The Real

“I never even danced at my prom. My date was a dick. He only wanted to go to the after parties and get my dress off.”

“Did he succeed?”

“Noooo. He was a dick. I’m no killjoy. But I was around when the fake yawn, arm stretch around the shoulder move still existed, and now it’s not even a thing anymore. And I never got a second look from the king.”

“I would have looked at you, Abbie.”

“You’re just saying that because you’ve seen my party tricks. Trust me, back then I wasn’t your type, and you probably weren’t mine.”

“Oh, really?” he said with a smirk. Clutching his fists at his chest, he opened his mouth wide before stretching his arms out beside him and curling them around me.

He executed it perfectly, and I leaned in and kissed him.

“Dance with me,” he asked softly. “Now, here in the real world where none of that shit ever mattered. Where all that really matters is what you think of me now.”

“Let’s address that when we aren’t stranded in the woods,” I said, feathering my fingers through the soft hair at the back of his neck.

“Fine, dance with me.”

“You want me to dance with you? In the woods?”

“Yeah,” he prompted, pressing his fingers into my hips.

“Uhhh, no.”

“Come on, you’re the one who said romance is dead. I’m willing to try to prove that theory wrong.” With no effort, he deposited me back in my seat and picked up his phone.

“Cameron, I’m not dancing with you in the woods.”

“Are you really afraid?” he asked with a hint of a smile as he flipped through his music. I looked around us and thanked the vodka for the brass

balls I’d grown in the last few hours.

“No, thanks to Tito, and his vodka, I’m feeling pretty relaxed.”

“Okay then,” he said as he chose a song and set his phone on the console. The heavy bass and whining guitar of “Witchy Woman” by the Eagles started to play.

“Funny,” I said as his dimples shone through the dim light of the cabin. The interior light lit up the rest of his shit-eating grin as he opened his door and walked past the headlights to get to mine.

“I’m not even close to finished wooing you,” he whispered as he led me to stand in front of the high beams.

My hands in his, he kissed each of my wrists before he pulled them around his neck and began to move with me plastered to his body. I followed his lead with ease while he swayed his hips. With no space between us and far too many clothes, I burrowed into his warmth.

Spotlighted by his high beams in the middle of nowhere, he slid his hands up and down the inside of my jacket, caressing me and lighting me up with need. Languid, we floated on a subzero cloud, fully immersed in the other. We were a little drunk, but more consumed by our connection.

Cameron began a slow grind as we drunk-danced in the snow. Twisting my hips, I put on a little show as he watched my movements, and his grin let me know he liked what he was seeing.

One thing I knew without him saying was that Cameron loved to dance. I loved that about him. I loved that he was so confident and had a way of making me feel comfortable when I was out of my element.

We laughed as we stumbled a little in our footing, our bodies bouncing in rhythm. I pushed out my lips as I shimmied up to him, and he turned me around so my back was to his chest.

Party of two, we were getting down in the woods, dancing and giddy. I felt free, I felt important, and I felt loved.

That moment was one of the happiest of my life.

When the song ended, I moved to head toward the SUV, but he pulled me back to him.

“One more dance,” he said as “Hand Me Down” by Matchbox Twenty filtered through the speakers. Cameron began to sing to me, his vodka-laced breath covering my neck, the words of the song touching me deeply.