Page 62 of Misfortune and Mr. Right

“Let’s hear it for Olivia Pennington and Logan Alexander, who also happen to have been our prom king and queen. They will lead off tonight’s dancing, with a dance reminiscent of the one that kicked off our senior prom ten years ago.”

The crowd claps. Olivia and I stand side by side, enduring the spotlight. I love achieving my personal best. I thrive on setting high standards and striving to meet them. I don’t love being paraded around like a prize pony. And I can tell Olivia’s not a fan of being thrust onto center stage either.

“Take it away,” Ginny says to Olivia and me.

We down the set of stairs off the side of the stage, my hand going to Olivia’s lower back instinctively.

When we’re in the center of the dance floor, the beginning notes ofYou and Meby Lifehouse fill the room—the same song we danced to on prom night.

I extend my hand, and Olivia looks up at me, a note of challenge in her eyes. I smile down at her. I hope she never stops challenging me. I hope she’s always here, with me, extending a dare or holding her ground. I hope we race one another until we can’t run anymore, and then we’ll race with our walkers or wheelchairs.

I need her.

I’ve always needed her.

The reality of what Olivia means to me floods me as she places her palm against mine and allows my fingers to curl across her knuckles.

I wrap my arm around her, sliding my hand in place on her lower back. She reciprocates, placing her free hand on my shoulder. I can’t help myself—I tug her a step closer. We’re touching now, swaying to the music, the lyrics telling my story, even though she’s oblivious.

Olivia looks up at me. Her eyes fix on mine. It’s me and her and nothing else—no one else.

I took dance lessons, years ago, to appease my mom. I forget every move—nothing rehearsed has ever worked with Olivia. She levels me. I’m rendered speechless, unable to focus on anything but her.

A deeper force moves me. I’m dancing because of her, not a lesson or a practiced step. I’m dancing from my heart, not my head. We sway at first, her eyes still remarkably fixed on mine. Her face is a puzzle. But something in her gaze tells me she’s counting on me to lead her, so I do. We turn around the floor, in sync, connected.

Toward the end of the song, I spin Olivia out and away from me, and she twirls as if we’ve practiced the move, returning to me, graceful and soft. I tug her into my arms, relishing the last opportunity I may ever have to hold her like this.

Chapter Sixteen

Olivia

I don’t want to brag or make anyone jealous,

But I can still fit into the earrings I wore in high school.

~ Unknown

Logan spins me out,and I surrender to the movement, floating away from him and then returning when he gently pulls me. I don’t know if it’s all the collaborating we’ve been forced to do lately or the fact that I’m aware of every eye in the room focusing on us right now. Maybe it was the impact of seeing him so vulnerable that night with his brother. Whatever it is, my guard is down. I feel myself allowing Logan to lead me. I’m not resisting. I’m surrendering to the way he guides us through the room. Logan’s a masterful dancer. Of course he is. His precision extends to everything he does.

If this is how he dances, I wonder how he kisses.

Intrusive thought!

No thinking of Logan kissing. That is not ever something I will experience. Of course not. I don’t want to kiss Logan. Not even to see how good he is. Good? No. Logan’s not good at anything. He’s excellent. Often perfect. What would a perfect kiss be like? And why am I thinking of kissing right now?

Logan’s hand finds my lower back again and he tugs me toward him, his eyes finding mine. Holding me everywhere, in his gaze, with his arms, his certainty, his signature intensity, and a tenderness I might be imagining.

Then, like the stroke of midnight in “Cinderella,” our song ends and the next one begins. It’s something upbeat by Bruno Mars. Logan and I stand in the center of the dance floor, my hand still held in his firm, confident grasp, his other hand on my back. I drop my fingers from his shoulder, and they skitter down his chest, falling to my side.

His eyes search mine—for what, I don’t know.

“Well …” I say. “We did that.”

He’s quiet, as usual. Unreadable. He softens his grip on my other hand and releases me. I turn away, my eyes scanning the room until they land on Megan. Before either Logan or I feel the need to say anything else, I stride off the dance floor toward my best friend, leaving Logan and his smooth dance moves behind me.

Megan is up in my face as soon as I flee the dance floor. “Well, that was interesting.”

“Ginny’s speech?” I ask, hoping she’ll avoid the topic of Logan Alexander altogether.

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