Gemotions

The champagne flute in Maya's hand practically vibrated. She'd been weaving through the crowd, a blur of laughter and effortless grace, all night. The music pulsed in her chest, a physical thing that made her want to leap. She saw him across the room, leaning against a pillar, a rueful smile playing on his lips. Without thinking, she began to walk toward him.

"Well, well, well," she said, her voice bright and buoyant. "Look who decided to grace us with their presence."

His eyes widened, and he straightened, a tiny flicker of surprise crossing his face. Maya didn't give him a chance to speak, launching into a story about a particularly ridiculous bridesmaid and her insistence on a conga line.