder. We inserted ourselves into the growing whirl of dancers as we’d done so many times before, his thigh brushing against mine as he glided me around the floor with an offhand grace.
My parents used to bring me and my brother here almost every weekend of our adolescent years, and Wyatt was always around in those days. He and I had learned to two-step, waltz, and swing dance in each other’s arms.
My stomach squeezed at the memory. Back then I’d still had dreams of turning Wyatt’s head, and every dance had left me flying high with hope.
I knew better now. A dance was just a dance. A chance for Wyatt to show off his moves without committing himself in any particular direction. I had accepted that I’d never turn his head, because he was too busy trying to turn every other head in the room. The only reason he wanted me in his arms was to help him do it.
We moved in unison as he spun me, just starting to get warmed up. “I didn’t expect to see you here tonight,” I said once we were face-to-face again. “I was starting to think you’d found something better to do with your Saturday nights.”
His gaze remained fixed somewhere over my shoulder as he grinned. “Never.”
“It feels like I haven’t seen much of you in a while.” Almost three weeks, by my reckoning, which was unusual. If we weren’t bumping into each other at our usual haunts, he was turning up at my aunt Birdie’s house for a home-cooked dinner, or showing up at my place with my brother. Wyatt was always around, a permanent fixture in my life. It was odd that I hadn’t laid eyes on him in weeks. “It’s almost like something’s been keeping you busy.”
For a second, I swore his smile slipped a little. But before I could be sure, he spun me into the sweetheart position, backing me up against his chest with my arms crossed in front of me. He followed up with a series of complicated spins and a behind-the-back pass before he pulled me into a standard dancing frame again.
“I love dancing with you,” he said as we settled back into a simpler two-step rhythm. “It’s like you know what I’m gonna do before I do it.”
I laughed, lightheaded from the spins, or maybe from the two beers I’d had before the dancing started. “That’s because I do, usually. We’ve been doing this since I was twelve. I know all your moves.”
“Are you saying I can’t surprise you anymore?” His face pulled into an expression of mock offense.
I let my gaze meet his, knowing he’d take it as a dare. “Maybe.”
Eyes glinting almost violet in the pink and yellow lights above the dance floor, he lifted his arm and spun me into the center of the floor for a series of complex western swing combos, starting off with a princess dip to test my trust in him. My pulse jumped when he leaned me back, his strong arms taking all my weight as I lifted my feet off the floor and extended one leg toward the ceiling. After that we did a move called a sausage roll, and my stomach tightened as he slid me between his muscular thighs, my face passing just inches below the crotch of his jeans.
Wyatt was the only one I trusted enough to do any of the advanced swing steps with. I loved the athletic thrill of executing the moves, but more than that, I loved the opportunity to feel Wyatt’s hands all over me—not to mention all the tantalizing, exhilarating ways our bodies came into contact.
My heart pounded as he lifted me into his arms. I had a split second to enjoy the sensation of being cradled against his chest before he bounced me, and I scissored my legs around his neck. He bounced me again with my thigh resting on his shoulder as he flipped me over in his arms, cradling me to his chest once more before setting me down.
There was no other man I’d be