Gemotions

A bead of sweat trickled down Marcus’s temple as he saw Chloe across the dance floor. The band was belting out a song that had been “their song,” and every lyric now felt like a personal insult. He forced a smile for the bride and groom, who were beaming nearby, but inwardly, he was calculating.

He maneuvered through the dancers, his shoulders bumping, not apologizing. He needed to be closer. He needed to *know*. He reached the edge of the dance floor, close enough to hear her laughter, and the way her date's hand rested on her lower back. It was a physical ache, a craving.

He swigged from his drink, barely tasting the cheap wine. He felt a sharp pang of envy, a burning desire to replace that hand. He focused on the dessert table, stacked high with chocolate fountains and miniature cheesecakes. He knew he'd take far too many.