The Dance (2 page)

His gaze dropped to my strapless cream-colored dress. The wisps of hair on the back of my neck bristled. Neither of us said a word. We just stood motionless for . . .

One Mississippi.

My pulse pumped.

Two Mississippi.

My breath stuck.

Three Mississippi.

My head swam.

Four Mississippi.

My fingers tingled.

Five Mississippi.

My knees wobbled.

I needed to look away, take a breather, and focus on something neutral. I lowered my gaze to his smirking lips.

Those weren’t neutral.

They were pale pink, plump, and looked really soft like pillows.

I widened my gaze taking in the mixture of light and dark blond scruff peppering his strong jaw and circling around his mouth, accented on either side by perfectly symmetrical deep dimples. My body was having some weird chemical reaction to Hart being this close and looking this intensely at me. I wasn’t a big fan of having my personal space invaded by a guy I barely knew no matter how hot he was.

Trying to play it cool and not give in to the wobble in my legs, I slapped my palm against the glass wall to steady myself. Once adequately braced, I took further inventory of Mr. Mitchell.

His hair was long. Not Jesus long but longer than the other boys at school who either sported buzz cuts or overly product styles. Hart’s dirty blond locks hit him mid neck, were parted slightly right of center, and tucked behind his ears. The oversized blue and gray plaid shirt he wore made it difficult to see any definition in the chest region but his shoulders were broad. Half of the shirt was tucked into his gravity-defying baggy jeans that hung from his narrow hips.

The corners of my mouth slightly drifted up when I saw the ugly generic black tie draped loosely around his neck. Mrs. Demarco, the algebra teacher, must have gotten to him. She was tonight’s fashion police. She monitored each student like a boss. Within a few minutes of arriving, I’d seen her enforce her power. She sent Janice Price and Emma Sloan home for showing too much cleavage. And she had Ricky Bogart scrounging in the bag of ugly ties to go with the equally ugly jacket she made him wear. I wondered if Hart charmed his way out of the jacket.

Leaning one shoulder against the glass wall, his legs crossed at the ankles, he tapped the toe of his tennis shoe on the shiny marble floor and kept staring at me. Since it didn’t appear that he was going to start the conversation I took it upon myself to get the ball rolling.

“Hi.” The word gushed out of me all breathy like a loud sigh.

Get hold of yourself, Bryson.

His gaze lingered for two Mississippis, before replying, “Hi.”

Prickling heat spread over my skin while I waited, hoping he would elaborate. But he just stared and continued to grin. The sensation of a cotton field sprouting in my mouth took over. It was ironic that I was standing in front of a giant tank of water becoming dangerously dehydrated.

Beads of sweat began popping up along my neck.

If I could lick my own neck . . .

Delirium was beginning to set in.

I cleared my throat, hocking up just enough spit to moisten my dry lips. “I’m Bryson Walker.”

“I know who you are.”

Of course he knew who I was, just like I knew who he was. I mean, we’d been in classes together for the last year. But this was the closest we’d ever been to each other and the first time we’d spoken.

I couldn’t figure out what his deal was. After all, he was the one who’d interrupted my alone time with Nemo.

Keeping my palm firmly planted on the wall, I leaned forward, cocked my head to the side, and raised my eyebrows. “Sooo . . .?”

“Sooo what?” He returned.

I straightened. “What can I do for you?”

The tip of his tongue slid out and rolled over his bottom lip before disappearing from view. “Do you really want me to answer that question?”

“You’re very inappropriate.”

“You have no idea.”

“I mean you show up out of nowhere with your . . . tallness. And decide to clam up.”

He leaned back against the wall, reached into his shirt pocket, and pulled out a pack of cigarettes.

Tapping the pack into his palm, he chuckled. “Clam up. Clever. Keeping with the whole sea theme of the night.”

“Thank you. I’m quite quick-witted.” The tugging at the corners of my mouth caused my serious expression to crumble instantly.

“Obviously.” He winked at the same time a cigarette fell from the pack.

I stared as he lifted the cigarette to his mouth. I knew I should have stopped him the second I saw the pack come out of his pocket. I was on the prom committee. It was my responsibility to uphold the rules. Not to mention that smoking was a horrible, nasty, cancer bomb waiting to explode. But honestly, I wanted to see that cigarette slide between those pillow lips.

The click of the lighter brought me out of my thoughts. A tiny flame appeared and frantically flickered up toward the heavens. Just when the tip of the flame was about to meet its mate, my sense of responsibility kicked in.

“Hey, you better not light that. You’re not supposed to be smoking in here.”

“Who says?”

“I says . . . um . . . I mean, I say.”

Looking at me out the corner of his eye, Hart raised the lighter defiantly.

I touched his bicep and tugged.

He’s definitely got some bulging going on underneath that plaid.

Squaring my shoulders, I confidently said, “I’m serious. I’m not playing around with you. I’m on the prom committee.”

He flipped the top back on the lighter, dousing the flame. With the cigarette dangling from his lips, he leaned toward me. “I wasn’t aware you had the power. Would you like to frisk me?” His voice was deep and gravelly and made my body quiver.

“No.” I squeaked, offended.

“I’ll make a deal with you,” he said, backing away.

“What kind of deal?”

“I’ll slide my stick back in its package if you put those away.” His gaze dropped and stalled for a second before bouncing back up.

“What are you talking about?”

He took the cigarette from his mouth and stuck it in his shirt pocket. “Your nipples. They’ve been trying to escape since I walked up.”

I looked down in horror. My nipples were sticking out so far I couldn’t see the tips of my toes. Crisscrossing my arms, I slapped my palms over my high-beams.

