Leah on the Offbeat (Creekwood #2)(73)

“Why, hello, Burke.” I look up, and it’s Garrett, hands clasped behind his back.

“Hey.” I tear my eyes away from Abby and Simon. “So, who knew you were this amazing dancer?”

He smiles, just a little. “You thought I was amazing?”

“I mean, you weren’t terrible.”

“Oh my God. You loved it. What did you love most? Was it this move?” He thrusts his pelvis three times, in rapid succession.

“Definitely that one.”

“Or was it this one?” He shoots his hands up, like he’s holding on to monkey bars. Then he swivels his hips in circles.

“Yes. All of the above.”

“Damn.” He grins. “So that’s what it takes to impress you, huh?”

I shrug and smile vaguely. God, I’m such a shitty person. I should shut this down. Right now. I’m just going to spit it out, really nicely, so we’re all on the same page and no one gets their hopes up. I shut my eyes and take a deep breath, and then we both speak at once.

It comes out in a jumble. “You go first,” I say quickly.

“Okay.” Garrett inhales. “Do you want to dance?”

And . . . fuck.

I just stand there. “Sure,” I say finally.

I mean. He’s my date. We should dance. It’s not even a question.

We walk hand in hand to the dance floor, and then Garrett pauses, facing me. “So, should we just . . .”

His hands fall to my waist, and I wrap mine around his shoulders. And we sway. He tugs me closer—so close that our chests are mashed together, which is actually pretty unnerving. I think I’m radiating awkwardness—like it’s some sort of gaseous substance, rolling off me in waves.

And the thing that freaks me out most is that Garrett hasn’t said a word. He’s just looking at me with this sweetly dopey expression, and I feel like the biggest asshole on earth.

I am very much not in love with Garrett Laughlin. And he probably deserves to know that. But when I open my mouth, all that comes out is “What happens when they’re seventy?”

“What?”

“In the song. He says he’ll love this girl until they’re seventy. But then what? He’s just like, peace, I’m out?”

“Wow,” Garrett says, laughing. “You are the actual least romantic person on earth.”

Not true, I think. Case in point: at this very moment, it’s taking every ounce of self-control not to stare wistfully at Abby.

Instead, I peer over Garrett’s shoulder and gasp. “Are you kidding me?”

Garrett furrows his brow.

“Turn around sideways.”

Because, holy shit. It’s Nick. Dancing with Taylor Metternich. But not just dancing. Their hands are everywhere. Nick’s fingers trail down the back of Taylor’s Kate Middleton wedding bodice, way too close to her ass, and there isn’t an inch of space between them anywhere.

Except their mouths. There’s just about an inch there.

My eyes fall immediately to Abby, who’s six feet away, watching this shitshow unfold. I mean, of course she’s watching. Simon is, too. They’re both frozen in place, eyebrows raised to the moon.

“He just kissed her. They’re kissing,” Garrett murmurs. “Daaaamn.”

Holy mother of God. What’s even happening right now? Nick is kissing a girl on the dance floor, right in front of Abby, and the girl is Taylor Metternich. And yes, if they have babies one day, those babies will have awesome singing voices, but in the meantime: WHAT?

I glance back at Abby, and this time, she’s looking straight at me, her expression unreadable. I catch her gaze, and she shoots me this sad half smile.

God. She’s so. I don’t even know what.

I shouldn’t stare.

And I definitely shouldn’t gaze longingly. Like, holy shit, Leah. Cool your jets. This is not a fucking teen movie.

I turn away quickly, tuning back in to the soft-core porn channel that is Taylor and Nick. And wow. That is some sloppy kissing. Are all the chaperones high right now? Are they dead? Because I’m pretty sure I’m about to watch Nick get Taylor pregnant, right here on the dance floor.

Right in front of Nick’s ex-girlfriend.

Except.

When my eyes flick back just a minute or two later, Simon’s standing beneath the edge of the pavilion, alone. And Abby’s gone.





34


I HEAD STRAIGHT FOR SIMON as soon as the song ends. By then, he’s found a table with Bram, and they’ve both draped their tux jackets over their chairs.

“Did Abby leave?” I ask, settling in beside Bram.

Simon nods, leaning forward. “Yeah, right in the middle of the dance. She said she wanted to be alone.”

“Really?”

“Okay, that’s weird, right? I mean, it’s weird for Abby?”

“Is she upset?”

“I don’t know.” Simon looks slightly distraught. “I guess so. I mean, I wouldn’t blame her.”

“God.” I close my eyes. “Yeah.”

Bram bites his lip and nods.

“I should have gone with her,” Simon says, rubbing his forehead. “Ugh. Now she probably thinks she’s kicked out of our squad. Like, we’re going to replace her with Taylor.”