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I shimmied to the right again. “Okay, maybe there is something... but I don’t think Jonas wants to be with a girl like me. He wants something serious, a family and marriage, and I just want to enjoy my life.”
Henrietta gave me a wry smile. “Who says you can’t do both?”
I shook my head. “I’m not that kind of girl.”
“Maybe you could be,” Birdie said. “You just need the right guy.”
I gave a noncommittal answer and focused on dancing. The truth was that I couldn’t fall in love. Not with Jonas. Not with the first guy who seemed actually concerned with my well-being. Not with someone who was only doing this for his mom.
Because happily ever afters didn’t exist in real life.
Not for girls like me.
After a couple of songs, Birdie, Hen, and I went back to the bar where Cohen and Jonas were still talking. Cohen went back to make Henrietta a drink while I picked up my mojito from earlier, took a sip despite most of the ice being melted. I needed to find that pretty bartender again, but he was farther down the bar and completely swarmed by college girls.
Jonas asked, “Want to dance?”
The question caught me so off guard, I looked between Hen and Birdie just to confirm I’d heard him correctly. Birdie nodded back toward Jonas, and I realized he was still waiting for an answer.
I nodded, and Jonas took my drink, handing it to Birdie. “Watch this, will you?” It was kind of sexy, the way he just... handled it.
“Of course,” she smiled.
Jonas clasped my hand in his, and I loved the way he took charge, leading me toward the dance floor. I tried to think back if I ever remembered Jonas dancing, but I couldn’t. As he took me into the mesh of bodies and began moving, I couldn’t believe I didn’t remember.
Damn he had moves. And not just boring accountant rocking side to side moves.
His hands were on my hips, swaying to the music as the strobe lights reflected all hues in his brown eyes. Getting used to this side of Jonas, I danced with him, running my hands through my hair, letting the sound carry me away like it always did.
By the end of the song, my breath was coming heavy, and I was warm, sweating along my hairline. And then a slow country song came on. I turned, ready to walk back to the bar with our friends, but he took my hand, spinning me to his chest.
I looked up at him in surprise. “I didn’t know you liked dancing so much.”
He smiled down at me. “It’s fun with you. Besides, the bar photographer is going to have great photos for proof.”
“Proof?” I said. Then I instantly remembered. This was fake. At least to him. And it should have been to me. “Right. That’s a great idea.”
He nodded, then spun me back and then to him again, taking my breath away.
“Where did you learn to dance?” I asked.
“I could ask the same of you. You’ve always drawn my eyes on the dance floor,” he said.
A flush formed on my cheeks. He’d been watching me. “I like to go out. I guess I’ve had a lot of practice.”
“My dad taught me. My parents thought a man should know how to dance.”
“They’re right,” I said. People always said you could tell how a man made love by the way he danced, and in my experience, that was a hundred percent true. But I needed to stop thinking about Jonas that way. Especially since I was staying the night at his house. Especially since I’d be spending hours with his mom on Monday for her dialysis.
“You know,” he said, “it’s been great getting to know you a little better.”
I looked into his eyes, searching for some hint of a lie, but all I found was the truth. “Me too,” I said, and that surprised no one more than it did me.
Another song started, and Birdie, Cohen, and Henrietta came to the edge of the dance floor. Henrietta held up two shot glasses filled with clear liquid and yelled, “Come here!”
“What on earth!” I yelled, walking toward them with Jonas. I hadn’t done shots in along-asstime.
We met them at the railing, and Hen handed me a shot glass while Cohen gave Jonas one. I sniffed the liquid, and my mouth fell open. “Tequila?” Birdie and Hen both knew this was my sexy drink. What the hell were they trying to do?