“I don't know. I'll figure it out. It'll just be weird for a bit is all.” Glancing up at the house, I look to see if they're coming back, but they're not. “I'm happy for them too, everyone deserves to find someone who makes them happy.”
“Are you trying to convince me or yourself?”
“What?” I ask.
“Nothing,” he says, shaking his head. “You want to dance?”
I don't have a chance to answer before Mark grabs my hand and pulls me to the dance floor. The small stage is built with pallets and plywood. The surface is laminate tiles that look like wood, and there are strings of lights wrapping the beams overhead.
Mark takes my hand and holds it, placing my other hand on his shoulder. His thick fingers curl around my waist as he tugs me in closer. He starts to sway to the music, leading me in a circle.
“You ever listen to country in the city?” he asks, sweeping me elegantly around to the beat.
“No, not really. I went to a line dancing bar once with a few friends to check it out, but it wasn't really my thing.”
“That's because you need to know how to dance first, before trying that.”
Arching a brow, I smirk. “Are you saying I can't dance?”
“I'm not saying anything, your feet are.” He looks down. “You've stepped on me twice.”
Giggling, I smack his chest. “Hey,” I snap playfully.
Mark tightens his arm around my waist and dips me unexpectedly. “Lucky for you, I know what I'm doing.”
I can't stop from smiling as he holds me, letting me hover dangerously close to the floor, but I'm not scared that he's going to drop me. I can feel it in his touch, and see it in his eyes, he won't let me go.
In one quick move, I'm upright again, and we're moving across the floor. My hair falls over my face, and Mark brushes it away softly.
Maybe I'm drunker than I thought because I want to kiss him. My eyes keep dropping to his mouth, watching the small movement of his lips. There's a twitch at the corner, and his lips part slightly. The motions are so subtle, almost unnoticeable, but I can see them.
“So,” he says, slipping his fingers deeper around my lower back, “what do you do in the big city? Lawyer? Fashion? Model?”
“No, nothing like that. My parents are plastic surgeons, so of course, they wanted me to go to medical school. But I really have a love for art. Painting mostly.”
“That's cool. There's a guy in town who does artsy stuff. He carves things from these giant pieces of wood. Pretty intricate stuff. You should be an artist if you love it. Open a gallery or something.”
“Yeah, that probably won't happen. Art is my secret passion, no one knows because I'm supposed to be someone else. Follow in the grand path my parents lay out for me. You know how it is.”
“Actually, I don't.” He gives me a gentle smile. “I've always been a mechanic for as long as I can remember. Ever since I was kid, I would take things apart and put them back together. I think my parents are just happy I graduated high school. We never had much, so they never expected much.”
Thinning my lips, I feel awkward. It's easy to forget that most people don't live the way I do. They don't have every opportunity at their fingertips with only the pressure from their parents to accept what they're supposed to be.
“What do you like to paint?” he asks.
He's really curious?
Mark doesn't seem turned off by the fact my choices in life are mostly superficial. I don't have to worry about anything really. Money, a roof over my head, food, clothes, those things have never been an issue.
Ask and I shall receive. The word no doesn't exist in my world. A few phone calls from my parents and I can have anything I want.
“You really want to know?” I ask with a grin.
“I wouldn't ask if I didn't.”
“Landscapes. I love to paint landscapes.”
“Well you're in the right place then. The mountains around us are amazing. I know of a few spots that would probably blow your mind.”
“I'll have to send you one of the skyline paintings I've done. There's so much going on, I can literally walk a block or two and find something completely different. The people change, the buildings change, it's wild.”
Mark's eyes settle on mine, and I can't ignore the pull I feel. It feels like more than just an attraction. His hand around my waist makes my skin hot. The way he looks at me makes my stomach flip. His voice causes my hair to bristle and makes my heart pound. All of it feels too real.
Forcing myself to look away, I inhale a slow breath. I'm going home tomorrow. I'll probably never see this guy again. Whatever it is I think I'm feeling is just an effect from the wedding and too much wine. All the wine.