The music pulsed around you, filling the room with heavy bass beats, and you were perfectly happy staying right where you were—on the sidelines. Crowds and parties weren’t exactly your thing, and Simon knew it. But tonight, he had other plans.

“C’mon, don’t be a stick in the mud,” he smirked, his hand extended toward you.

You rolled your eyes. “Simon, you know I don’t dance.”

“Right,” he said with a raised eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. “But you’re going to tonight.”

“I’m fine right here.” You crossed your arms, standing your ground. The last thing you wanted was to become the center of attention.

Simon just chuckled, grabbing your hand before you could protest further. “Too late,” he said, already pulling you toward the dance floor, his grin widening when he saw your irritation.

You dug your heels in, barely moving an inch. “Simon, seriously. Just go dance with someone else. You’re the one who likes this stuff, not me.”

“That’s exactly why it has to be you,” he insisted, getting closer, his voice low and laced with challenge. “Can’t have my date sitting alone while I’m out here having all the fun.”

His insistence was starting to attract a few glances. Some people whispered to each other, clearly surprised—Simon wasn’t known for being particularly touchy-feely with anyone. Finally, you huffed, giving in with a glare.

“If you tell anyone about this—”

“Sure, sweetheart,” he interrupted, laughing, pulling you into him as the beat slowed down.