I looked between her and the glass. “Are you guys expecting?”
“No,” Naya exclaimed before taking a sip, at the same time as Jake said, “Not yet.” They shared a look that seemed equal parts good humor and I-know-what-you’re-thinking. It felt embarrassing to swoon at shit like that, but I was jealous of the easy way they could be together. I glanced at the floor again, where Britta was doing a poor impression of the Hustle with the best man and his husband.
“Dance with me,” Naya said, setting down Jake’s glass after taking another sip. “I’m a little drunk and in the mood to make a fool of myself.”
Jake kissed her cheek before downing the rest of his drink. “Can you believe she didn’t dance when I met her?” He stood, twining his fingers with Naya’s. “Good luck, Wes,” he called over his shoulder as they moved through the crowd. “It’s worth it!”
Aaron followed my gaze to where it had landed on Britta hugging her dance partners as the song ended. The men she was with were married, but jealousy still needled me. I wanted to hug her, and as I watched her smile and laugh, all the reasons we couldn’t be together felt hollow. The music shifted to “Perfect” by Ed Sheeran, and I appreciated the melodic opening chords.
My friend tapped the table with his glass. “What’re you gonna do?”
I threw back my drink. “I guess I’m gonna take another shot.”
Britta was on her way off the dance floor, chatting with Felicia, when I reached her.
“Oh, hey,” she said, her voice hedging in that way it had been all night, like she was holding something back. She was holding back, and I’d been, too, but I shrugged that away.
I slid my hand up the middle of her back, my middle finger dragging along her spine. “Dance with me?”
She turned, biting her lip. “It’s a slow song.”
“Dance with me anyway.” I took her hand, and Felicia waved with a knowing smile as I led Britta back to the dance floor. She smelled like coconut and something flowery, and she looked up at me with those big eyes—beautiful, perfect eyes.
“I like this song,” she commented without breaking our eye contact.
“It’s no ‘Chicken Dance’ . . . ”
She pressed her palm to my chest. “I hate you.”
I leaned down so our noses were inches apart. “Do you?”
A little breath puffed from her mouth as those full red lips parted slightly. She shook her head. “No.”
“Good,” I said on an exhale. Here goes nothing. I leaned in to her ear, my lips brushing the delicate skin. She shivered at my touch, and that alone was so fucking sexy. “Because I like you.”
“I know.” She glanced down. “As a friend.”
“No, I mean, I like you, like you.” I sound like a thirteen-year-old. Shit, this is not going as planned. “I don’t want to lose you.”
“C’mon,” she said, meeting my eyes again. “Wes. Don’t. I know you’re having a hard time with your family and everything, and I won’t abandon you. You don’t have to pretend you feel something for me to keep me in your life.”
I growled at her assessment, frustrated that I’d led her to believe that was true. “That’s not what this is.”
“It’s okay. I get it. You feel guilty about kissing me, but I’m fine. It happened, and I’m not your type, and that’s okay. You can keep being my coach. I’ll find someone, and—”
“I can’t be your coach anymore,” I said, holding her tighter, my voice sounding more desperate. “And I don’t want you to find someone else.” My pulse raced, but I paused, took a deep breath, and then dragged two fingers slowly over her bare shoulder.
She gripped my shoulder and looked up at me with wide eyes, her teeth sunken into that plump lower lip I remembered the taste of.
“You’re funny and caring. You’re smart and sexy. I don’t have words for how good I feel when I’m around you, Britta.” My heart was beating like I’d just finished sprinting. “So, I said it before. I like you. I like your smiles. I like your jokes. I like your kisses. I like your heart, and I—”
“But you said—”
I leaned closer to her other ear. “And I want you. I want you in every way a person can want someone. I should have told you at your parents’ place, or before you went on a date with that guy, or at the hospital when you took care of my mom, or on any of the random Tuesdays when it felt like my heart would pound out of my chest at the sight of you. It wasn’t a mistake to kiss you. I just didn’t think I deserved to feel that good. I know everything with my mom and Libby had me kind of messed up, but you’re in my head, Britta. In my heart. Hell, you’re in my damned bones.”