Not Your Fault (11 page)

The next song begins and it’s a fast-paced hip-hop track that requires lots of booty shaking and hip thrusts. Booty shaking is my absolute favorite thing in this class and this is one of my favorite songs. I begin side lunges to the rhythm all while trying not to look at Kris in the mirror. I’m a total failure though because I look at him. And he is looking straight at me while he makes a perfectly executed side lunge.

I take in a sharp breath, hoping no one notices the trembling in my fingers and the pounding of my heart against my chest. My mind goes haywire—all my thoughts are static and fuzzy and somehow painful at the same time. Embarrassment overwhelms me at the thought of Kris seeing me shake my ass seductively, but at the same time, my confidence has never been higher. I am not the lanky girl from high school anymore. I can be sexy. I am much sexier than that woman he dated a few months ago.

My body moves on its own, using muscle memory to complete the choreography since my mind is too preoccupied to focus on the dances. After the fourth song, we take a quick break for water. My legs are on fire and I cock my hip to the side as I wrap my mouth around my water bottle and suck long and hard. I swipe sweat off my forehead with the back of my hand, trailing my fingers down my neck and across the top of my push up sports bra, stopping at my cleavage. I do it all because Kris is watching me from the back of the classroom, and he hasn’t stopped watching me since he arrived.

At the end of the hour, my body is on fire. I’ve taught this class so many times I don’t typically get muscle soreness unless I’ve had a week off. But this time was different—all my moves had to be perfect because I was showing off like some kind of child, even if I don’t really want to admit that to myself. And now I’m paying for it. A few of my regulars meet me in the front of the classroom while everyone else files out of the room, wiping sweat off their faces in a beeline to the locker room. I drain my bottle of water and grab another one from my gym bag, twisting the cap off with a crack. There’s no time to drink water in a sexy way anymore…I’m too fucking exhausted for that nonsense.

“You were insane today,” Yolanda says, lifting her shirt to dab sweat off her face. The other woman, whose name I can never remember, opens her mouth and tries to say something but can’t get it out over trying to catch her breath.

I smile over the gulping of water, finally setting the bottle down when it’s half-empty. I’m about to thank her when a voice that isn’t out of breath joins in our conversation. “This girl is intense.”

I turn to find Kris stepping into our circle with a bottle of blue Gatorade in his hand. Yolanda’s smile turns friendly as she eyes Kris up and down before holding out her hand to shake his. “It’s not every day we get a new man in the class. I’m Yolanda.”

He shakes her hand and introduces himself simply as Kris. “That was one tough ass workout. I don’t think men’s hips are built to move that way.”

The two women next to me smile and swoon and talk stupidly, fawning over him as if he’s a new piece of meat that needs to be tenderized. Never mind that both of them are in relationships. Never mind that he’s
my
boss and
my
ex-boyfriend and, oh God, when did I become
jealous
over him?

I pack up my gym bag and throw the strap over my shoulder, since technically I have to work my shift now and shouldn’t be hanging out in the dance room. I should just walk out and head to the front desk and say hello to Susan and check the gym’s email account and all of the other things that my job requires. I should absolutely not stand here, silently comparing Yolanda’s ass to mine in the mirrors, wondering if Kris finds her more attractive than me, and all of the other dumb ass things that are going through my mind. I am not in high school anymore. I am not boy crazy. Especially not over this boy.

I am a fucking grown up, dammit.

So yeah, I know I need to walk out of here, but Yolanda’s heavy flirting and the fact that she’s now got her stupid hand on his arm as she tells him all about how she’s been wanting to become a certified dance teacher
too
does something to my subconscious that has me speaking before I even realize it.

“So, boss—” My voice is cheery and sweet. “What was that you said about me deserving a raise?”

Yolanda’s mouth falls open. “Boss? Are you the new owner?”

Kris nods and even feigns a little modesty even though I know he loves the attention. “Yes ma’am.”

I can almost see the dollar signs in her eyes. I half expect her to call her husband right now and request a divorce, then throw the phone to the floor and shove her tongue down Kris’s throat. I’m seething with jealousy, but I guess I can’t blame her because my tongue has been aching to do the same thing. Somehow, my mental mantra of
Pull yourself together, Delaney
finally works because I politely excuse myself and walk straight out of the dance room and to the front desk like a good employee who
so
does not like her boss.

