“You’ll have to let me direct your scenes,” I say.

Reid nods. “I will. Maybe. Hey, Nat?”

“Yeah?” I ask. What now?

“You look really pretty tonight.”

I hate how those words—Reid’s words—suddenly have the ability to speed my heart.

“Sucking up to your director already? Bold move.”

Reid’s laugh helps my heart return to a normal rate. We dance to the rest of the slow song, Reid and me, and I keep wondering when the dynamics between us will stop changing. It used to be so clear. Reid’s always in my space, finding ways to compete, sharing things with my dad I probably never will. Reid pranks me, I prank back, Reid challenges me, I challenge back.

Problem-solving with Reid is weird because Reid has always been the problem. It throws our entire trajectory out of orbit. It makes me admit to myself how cute he looks in his suit. How cool he was telling Toby Daniels to get out of our show. Everything is confusing, and I can’t put us in a box right now and it’s the worst because who is Reid Callahan to me if he’s not my problem?

Right now we’re so close I can smell the lingering scent of his cologne. So close I can see the tiny freckle under his eye. So close I could stand on my toes and my mouth would press against his and I would change everything about us. I almost want to.

Luckily, the song ends. The moment is over, and we’re supposed to break apart.

We don’t.

Not right away, anyway.

When we do, Reid lets go first.

My face is hot, the idea of Reid’s mouth on mine lingering. What the—?

Blame the Suit Butt.

“Are you around tomorrow?” Reid asks.

I swallow. “Yeah.”

“I’m recording my submission at your house.”

I nod, because this is not exactly news.

“Could you let me know what you think of my piece? Honestly?” Reid asks.

I scrunch my nose, confused. “Why?”

“You’re still a musician, Nat. The Melted music is better for your notes.”

“But my dad should—”

“I want you.”

“Oh. Okay. I mean, yeah. Sure.” The way he says want sends me backward.

I need to walk away. Right now. So I make my move, going left through the dancing circle of Delia’s jumping friends. I emerge from the dance floor, hot, my feet burning, and I succumb to the inevitable fact that these heels must be removed immediately.

Back at the table, Molly gives me her most satisfied smirk.

Fitz and Sawyer wiggle their eyebrows in unison.

Henry shrugs like How ridiculous are they? and I exhale because we’re on the same page.