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Hunter
I’m just starting to think that maybe weddings aren’t all so terrible after all—this one has actually been pretty relaxed, and the food is surprisingly delicious—when the dancing starts. And then I remember all over again why I don’t like going to weddings.
“You’re seriously not going to dance with me?” Lydia asks. Everyone else has gotten up from our table to go out to the dance floor—even her cousin, who’s here on his own.
I shake my head. “Nope. I can’t dance. You should go out there, though. Have a blast.”
“Hunterrrr.”
“You’re not going to talk me into it.”
Lydia looks out toward the dance floor with longing.
“Come on,” she says. “One song. And then you can come back and be a grump.”
“Why is it so important to you that I dance?” I grumble.
“It’s part of us keeping up appearances. What boyfriend doesn’t indulge her girlfriend with one freakin’ dance?”
I feel myself crumbling.
“Please?” says Lydia.
“Fine,” I say. “One dance.”
“One dance,” she agrees, excitement glittering in her eyes.
Grunting, I stand up and hold out my hand. If I’m going to do this, I may as well do it right. Lydia grins and slides her hand into mine. We’ve held hands so many times in the last few hours that it’s starting to feel second nature.
The dance floor is packed. And I’m pretty damn tempted to just stand at the edge of the crowd and give Lydia her one dance on the fringes of all the activity. But I don’t. I do what I know she wants me to do—I pull her into the middle of the dance floor.
“One song,” I remind her, as I let go of her hand and turn to face her.
She smiles and nods. The beat of the song that’s just started surrounds us. We start to move together on the dance floor. God, I really hate dancing. It’s so not my thing.
I suck it up, though. I move my feet. I let the beat of the song guide my feet and arms and body. Meanwhile, Lydia is having a blast, singing along to the damn lyrics.
“I love this song,” she says, leaning close to my ear. “Don’t you?”
“Yeah,” I mutter. “Of course.”
Okay. Fine. It’s not that terrible. And maybe I’m just being grumpy about it because I’ve established myself as the guy who hates weddings. As the song comes to an end, Lydia looks at me with begging eyes.
“One more,” she says. “Come on. Aren’t you having fun?”
I hesitate.
“You’re going to owe me so much,” I warn her.
“I don’t care,” she says. Then she shrugs and does a dance move that’s both ridiculous and a little bit sexy.
Shit. Did I just say sexy? No. Sexy and Lydia don’t mix. We’re friends. I shouldn’t have thoughts like that.
It’s hard to ignore how pretty she looks tonight, though. That dress, her hair, her dark red lips …there’s a glow about her that she doesn’t normally have.
Or maybe she always has that glow and I’ve just been ignoring it this whole time.
I don’t know. These thoughts I’m having…they’re just stupid, random thoughts. They don’t mean anything. This is what happens at weddings, right? People get all romantic. They think things they wouldn’t normally think, do things they wouldn’t normally do…