The new pulled together Delaney lasts for about thirty-six seconds. I’m replying to a business email from our protein shake supplier when a sweat towel appears out of nowhere and covers my computer monitor. I plaster an annoyed look on my face, complete with an eye roll and sigh, and glance at the man behind my computer. His cocky grin sends a shiver down my spine.

“What ya doin?” Kris asks, removing the sweat towel and tossing it over his shoulder. He leans across the counter and quickly glances at the screen. “You better not be emailing your boyfriends while on the clock.”

I hold the annoyed expression and continue typing, although who knows if I’m actually typing real words anymore. “I don’t think you need to worry about that, unless the protein shake delivery guy is hot.”

“You mean Jerry?” he says. I’m not even looking at him and I can hear the smirk in his voice. “I met that guy. He’s old enough to be your dad.”

I shrug. “Even better.”

Kris’s arms stretch across the countertop until his fingers grab around the edge of it, just inches from where I stand on the inside of the front counter. He leans in on his elbows. “I didn’t know old and balding was your type.”

I meet his eyes now. “Nothing is sexier than old and balding.”

He laughs. “Oh how I’ve missed you these last two weeks.”

An unbelieving snort escapes my nose before my common sense can stop me. “Yeah right, Mister I’m Never at Work Even Though I Own the Place.”

His head cocks to the side. “Um, okay, Miss I Can’t Stand When My Boss Is Around.”

I fold my arms across my chest. “I’ve never said that.”

“You sure act like it.”

My brows knit together. I’m not sure if there’s a hidden meaning behind our banter—if our joking with each other is our way of admitting what we wish we could say, or if it’s just pointless chitchat between boss and employee. I could continue with the joke or say something honest, letting him know how I feel and risk the embarrassment of a lifetime if he doesn’t feel the same way. But something has to give because you can’t just make out in a public shower and then never speak of it again. Or can you?

Kris breaks the silence. “So I know I’m not nearly old enough or bald enough for you, but I’ve been thinking…”

My chest turns to ice in his split-second of hesitation. The realization of what he’s saying and the anticipation of what he’s about to say sends my heartbeat way past the fat-burning zone. My fingers are clammy on the keyboard and thank god I haven’t eaten anything in a while.

Kris’s voice shakes and his masculine face seems twenty years younger. “We should get together, outside of work sometime. And talk.”

“Talk?” My voice sounds dry and I swallow.

He rubs the back of his neck and all the cocky, arrogant masks he wears leave his face. “Yeah…like, talk and maybe get dinner or something?”

In this moment I know our jokes weren’t just jokes. Kris Payne feels what I feel. We can’t keep going on pretending we don’t have a past that isn’t resolved. The coldness in my chest melts into butterflies. It’s been thirteen days since make out day and this is my sign. I have to swallow again before I can find my voice to tell him yes.

Chapter 15

My hands shake as if I’ve drank the entire pot of coffee and not just the single cup that’s sitting still half-full in front of me. I try to focus on the book on my Kindle, but after reading the same paragraph three times and still not knowing what it says, I sigh and drop it to the bed. Kris is supposed to pick me up at six for our dinner and, whatever the hell else we’re supposed to do tonight. It’s 5:55 and I’ve been ready for an hour.

Cat sits at the foot of my bed, painting her toenails with a bottle of polish she found in my bathroom. “I bet you never in a million years would have imagined
Kris Payne
coming to
your
house to take you to dinner.” She caps the nail polish and wiggles her toes to admire her masterpiece. “I mean, it’s Kris Payne.” She says his name as if he were Jack the Ripper. “It’s crazy, huh?”

“Do you ever go home?” I snap, wondering why I haven’t already taken away her key to my house or at least installed some kind of deadbolt.

Her shoulders straighten in defiance. “Actually, I was at home all morning, planning your freaking birthday party so you can drop your little attitude.”

“You were
what
?” I ask. I’m turning twenty-eight this year, not thirty. There’s no reason to have a party, because twenty-eight isn’t some significant milestone.

She nods with this smug look on her face. “It was Mom’s idea. I’m helping her plan it. You’re gonna love it.”

