Page 85 of Ice Cold Chemistry
“Deal.”
He leads me to the dance floor with the enthusiasm of someone walking to their own execution. When we reach an open spot, he turns to face me and immediately freezes.
“What do I do with my hands?”
“One on my waist. The other holds mine.” I take his hand, positioning it on the curve of my hip. “Like this.”
His palm is warm through the fabric of my dress. His fingers splay wide, almost spanning my entire side. He takes my other hand in his, and we’re standing there, arranged like dancers, neither of us moving.
“Now what?” he asks.
“Now we sway.”
“Sway.”
“Just—hold me and sway. That’s it. No complicated footwork. Just movement.”
Hestarts to move, stiff and mechanical, like a robot programmed to simulate human behavior.
“Banks. Relax.”
“I’m relaxed.”
“You’re the opposite of relaxed. You’re a statue. A very tense statue.”
“I told you I don’t dance.”
“You’re not dancing. You’re swaying. There’s a difference.” I step closer, closing the distance between us until my chest is almost touching his. “Here. Just follow me.”
I start to move—small, gentle movements, nothing complicated. After a moment, he follows. His body begins to loosen, his grip on my waist softening from desperate to secure.
“There you go,” I murmur.
“This is ridiculous.”
“This is nice.”
He doesn’t argue.
We sway in silence. The music washes over us—something slow and romantic that I don’t recognize—and I let myself sink into the moment. His arms around me. My head tipped toward his chest. The steady thud of his heart beneath my ear.
But Jake’s words are there too, circling, poisoning.
I should let it go. I should just enjoy this moment and stop overthinking everything. But the doubt is a sore spot I can’t help picking at.
“Banks?”
“Mm.”
“Can I ask you something?”
His hand shifts on my waist. “Yeah.”
I don’t know how to say this without sounding insecure or jealous or crazy. But I need to know. I can’t keep doing this—whatever this is—without knowing.
“My brother said something stupid at lunch the other day.” I keep my voice light and casual, pretending this isn’t tearing me apart inside. “He said athletes have options in every city, that women throw themselves at them.”
Banks goes still. Not frozen—just alert. Listening.
