Page 107 of My Fake Dating with the Grumpiest Highlander
I turn beneath his arm.
He catches me.
A little too firmly.
I end up pressed against him, his other hand instinctively sliding against my back to steady me.
Our faces are inches apart.
The music continues, but neither of us moves anymore.
“We should... keep going,” I whisper.
“Yeah,” he says softly.
But he still doesn’t let go.
His gaze drops to my lips before lifting back to my eyes.
My heart pounds so hard I’m certain he can hear it.
Slowly, the space between us shrinks...
A sharp bleat shatters the moment.
Hamish.
The sheep has planted himself directly between us, separating us with the efficiency of a Victorian chaperone.
“Is he serious?” Finn blurts out incredulously.
“Apparently Hamish has principles.”
The sheep stares at both of us, bleats authoritatively once, then calmly returns to sit beside Rosita.
I step back quickly, adjusting my hair even though it isn’t messy, vaguely noticing Ragnar has disappeared somewhere along the way.
I clear my throat.
“We should... keep practicing. The dance. Just the dance.”
“Yeah. Let’s continue.”
We resume our positions, but something has changed.
The air between us crackles with electricity.
Every time our hands brush, every time his arm grazes mine, the tension grows stronger.
The sheep remain there as attentive spectators.
Well... mostly.
Eventually Hamish and Rosita fall asleep together in the corner of the room.
Finally, breathless, we stop.
“You’re doing much better,” I tell him.