“It’s c . . . old in here,” I stammered as heat flooded my cheeks.

“I’m hot.”

Yes he was.

Focused ahead, Hart said, “So you couldn’t get a date for tonight?”

“I have a date. My boyfriend is here.”

He scanned the empty alcove. “Wow! What have you been smoking?”

With my palms secured to my chest, I raised my elbows and gestured. “I don’t mean here,
here
. I mean
here
as in the building.”

“Huh.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Just huh.”

“Will and I are in a committed relationship.”

“Huh.”

“We don’t have to be together 24/7/365. We’re not joined at the hip.”

“Huh.”

“That’s what a mature adult relationship is you know.”

“Huh.”

“Stop already with the huhs!”

The faint sound of piano music trickled down the hall. I didn’t recognize the song. It must have been an oldie for all the chaperones to dance to.

Pushing off from the wall, Hart commanded, “Let’s dance.”

“Huh?”

He took a couple of steps and turned toward me. “Stop already with the huhs. You heard me.”

I chuckled. “Where do you get off telling me to dance with you?”

“You know you wanna. I can see it in your . . .”

Nipples. He’s going to say, your humungous pointy nipples.

. . . eyes.”

Aw, he didn’t mention my nipples. Sweet.

“I don’t think it’s a very good idea. Will, my very real boyfriend, will go ballistic the second he sees us walk into the ballroom.”

“Not in there.” Hart reached out his hand. “In here.”

I stared at his large outstretched hand waiting for mine. I didn’t know if it was Hart specifically or that I was getting attention from a new boy that was causing the tingles I was experiencing. Before Will there wasn’t exactly a line of guys banging down my door. I was cute by most standards with bright green eyes popping against tan skin and just the right amount of curves on my five-foot-six-inch frame. The thing was, high school boys didn’t want cute. They wanted big boobs and open legs. My boobs weren’t Megan Sim’s size but nice nonetheless. And my legs only opened and will only open for Will Forsyth.

But in this moment, I wanted to know what Hart’s hand felt like—warm, cold, soft, rough. I wanted to feel his skin on mine. Hart Mitchell was dangerous territory. The only thing I knew for sure about this guy was that he left me completely off balance. In the only ten minutes we had ever shared, I felt more excited and wanted than I had the entire night.

“What about your date? Where is she?” My voice was shaky.

“At the moment she’s standing in front of a fish tank not dancing with me.”

I glanced behind me and then back at Hart. He was referring to me. A crooked smile slowly crept across his face when he saw my green eyes light up with recognition. Looking back down at his still waiting hand, I felt fluttering butterflies from head to toe. Hart didn’t just want to dance. He wanted to dance with me.

I dropped my arms from around my chest and extended my hand. The touching of our fingertips sent chills ping-ponging to every part of my body.

I should not be chillin’ with this boy.

Hart’s hand covered mine as he led me to the center of the alcove. I placed my other hand on his upper arm, leaving adequate airspace between us.

His arm wrapped around my waist, pulling me to him. “Come closer.”

“Hart . . .”

“We don’t want you to have another outbreak of chilly nips.”

I giggled. “Yeah, because that happening twice in one night would really be embarrassing.”

The area was pitch black except for the bluish glow from the fish tank. No one knew I was in here . . . alone with a boy who was not Will . . . slow dancing. I relaxed, stepped in closer, and rested my cheek on Hart’s toned chest. As we swayed his chin pressed against my hair and a deep throaty hum filled my ears.

“You know this song?” I whispered.

“Tony Bennett, “The Way You Look Tonight”.

Closing my eyes, I got lost in the song, the sway, and the sensation of Hart.

One Mississippi.

Two Mississippi.

Three Mississippi.

“Bryson!” The loud shrill whisper of my best friend, Sophie, cut through the air.

I jumped out of Hart’s arms and shook the dreaminess from my head. Once cleared, I looked up and saw disappointment in his smoky gray eyes.

“Sophie, I’m in here,” I said, pulling my gaze away from him.

A mane of jet black curls appeared as Sophie marched toward me, her bright blue eyes full of panic.

“Thank god I found you.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Will, he’s had too much to drink.” She tugged at my arm.

“I’ll be there in a second.”

Sophie eyed Hart up and down suspiciously.

Swinging her gaze between the two of us, she said, “He’s asking for you.”

“I said I’ll be there in a second.”

“Okay but hurry up. I’ll wait for you in the hallway.” Sophie cut her eyes one last time in Hart’s direction before leaving.

I nervously chewed on my lower lip. “Sorry, I have to go.”

But I don’t want to.

Nodding, he said in a low voice, “It’s okay.” I turned to leave when his words stopped me. “Bryson . . .” The sound of his raspy voice wrapped around my name caused my insides to flutter. “You’re lovely.”

My chest caved as all the air rushed from my lungs. “And you’re unexpected.”

I couldn’t tear my gaze away. There was something about this mysterious bad boy using that old-fashioned term that touched my heart. Will admired when I wore my tight pair of jeans or my string bikini. But a lot of times it felt as if he liked the tightness and the skimpiness of the clothing more than the fact that I was in it. Hart didn’t say I looked lovely. He said I was lovely.

Sophie’s head poked back in as she whispered, “Bryson! Come on! Projectile vomiting is happening.”

Keeping my eyes on Hart, I took a deep breath, and stepped backward until I was forced to turn away.

The talk at school on Monday was all about the prom—who wore whom, who got drunk, and who hooked up. I was a bundle of nerves as I headed toward English class. It would be the first time I’d seen Hart since our dance. I thought about our moment the rest of the weekend. I even elaborated on it, imagining what today would be like.