“Ah,” I say, now that everything makes sense. If my mom wants to throw a party, it’s for her own benefit, not mine. Ever since she and Dad dropped fifty thousand dollars on their back yard oasis, she looks for any excuse she can find to invite her colleagues over to eat their heart out at her amazing life. I’m pretty sure her desire to be better than everyone else is the only reason she’s getting her PhD.

I count the days in my head. Only a few more days until my twenty-eighth birthday. I don’t ever think of the date as my birthday. I think of it as the date of Tyler’s death, in which case, it’ll be ten years since I lost my brother.

I check the time and pull my cell phone off the charger, shoving it into my purse. “I don’t think it’s appropriate to celebrate my birthday, since that day isn’t exactly a happy day.”

Cat shakes her head. “You’re the only one who thinks that. Everyone else knows that Tyler would have wanted you to celebrate being alive, even though he isn’t here to celebrate with you.”

I grab the nail polish bottle and put it back where it belongs in an attempt to take my mind off the uneasy pains now shooting through my heart at the memory of my brother. I know Cat has good intentions, but sometimes she should just shut the hell up.

When the doorbell rings, my legs suddenly forget how to be legs. The melodic chime echoes through my tiny house, paralyzing me where I stand, which is by the television only a few feet away from the door. My heart thunders under my ribcage and I can’t seem to move. All it would take is a few steps forward, one arm reach to the doorknob and another twist to get it open. But because of some sudden medical emergency, I can’t bring myself to do it.

Because Kris Payne is on the other side of that door.

Memories flood into the forefront of my mind, and suddenly I’m sixteen again, back in the foyer of my parent’s house. Kris stands on the other side of the door but he doesn’t stand there long because the moment I hear the doorbell, I’m dashing through the hallway and around the corner, practically slamming into the heavy wooden front door in my haste to see him. I throw open the door and leap into his arms, wrapping mine tightly around his neck where they belonged.

This happened every single day when Kris and I dated; the only differences being the clothes we wore or the weather outside. I used to love welcoming him into my house.

I’m still me, and he’s still him, but everything is different now.

“Oh, come
on
,” Cat says, walking straight up to the door. She grabs the handle and swings around to face me before opening the door. “You need to grow some balls, Delaney, because I won’t always be here to lend you mine.”

Kris looks up when the door opens and I don’t miss how his hand hovers over his pocket, slipping his phone in there right before he smiles and says hello to my sister. I guess he’s already anticipating how boring this dinner will be and is scheduling an alarm to go off in an hour in case he needs an excuse to bail out early. Not that bailing is something he has difficulty doing, or anything.

Ugh. I can’t believe I just thought that.

“Hey,” I say in reply to his hello. My sister and I stand in the foyer while he stands on the welcome mat for about ten seconds, which is ten seconds of ridiculously awkward silence.

Finally, Kris nods to Cat. “Hey, Catherin. How have you been?”

“Every day that I haven’t succumbed to quitting my job and being a couch potato is a success for me,” she says. Kris nods as if he understands. He probably doesn’t.

“Would you like to come with us?” Kris asks, and it even sounds genuine, despite the fact that I’m chanting
no no no
in my mind. “We’re having dinner on the island tonight.”

Sterling Island is a small city just off the coast of Texas, known for his historical architecture and ridiculously good restaurants. Cat loves eating on the island. I hold my breath, waiting for her answer.

“Thanks, but I’m busy tonight. I have a date with my ex-boyfriend,” Cat says, lying through her teeth. She flashes us a smile as she runs a hand through her auburn hair. “Turns out he got really hot after we broke up, so, I’m gonna give him another chance.”

She winks at me as she turns to leave, chuckling to herself when she sees my deer-caught-in-the-headlights look. If there’s one thing Cat loves doing, it’s fucking with me.

The scent of soft leather seats and chemical-infused new car smell engulfs me as I climb into Kris’s brand new truck. He doesn’t hold open the door for me the way he used to in high school, but I definitely didn’t expect him to do that tonight. I’m not even sure he and I are at the point of chivalry yet. Slightly past the line of boss and employee, yes, but not quite to romance or good old fashioned southern hospitality.