I glance toward Louis, whose expression could sour champagne, then return my attention to Jakob. “I’d say it worked. He looks like he’s trying to set you on fire with concentration alone.”
“Good.”
My pulse stumbles.
Jakob leads me into the next turn before I can answer, and I follow because it’s easier than admitting how much I’m enjoying myself.
Louis may be the one watching, but I’m no longer dancing for him. When the song ends, Jakob guides me off the floor, his hand interlaced with mine, and I’m still floating, my legs strangely light beneath me. No one has ever danced with me like that, as though every stumble was simply another move he knew how to catch.
I glance up at him. “So are you going to tell me you’re secretly some famous dancing blogger I should already know about? Because that was unfairly impressive.”
His mouth curves upward. “Nope, I’m the behind-the-scenes guy and like to keep it that way.”
“Professional lessons, then?”
“No.”
“Then how do you move like that?”
As we weave through the crowd, Jakob glances down at me. “My mom loved dancing, but my dad was never a fan. As I was quite tall for my age, I became her permanent practice partner at home.”
“That explains a lot.”
His mouth curves. “Mostly why I know how to keep a woman from stepping on me.”
“Oops.” I pinch my lips to the side, staring up at him.
“You recovered beautifully.”
By the time we get closer to Brody and Corey, my cheeks are hot and my pulse still hasn’t settled. “Bathroom. I’ll be back.”
Jakob smiles and I dart away. I lock myself in a stall, press my hands to my burning face, and ask the question I’ve been dodging all night. Not whether this is fake or whether I deserve it. But whether I’m brave enough to find out what happens if I’mexperiencing real feelings. Except, this is my first time with men who are treating me like I’m special, and most likely that’s all I’m feeling—wanted.
Lipstick fixed. Glasses pushed up. Out the door.
The corridor is packed, guests flowing between the bathrooms and the bar, and I’m weaving through when a shoulder blocks my path.
Louis, hemming me in by the bar with the crowd, and that cruel smile aimed at me.
11
CLAIRE
“Interesting performance,” Louis sneers, blocking me. “The dip was theatrical.”
“Move out of my way, Louis.” I try to move, but he steps in my path.
“You really expect anyone to believe that?—”
“I don’t care what anyone believes.” I hold his gaze, steady, clear. “I’m having the best night I’ve had in over a year.”
His eyes narrow. His hand finds my elbow, fingers tightening. “You always needed propping up. Some things don’t change.”
I yank my arm free, but the words jam somewhere inside. He’s always had a way of looking at me as though I’m beneath his notice, and every sharp response I should make disappears, leaving me feeling small, flustered, and foolish.
“Three Alphas, Claire? Really?” Louis says. “Could you be any more obvious? Everyone’s laughing at you.”
My stomach curdles with anger, with the ache that what he’s saying is true.