I suppose I was so focused on helping Indigo that I forgot how many hands I needed to shake tonight. Other types of touch don’t bother me, but handshakes do. It’s because people never wash their hands. Men, in particular. They pee, zip up their fly, and walk out of the bathroom.

Other than that, I’m actually having a good time. Indigo’s presence consumes me, and every time she shifts, my gaze is drawn to her, making me forget what I’m saying to people mid-conversation.

You’d think I’m in love with her by the way we interact, by how my hand lingers on the small of her back, by how she leans into me without realizing it.

She’s charming and if I didn’t know any better, I’d say she’s enjoying her time here. But I do know better. And I do notice things that others seem to ignore, or they simply don’t care to look for. Like now, when her hand is trembling slightly as she sips from her drink.

In front of us is a tall man who introduced himself as Leo Twitcher, a guy who was her date a while ago. Every time he speaks, I can feel her body stiffen under my touch.

“Could you excuse us for a moment?” Leo pins me with his gaze, a gaze that was on Indigo just seconds ago. “We’re in the middle of a conversation.” He gestures with his hand to Indigo and then himself.

I’ve never wanted to punch someone more than I want to punch this guy. He has this look on his face that says I’m full of shit and I love to make a show out of everything.

Indigo looks pissed, her face turning a dark shade of red.

“I’m sorry, but we have to go,” I say. “It was really nice to meet you, Leo.” I grab her hand and lead her to the dance floor.

Her eyes widen, but she doesn’t complain. I nod, encouraging her to just trust me with this one. She sighs, placing her hands on my shoulders, and I place mine on her back. We’re the only ones dancing.

“I don’t like to dance,” she hisses.

I chuckle, knowing how much I hate it myself. “We can go back to chatting with Leonardo Di Caprio if you want,” I joke and she instantly stiffens. “That’s what I thought.”

“He was the worst,” she admits, a disgusted look on her face, “but we can’t dance all night to avoid everyone.”

I shrug, “Why not?”

“Because these shoes are already slicing my toes open.” Indigo stops for a second, shaking one leg and then the other.

“Then take them off.”