The dance floor is crowded already, but Ryan and I find our way in. Turning me to face him, he drapes both my arms over his shoulders, running the pads of his fingertips against my skin as he does. His hands overtake my waist before they curve around my hips and settle lower than I expected them to.
As he pulls me in closer, I can’t help but notice how well we fit together, how perfectly we mold even though we’re opposites in every other way.
I’m disorganized. He’s a clean freak.
I’m a romantic. He’s a cynic.
I’m an extrovert. He’s the dictionary definition of a recluse.
I want my future to involve love and family. He’s adamant about spending the rest of his days alone.
But here, with him holding me, we don’t feel all that different.
Tracking Zanders and Stevie on the dance floor, I rest my head on Ryan’s shoulder, swaying with him as I watch the newly engaged couple. They light each other up, brighter than I’ve ever seen two other people shine.
“What are you thinking about?” Ryan asks softly.
“They’re so in love.”
I feel Ryan’s neck turn to find who I’m watching. He chuckles. “I think that’s an understatement, Ind.”
“It looks nice.”
Knowing my roommate, who refuses to acknowledge any form of love, platonic or otherwise, I fully expect him to ignore me or give me a hard time for romanticizing my friends’ lives. Instead, he exhales a nostalgic sigh and says, “Yeah. It does.”
Pulling away to better look at him, I keep my arms around his shoulders, my fingers mindlessly tracing the fade of his haircut. “Have you ever been in love?”
“Once.”
“In college?”
He nods.
“Did it feel like that?” I motion towards his sister and soon-to-be brother-in-law.
“No, it didn’t.”
Ryan rarely talks about his past, and I don’t want to fuck it up by prying more, but at the same time, I want to know everything about him.
My laugh puts a small smile on Ryan’s lips. “What’s so funny?”
“All this time I thought you didn’t believe in love.”
“I believe in love, but I’m a realist. You could love someone with your entire being, but it doesn’t guarantee they’ll love you in return. It’s a gamble, and I don’t like to make bets I might lose.”
It’s his version of control, I realize, never letting himself feel deeply enough to wager getting hurt. Never letting himself feel at all. I, on the other hand, just went all in and lost on a single hand, but I’m already thinking about taking a seat at the table for another round.
Did she not love him back? Is that what happened? Clearly not, knowing how she attempted to use him. I’m not sure how anyone who was given the opportunity to know this man, to be loved by this man, wouldn’t love him in return.
Did she realize how special she was to be chosen by him?
Did Alex not feel special to be loved by me? It sure seems that way, otherwise, why else would my unwavering love be thrown by the wayside?
Loving someone doesn’t ensure that sentiment is reciprocated, but even though I’ve tried and failed, I hope one day I find it again. I hope one day Ryan will wish it for himself too.
His thumb draws mindless circles on my lower back. “How are you still such a romantic, huh? After everything.”
“I’ve got to believe that there’s more than what I had, if you can even call that love anymore. And that’s exciting, hopeful even, to believe there’s better out there. Call me a dreamer. Call me naive, I don’t care. I call myself optimistic.”
He stills us on the dance floor, feet no longer moving. His ocean eyes track every inch of my face, lingering on my lips. “There is better out there, and if anyone deserves to get everything they want in life, it’s you.”
“You deserve to have your dreams come true too.”
“I don’t dream, Indy. I plan, and my life is going according to that plan. I have the career. It’s what I always wanted.”
His eyes can’t connect with mine as he says the words because I’m not sure even Ryan finds them true. I see the toll the sky-high expectations take on him. He might still love the game, but the pressure to be perfect weighs on him, stealing a bit more of him every day. He’s confined to the walls of the apartment unless he’s prepared to be scrutinized and idolized at the same time. He lives in a million-dollar prison on the twenty-second floor. I can’t imagine he wished for that part of his career.
Ryan pushes me out in an elegant spin, disconnecting our moment before I can pry any further. He’s surprisingly graceful on the dance floor, and for a man who hasn’t held a woman in years, he has no issues leading me here.
“I can say we’ve crossed this one off your bucket list. I’m sure we can pull off a dance or two at the wedding.”
A soft smile runs across his lips.
The DJ shifts into the next song, which keeps the same slow and sultry vibe. “We should maybe practice a little more. Don’t you think?”
I love this type of practice. All of it. The dancing. The living together. The fake relationship. “Yeah. Practice is good.”
We move around the dance floor, our hands intertwined and held out to the side, our cheeks pressed together, suffocating but comforting. Once again, I spot my best friend on the other side of the room, radiating with so much happiness.
“Do you think they’ll have kids? Zanders and Stevie?”
“I’m not sure,” Ryan admits. “Stevie never talked much about kids. I was the sibling who always wanted them. My sister was too busy saving every stray animal she could find.” He chuckles lightly. “But I think they might. Zee wants them.”
I don’t miss the sentence he threw in nonchalantly. I was the sibling who always wanted them. Layer by layer, Ryan lets me see a bit more of him, as more of his confusing backstory pushes forward, eager to come to light. I want to see it. I want to know everything, but I don’t want to scare him off either, so I stay silent.
He eyes me cautiously, as if for the first time realizing he’s walking through a minefield talking about marriage and babies with a woman who might not get either but wants nothing more.
Thankfully, the music shifts, filling the room with a beat you can’t help but dance to.
Ryan peels off his jacket, tossing it on the back of a nearby chair before rolling up the sleeves of his white button-down shirt. It’s decided at that moment, with the veins running down his forearms and the watch on his wrist, that it’s just about the sexiest thing a man can do.
“Enough talk.” He taps my ass, steering me to the center of the dance floor. “Come on, girl. Let’s have fun.”
Countless songs in and I’m a sweaty mess. We all are. Most of Zanders and Stevie’s teammates and friends haven’t left the dance floor, and the DJ finally caught on to the fact that all we want to hear is ass-grinding music.
My shoes have been long discarded, and I hope I find them again. They were cute. Expensive too.
The dance floor in general is a chaotic mess of music, sweat, and grinding bodies. This once black-tie affair has quickly turned into a personal nightclub of overdressed guests.