⋅•⋅⊰∙∘⋆✼♡✽⋆∘∙⊱⋅•
The moment I said those words,
"Dance with me, sir. Just one dance. Please."
It felt like the universe decided it was done with the loud bass and flashing lights. Almost as if the DJ was eavesdropping on my awkward request, the music faded out mid-drop, transitioning into a smoother, slower R&B jam that enveloped the room like cozy honey.
The wild movements of the crowd shifted into swaying motions; couples and hook-up pairs drew closer, hips rotating lazily, hands gliding over backs and necks.
The lights softened to an amber hue, creating a sudden sense of intimacy, as if the club was giving us a moment to catch our breath before the next craziness kicked back in.
Mr. Fairchild paused. I noticed it, the slight freeze in his stance, the way his jaw clenched, and how his grey eyes glanced down at my fingers still holding onto his. For a flicker of a second, I thought he might pull away, retreating back into that cool, professional persona he wore like armor.
