Page 106 of Eye of the Beholder
“I’m proud of you,” she says. “You did a difficult thing.” She pauses, looking around. Then she looks back at me. “Do you want food now?”
“No,” I say, eyeing her. I look at her smile, at the look in her eyes—like she really is proud of me—at the way the dimmed lights softly illuminate her hair. “I want to dance with you.”
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Mina
“Oh,” I say, surprised. I blush. I’m not sure if he can see it with how low the lights are. I hope not. I swallow. “Is dancing something we do?”
Cohen shrugs. “Only if you want.” His voice is maybe a little too casual, and my heart rate picks up.
Yes, please. I do want to dance with him. So badly.
I have to admit to tearing up when he and his dad hugged. I’m just so proud of him. He didn’t say as much, but I could see in the way they hugged that the tension between them is dissipating. Letting something like that go requires maturity. I’m just…really proud of him. For coming to the wedding, for his ACT—for everything.
Cohen in a suit, by the way, is a sight worth seeing. It’s a grayish-blue color, and it fits him immaculately, highlighting the broadness of his shoulders. I didn’t realize I found that attractive, but apparently I do.
And I’m not the only one feeling these things. I know I’m not. Because when he told me I was beautiful earlier, he was 100 percent sincere.
I study him for a second. As badly as I want to dance with him, is it a good idea? Is it just going to make my feelings worse? I don’t know how much closeness my poor heart can take.
Cohen apparently can see that I’m reluctant, because he says, “You do owe me for making me come with you into the asylum at Halloween.” He hesitates and then smiles. “I’m cashing it in now. Consider this your debt repaid.”
I can’t help it; I give in when I see the way he’s looking at me. I smile. “Okay. Let’s dance.”
He smiles back and stands, holding out his hand to me. I take it and follow him silently to the dance floor. There are maybe a dozen couples already there, which makes it less awkward. The music is slow and smooth. Perfect for dancing.
We step onto the dance floor, and without hesitating he slides his hands around my waist. The pressure of his arms is warm and comforting. I slip my arms over his shoulders and loosely around his neck. We move closer together at the same time and bump into each other. We could step further apart, but we don’t. I’m not mad.
But being this close to him is both heaven and hell.
He smells like his cologne, and his arms around me are reminiscent of the night we kissed. My arms fit around his neck perfectly.
But it’s his eyes that make my breath hitch in my chest. Because he’s looking at me like he cares about me. Like he has feelings for me.
We’re going to have to talk about this. I have to tell him. I have to tell him how I feel. Because when he’s looking at me like that, how can I not hope?
“So…” I say, and I can hear how nervous I sound. “We’re dancing.”
I see his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows. “Yeah.” His voice is husky, a word I’ve always hated but now find accurate.
My mouth feels suddenly dry. I lick my lips.
And his eyes follow the movement. In fact, they don’t stray from my lips at all.
He’s going to kiss me. He’s totally going to kiss me. Again.
Or so I think, until his gaze comes back to my eyes.
“So we dance, but we don’t hold hands. Right?” I say. I need to figure out what’s going on here. Because being near him right now is exquisitely beautiful torture.
He swallows again. “I don’t know. I don’t know what we do.”
Doesheeven know how he feels about me? Lydia said when he came home on New Year’s Eve, he looked miserable and panicky. But right now he looks like he wants to kiss me. He asked me to dance. He’s been sending out serious vibes all evening—
Wait a minute.
How didIfeel after we kissed?
