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I can’t help but feel a pang of disappointment. I thought she’d say yes.

“But I will,” she adds. “I should warn you that I’m a terrible dancer when it comes to contemporary music. I have no idea how to swing.”

She might have wanted to come here for a laugh, but it looks like I came here for something special, too.

“Lucky for you, I do.”

She motions for her bag, but I wave her off.

“No one’s going to steal your things here.”

We walk to the dance floor and find a spot amid the dancers. With her hand in mine, I pull her close to me. As I move to the fast tempo, she does her best to follow along.

When I spin her, it’s lightning fast. I pull her in just as quick.

She might not know what she’s doing, but her body seems to know mine. When I sway to the right, she’s right there with me. When I push her out, she falls right back into me. We shimmy; we jive. We go down low and up high. We hold on to one another and dance like crazy. She’s laughing and smiling, and damn if it’s not contagious.

We dance for three songs. She’s better with each one. More brazen with every action. I let her go and watch as her body feels the music, feels alive, and she moves to the beat of her own accord.

She’s absolutely beautiful.

When the last song has ended, we’re breathless and jubilant. My chest is pounding in the very best way.

I lean in. Her cheek is warm.

“Do you mind if I leave you for a moment?”

“Where are you going?” she asks.

“To play.” I kiss her jaw and jog over to the stage.

The maestro sees me and greets me with a hug. I shake hands with my friend, Connor, at the piano, who’s familiar with me from my past debauchery at the club. He rises, and I take his seat behind the piano.

I start to play. I don’t need to look at the keys. I can keep my eyes fixed on the most important thing in the room.

Harper’s brows rise, and her jaw drops. I love that I’m surprising to her. I love that she likes my oddities. My brothers think it’s a hobby. My friends think I’m going through a hipster phase. What they don’t know is this life that I live … it’s passion.

Connor walks off the stage and up to my girl. He’s asking her a question in her ear. Her eyes immediately dart up to me.

I just smile as she shrugs back at me and takes Connor’s hands to dance.

The best part of watching her dance with another man?

She can’t keep her eyes off me.

I lose myself in the song. Playing to the beat. Playing with my heart and my head and become entranced in the music.

And, while I’m having a blast, I can’t help but feel jealous of Connor as he dips Harper. I want my dancing partner back.

The song ends, and I’m a sweaty mess. I shake hands with the band and then whisper a request in the maestro’s ear before coming back down. When I’m face-to-face with Harper, our eyes lock, and I barely register Connor patting me on the back as he leaves. All I know is, Harper’s hands wrap around my neck as I pull her into me.

The soft melody of Billie Holiday’s “The Man I Love” plays.

I grip her waist. I want to take her in as tight as I can until she’s flush with my body, but then I won’t be able to look into her eyes to see the light flecks of silver that shine under the light or the way her long lashes flutter against her cheeks when I let my fingers tickle her waist as I move them up the curve of her silhouette.

We slow-dance in a room full of people, yet I swear, we’re the only two people on earth. My thumbs run up the sides of her rib cage and skim dangerously close to her breasts.

Her breath hitches.