I’m doing my best to leave room for the Holy Spirit. I have my arms almost fully extended as we take up the age-old slow-dancing formation. My hands rest on her hips, and the fabric of her gold-sequin dress shifts as we sway. I’m activelynotthinking about her gorgeous curves or the fact that her legs are mere inches from mine. One misstep and we’d be a collection of tangled limbs. I keep my focus on her face, on those eyes that have successfully ruined me for enjoying blue in any other capacity for the rest of my life.
“I’ll shut up now.” Her voice is tinged with self-deprecation. Before I have the chance to say something stupid like,I could listen to you talk forever, she says, “Let’s just be quiet.”
She closes her eyes and lets out the softest of sighs.
Tentatively, I readjust my hands. I’m fighting against an intuitive desire to hold her a little tighter. I can feel the warmth of her body heat through my white dress shirt, and I’m certain she can hear the pounding of my heart.
As I catalog every sensation of having her in my arms, it hits me that nothing about this situation feels awkward. It feels incredibly right. Her hands are clasped lightly behind my neck. It’s a friendly position. Not overly intimate. She isn’t doing any type of massaging, nor is she running her fingertips through my hair. And thank the good Lord for that because it might be my total undoing.
I catch a whiff of her floral perfume, and I tear my gaze away from where I’ve been staring at the way her eyelashes have fanned out across her cheeks. I pull in a fresh breath and try to clear my head as I look beyond her.
I scan the dance floor, and everyone is either too lost in the eyes of their partner or too drunk to notice Poppy and me.
Everyone except Holland.
My gaze snags on his. He’s leaning against the bar, and from across the room, I can tell he’s tense. He’s staring right at Poppy and me, and I’m guessing he has been for a while. The posse that kept him busy and away from Poppy all night is nowhere to be found. A creeping sense of shame washes over me. I am majorly overstepping, aren’t I?
Poppy must sense or feel a change in the rhythm of my heartbeats, because she eases away from me and opens her eyes. She arches her back and drops her hands from my neck.
I let go of her waist and run my palm over the skin that she was touching, savoring the fleeting warmth of having her so near.
“Have you seen Holland?” she asks.
I bob my chin over her shoulder. She spins around, and when she catches sight of him, she holds up her hand in a wave.
Holland weaves his way toward us. “Hey, you.” He drops a light kiss on Poppy’s cheek.
I clench my jaw and release it, working to keep my expression neutral. I nod at my brother and offer Poppy a tight smile. “Holland will protect you from Cousin Albert now.”
She chuckles. “Thanks, Big.”
Without another word, I make my way to the bar, both trying to erase the past few hours and sear them into my brain.
I plop down onto a barstool. “Shot of whiskey.”
The bartender nods and gets out a shot glass. He fills it and pushes it at me. I down it without hesitation.
“What’s going on?”
I set the shot glass down and turn to where Holland has angled himself next to me, leaning with one shoulder against the bar, his arms crossed over his chest.
“Nothing.”
“That didn’t look like nothing.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You were staring at my girlfriend like you—”
“Like I what?” I swivel on the barstool and pull my back straight, taking a smidgen of satisfaction in the fact that Holland has to look up at me. “Like I wanted to spend time with her? Guilty.”
Holland opens his mouth, but I cut him off.
“Where is she anyway? Did you abandon her again?”
He narrows his gaze. “She’s in the bathroom, and then we’re going to head out. What is your problem?”
“My problem?” I scoff. “You’ve got an amazing girl on your hands, and you’re taking her for granted.”
