“You shouldn’t have assumed,” Dorsey said, looking down into his plastic flute and setting it on a nearby table like it was radioactive. He didn’t even want it, the asshole. A theory bubbled up out of her rage.

“There are two types of people in the world: those who Electric Slide, and those who don’t.” Dorsey let out a snort, but Liza continued. “People who shy away from communal activities are rarely to be trusted.”

David shook his head. “What if you just don’t know the dance?”

“That’s the thing about group dances—they’re remarkably forgiving for the uninitiated. Bumbling through the steps is part of the dance,” Liza asserted.

David laughed. “So those who don’t partake?”

“Either (A) have an overinflated ego that makes them afraid of looking silly, or (B) hold the other parties in disdain,” Liza said, not taking her eyes off Dorsey.

“What a ridiculous way to divide the world.” Dorsey’s dark eyes pinned her as he finally took Liza’s bait. The inky orbs brought intensity to the smallest of his affectations. He had the kind of self-important face Liza could never imagine blowing out birthday candles or wearing a tiny green Saint Paddy’s Day hat. In the ballroom’s light, she could see now that she had made a grievous mistake confusing him with the waitstaff. That suit was not a rental, for one. His mannerisms were too cool, his speech too crisp.

Dorsey shook his head. “If someone does not want to dance, then maybe that’s just the entire story. You don’t have to invent some ego crisis.”

“Look around, Mr. Man Bun. This is a dance party. Anyone here not dancing is here on nefarious business, in which case my earlier statement—part B—still stands.” She put her hand on her hip—an old trick of her mother’s when she needed to take up more space.

“So we’ve both made fun of each other’s hair. Let’s call it even.” He patted his head, and a flush of pink spread across his cheeks.

“Even? For you, a man with that much power, to punch down? We will never be even.”

Dorsey’s eyes tightened around the corners. He turned to David. “Why don’t you go find that pretty little lady you were dancing with”—Dorsey’s gaze slipped back to hers—“and I’ll finish up with this one?” He guided David’s confused face away.