“You turned Whitney down, though,” I point out. “I figured you weren’t in the mood tonight.”
“I wasn’t.”
“And now you are?”
He turns us, and the light hits his face differently. I can see his eyes more clearly now.
“No.”
“No? You’re still not in the mood to dance?”
“I’m still not in the mood to dance with Whitney.”
“Oh.” I smile. “But you’re in the mood to dance with me?”
“Well, I’m certainly not in the mood to watch you dance with anyone else. Especially to watch anyone else put his hands on your ass.”
My smile grows.
He shakes his head. “You’re getting ideas.”
“No,” I lie.
He sighs.
I laugh lightly. “Okay, one idea. The idea that you would rather dance with me than watch someone else dance with me might mean that you like me.”
“I never said I didn’t like you.”
He’s right.
“I like you,” I say honestly. It's not flirty, just straightforward. “And I think… there’s maybe something here. Between us. Maybe.” I pause and wet my lips. “Am I wrong?
He watches me for several seconds without speaking.
“David?”
“Fuck…” Then he says, “No, you’re not wrong.”
My stomach flips again. And I smile.
“But it’s not a good idea,” he says.
I lean in. “But what if it is?”
His gaze bounces back and forth between my eyes. “You were the good girl, right? Never wanted to rebel or disappoint Scott? Took seriously following all the rules and making sure he was proud of you?”
I feel my grin fade a bit. But I like this straightforward thing and I think it’s the right way to go. So I say, “Yes.”
“What about now?”
“I…don’t know.” But I do. I still want my dad to be proud of me. I still hate disappointing him.
But I know where David is going with this. He's going to say this is it. We're done. No more. Stop all of this.
“The idea of disappointing him still bugs you, right?” he asks.
“Yes.”
