Dancing

She doesn't remember exactly when her drink count passed "buzzed" and entered "feeling dangerous." One moment she's laughing at something Chad said, the next the song shifts—something slow and heavy with bass—and her body moves before her mind catches up.

Her back is against his chest. His hands find her hips. She doesn't pull away.

The purple dress rides up as she moves against him, the fabric catching the strobe lights. She can feel the heat of him through his shirt, the solidness of his frame behind her. Her head tilts back, resting against his shoulder, eyes closed for just a moment as the music takes over.

She knows what she's doing. She knows Joe could walk back in any second. She knows this is exactly the kind of line they talked about.

But the vodka hums in her veins, and Chad's hands are warm on her hips, and she's tired of being good at pretending.

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