Why We Fight (At First Sight 4)

He… still couldn’t dance. Like, at all. I’d seen a couple of his moves at Phoenix House and again at Jack It, and the best thing that I could say was that he looked like he was auditioning for the lead role in a movie about a college professor/leather zaddy who was in the throes of having the demon within him exorcised.

I was completely and utterly gone on him.

Especially when I could see him frowning in concentration with each of the choreographed moves, mouthing along with the words as he tried to keep up with everyone else. And it was while he was mouthing about being addicted to me, but he knew I was toxic, that I realized this probably wasn’t the most romantic song in the entire world.

But fuck, I didn’t give a shit.

I laughed until I had tears in my eyes when he moved forward, throwing his hands in the air as everyone gathered behind him, dancing toward me. I could barely breathe when they all started snapping.

And then I couldn’t breathe for other reasons.

Because as the song came to an end, Jeremy was panting heavily, sweat dripping from his brow. But that didn’t stop him from marching up to me.

And because I was a human train wreck, I blurted. “Are you fucking proposing to me? Because as sweet as that is, I really think we need to date first—”

His eyes bulged. “Proposing? No, I’m not proposing! What the hell! Why would you even—”

“Oh, don’t you start with me! I’m not the one who just performed in a fucking flash mob—”

“And so that automatically means a proposal—”

“I don’t know! I don’t know what the hell is going on! You’re the one—”

“Jesus Christ, you think I would—”

“Then what are you doing? Because it looks like—”

“I’m fucking trying to tell you that I love you!” he shouted.

Have you ever been standing in the middle of a Pride parade after having just witnessed a flash mob dancing to Britney Spears and then a man in leather tells you he loves you for the first time?

Me neither.

So I sniffed and said, “Oh. That makes more sense than the proposal thing.”

He rolled his eyes. “Yeah. Probably.”

“Song choice could use some work. You know. Since you meant certain overtures.”

“That was all Paul. Any other critiques you’d like to give?”

“Ah, no.” I squinted at him. “So. You love me, huh?”

“I might be starting to question that right now,” he threatened.

“Well. Don’t.”

He took a step toward me. “No?”

I shook my head. “No.” My throat felt tight, but I pushed through it. “I don’t want you to question that. Ever.”

“Yeah?” he said, and he was right in front of me. “Why is that?”

And the reason we fight for all we believe in was for a moment like this: when I could stand in the middle of a street, surrounded by friends and family and strangers alike, and say to the dork in front of me, “Because I love you too.”

I felt his smile more than I saw it, because I was being kissed within an inch of my life. It was hot and wet, mostly because he was sweating profusely, but I didn’t care. He wrapped his arms around my waist and lifted me up. And as my feet left the ground, as I kissed him with everything I had, the crowd exploding around us, I thought that maybe the future wasn’t so scary after all.

“YOU’RE SO fucking stupid,” I gasped as he shoved me against the front door of his house and attacked my neck. “Like, you have no idea.”