Page 41 of The Worst Guy Ever
Blinking away tears, I step out from beneath the spotlight and into the shadows, forcing myself to breathe. Casting my eyes back to that comforting spot at the back of the room, the light has shifted, and the sea of faces cheering me on are now clear as day. There amongst them, in the place I’ve addressed this entire time, Rob cheers loudest of all.
Chapter 17
Hattie
Myfeethurtinthese shoes. I’m wondering if everyone’s drunk enough for me to sneak away early when Rob appears in front of me, his arm outstretched, palm open.
“Hattie Buchanan, please may I have this dance?” I’d think he was a true gentleman if I didn’t already know otherwise. His tie and suit jacket are long abandoned, his hair dishevelled. He looks happy, and I don’t trust him.
“Why?”
“For God’s sake, Hattie,” he snaps. “Just let me dance with you.”
I huff out a breath, but stand anyway. My hand settles in his palm and I let him lead me to the dance floor just in time for the DJ to switch to a slow song. Rob bites back a smile and I know he must have requested this, never one to miss an opportunity to rile me up.
“You’re unbelievable,” I say, shaking my head.
“Why thank you.” He settles one hand on my hip and takes my hand in the other for a, I don’t know,waltz? I don’t know a thing about dancing unless it’s jumping up and down to release my demons on a dancefloor or grinding up against someone in a corner. And I certainly won’t be grinding up against Rob. My other hand hangs awkwardly by my side. I’m not sure what to do with it, grateful when he lifts it to his shoulder. Heat radiates through the cotton of his shirt. Or is it my hand that’s hot?
Held to him like this, it’s hard to know where I end and he begins. I let him guide me through the song but keep my head turned away, my eyes on the other couples on the dancefloor.
Kara and Luke are wrapped around each other, the picture of newlywed lovebirds who can’t believe their luck. Her mum and dad spin their way past and they switch partners, Luke and his brand new mother-in-law, and Kara back in the arms of the man who loved her first.
I wonder where my dad is right now. Would he dance with me on my wedding day? Not that I’d ever have one.
I can’t make out what they’re saying as they move together, but it’s beautiful to witness the love that passes between them, the joy in their smiles. It makes me smile too. You can’t not smile when love is that pure. It’s infectious. Of course, it doesn’t last long because Rob opens his big dumb mouth to remind me whose arms I am in.
“Your poem was incredible.”
“Not my poem,” I say, batting his compliment away.
“You know, in some cultures, it’s traditional for the best man and maid of honour to hook up,” he teases.
“What cultures?”
“Sexy ones.”
I hate myself for laughing. “You never quit, do you?”
“Nope,” he spins me a little, tugging me closer. “Not where you’re concerned.”
“Great. A lifetime of torture. I must have really screwed up in a past life to deserve this.”
“Do you believe in all that stuff? Karma?”
“I guess not. I don’t think it’s fair to suggest the shitty things that happened to me are payback for something I don’t even know I’ve done. What could I possibly have done to deserve my dad leaving me? Or you with yours.”
That shuts him up, though I feel his thumb rub the palm of my hand. It’s a kindness, a reassurance that I didn’t know I needed. His small intimacies always make me want to run, but I’m tired of running. I let my forehead fall against his chest and we stay like that for a while, rocks filling my throat, my jaw pressed tight shut.
“Hattie—” he whispers against my hair, and I lean back a little to see his face. There’s that look again. Eyes ablaze, hypnotic, and full of need. I couldn’t look away even if I wanted to. “How the hell am I supposed to concentrate on dancing when I know you’re naked under here?”
I hadn’t even noticed we’ve stopped moving. He skims his hand from my waist up to my ribcage, his thumb sneaking under the hem of the part of my dress that covers my boobs. I shiver under his touch, my nipples pulling into tight peaks.
I wish I could just get out of my head for a minute and enjoy this for what it is, a slow dance with a gorgeous man with an incredible body who isn’t being subtle about his hand placement. I wish I could loosen up, lay my head on his shoulder, and sway to the music with him. It could be so easy. Instead of tensing and pulling away, I could just let my body melt against his, safe in the knowledge that he’d hold me up.
I could be obvious about inhaling the scent of him, maybe tell him how good he smells, and how much it makes me want him. I could let go of his hand and take it again, but this time thread my fingers through his in that intimate way other people do. I could kiss his neck, his jaw, his mouth. I could do it right now and I’m certain he’d let me. And then maybe, in some other timeline, on some other planet, in some other universe, I could do it again. And again tomorrow. And every day after that for the rest of my life.
But that’s not possible, because what I’m wishing for is to be a different person entirely. I’m not Hattie Buchanan who slow dances and swoons, I’m Hattie Buchanan, good-time girl. Hattie Buchanan, who doesn’t know any better than fucking and fighting. Hattie Buchanan, who men leave.
