Betty’s POV
The bass from the party vibrated through the house, loud enough that I could feel it in my chest. I leaned against the kitchen counter, swirling the drink in my hand without taking a sip. It was sickly sweet, and honestly, I wasn’t even sure what was in it, but holding it gave me something to do.
Stacey had insisted I come. "One night of fun," she’d said, practically dragging me out the door. Now she was off somewhere, probably laughing and dancing like this was the highlight of her year, while I hovered in the kitchen like a ghost.
"Betty." His voice cut through the noise, and my stomach dropped. He was striding toward me with his stupid confident smirk and two drinks in hand. Of course.
"What do you want, Marcus?"
"I’m bored," he said, handing me one of the drinks without asking if I wanted it.
"First—am I supposed to fix that now? Second—are you blind?" I shook my glass before his eyes.
He chuckled, “Right,” and put the glasses onto the counter. "Dance with me," he said and honestly caught me off guard. I didn’t show that, though..
"I don’t dance."
"Good thing I don’t take no for an answer," he grabbed my hand before I could react.
"Marcus—" I started, but he was already pulling me through the crowd.
I stumbled after him, too surprised to protest properly as he navigated us toward a quieter hallway. The music was still loud, but the pounding bass was muffled here, and the lighting was softer, casting faint shadows on the walls.
As soon as we stopped, I yanked my hand back, glaring at him. "I told you, I don’t dance."
"Then don’t think of it as dancing. Think of it as you letting me be charming."
I crossed my arms. "That’s not how this works."
Before I could say anything else, he spun me. I barely had time to register the movement before I ended up against his chest, his other hand settling lightly on my waist.
"See?" he said, his voice low and full of amusement. "Not so bad."
I stiffened, my hands hovering awkwardly near his shoulders. "I hate you," I muttered, though even I could hear how weak it sounded.
"You don’t.".
"Marcus, I’m serious."
"So am I." he said, his grip firm as he guided me into the rhythm of the music. "Relax, Betty. It’s just me."
Just him. As if that explained the way my heart was pounding or the way my skin burned where his hand rested against my waist. I swallowed hard, trying to steady my breathing, but the closeness of him was making it impossible to think clearly.
"You’re dangerous," I whispered, the words slipping out before I could stop them.
Marcus smirked. "And you like it.".
My breath caught, and for a moment, it felt like the entire world had narrowed down to just him, just us.
The crowd erupted into cheers, the sudden burst of noise breaking the spell between us. Marcus stepped back, his hand slipping from my waist, though the warmth of his touch lingered.
"Think about that next time you tell me no," he said, before taking my hand gently to kiss it.
I froze, my heart raced as I tried to collect myself. What is he doing to me?