Total pages in book: 177
Estimated words: 169272 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 846(@200wpm)___ 677(@250wpm)___ 564(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 169272 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 846(@200wpm)___ 677(@250wpm)___ 564(@300wpm)
As the girls titter with excitement at Josh’s story, he flashes me a questioning look that plainly asks, “Are you ready to join in yet?” When I subtly shake my head and knit my brows together, he quickly takes the hint and returns to the girls.
Josh says, “Reed was so fucking happy that night. At dinner, he not only ordered literally every item on the menu, just because he could, he also ordered a case of their priciest champagne for our table alone, as well as a bottle for every table in the place.”
Hannah and Kat both squeal with delight. Hannah says, “I love the fact that you and Henn both flew here at the drop of a hat to celebrate with your good friend. Reed must have appreciated that so much.”
Josh looks at me again, checking in, and when it’s clear I’m still struggling, he replies, “Henn, Reed, and I have been the Three Musketeers since our freshman year at UCLA. In good times and bad, we’ve always stuck together.” He grips my shoulder. “Isn’t that right, Henny?”
“Mm hmm.”
Josh squeezes my shoulder again before releasing me. “So, hey, if it sounds good to everyone, I thought after dinner we’d go dancing at Reed’s club. He won’t be there, unfortunately—he had to fly to London yesterday—but it’s the best place on The Strip to go dancing. Plus, everyone there knows us, so we’ll get our drinks fast and made with a heavy hand on the alcohol.”
“Oooh, I love dancing!” Hannah gushes. She smiles at me. “Do you like dancing, Henn?”
Aw, fuck. Tongue, don’t fail me now. “Yeah, I love it.” Oh, wow, I think that sounded pretty normal, actually.
“Me, too!” Hannah says excitedly, like she didn’t just now say she loves dancing first.
“Yeah, me, too,” I echo, without realizing I’m repeating myself. When the words come out, though, when I realize I’ve said the same thing twice, I make a face that says, “Whoopsie.”
To my relief, Hannah smiles and responds with, “Yeah, me, too!” Like it’s the very first time she’s saying it. Her tone isn’t mocking or snarky. No, it’s pure kindness. She’s clearly trying to put me at ease. Letting me know we’re the same.
“Really? Me, too!” I say, yet again like it’s the first time. And this time, we both crack up at our silly, circular conversation.
Hallelujah. I think we just took a gigantic step forward in terms of comfort level. Or, at least, I did. I flash Hannah a huge smile, and when she returns the gesture, I feel like my heart physically skips a beat. Man, I could drown in those baby blues and smile as I go down. Yes, my rational brain knows I’m projecting my fantasies onto Hannah, since I don’t actually know her yet. But my heart, skin, and soul aren’t operating rationally. They’re all reacting to what they’re feeling—an attraction that’s wreaking palpable havoc with my cardiovascular system.
I take a deep breath and decide to go for it. “Honestly, I think maybe I like dancing too much. As you’ll probably find out later tonight, the song ‘Gettin’ Jiggy with It’ was basically written for and about me. And not in a good way.”
Hannah’s glorious smile could light up a pitch-black sky. She says, “Well, lucky for me, I love that song.”
“You’re sweet to say that, but nobody genuinely loves that song.”
“I really do. In fact, I pride myself on gettin’ jiggy with it on every dance floor that’s lucky enough to be graced with my presence.” She snorts. “You know that saying, ‘Dance like no one is watching?’ Well, that’s me. Except that people are watching. Usually, with their mouths hanging open at the weirdo who’s dancing like nobody’s watching.”
Oh, my heart. She’s fucking adorable. I say, “Bah. Who cares what anyone else thinks? Dancing is supposed to be fun. In my experience, the cooler a person is trying to be, the less fun they’re having.”
“Agreed!” Hannah says. “That’s true in all aspects of life, don’t you think? Not only with respect to dancing.”
“Absolutely.”
Josh says, “Hannah, I feel like I should warn you: Ever since college, our friend group’s mission in life is getting Henn drunk and watching him turn into a certifiable maniac on the dance floor. Please, don’t think he’s understating his exuberance.”
“Yeah, I can get pretty ridiculous,” I admit, laughing. “I promise I won’t be offended if you flee to a far corner of the dance floor and pretend not to know me when I really get going.”
Hannah’s face is a vision of pure excitement. “Are you kidding me? No matter how crazy you get, I’ll be right next to you, egging you on and trying to keep up. Dancing is a whole lot cheaper than therapy, I always say.”
“That’s a true statement. Although I’m a huge fan of therapy.”