The Dance (24 page)

He hesitated for a brief moment. “A business appointment. We don’t live in a nine-to-five world anymore, you know.”

I chose not to think about what “business appointment” was code for.

“Do you mind if I make a quick stop?”

“I’m kind of at your mercy.”

“This won’t take long,” I said, pulling up to the fast food speaker.” I rolled down my window. “Do you want anything?”

“No thanks.”

Leaning out, I placed my order. “I’ll have a double cheeseburger, biggie fries, a small Frosty, and a medium Diet Pepsi, please.”

A garbled voice blared from the speaker. “I have a double cheeseburger, biggie fries, a medium Frosty, and regular Pepsi.”

“No, a small Frosty and a medium Diet Pepsi.” I turned toward Hart and smiled. “It’s all about balance.”

He chuckled. “Absolutely. That Diet Pepsi should really offset the rest of that junk.”

“I don’t eat like this often.”

His gaze took its time roaming down my body and back up. “I can see that.”

A little tickle and tingle in the downtown area caused me to shift in my seat.

After a few minutes the big bag of food followed by my drink and Frosty came through the window. I placed the bag between us, the cups in the cup holder, and drove off.

Burger, cheese, and grease vapors filled the car, making my stomach growl louder and my mouth water.

“Hey, do me a solid. Stick the spoon in the Frosty and hand it to me.”

Hart unwrapped the spoon, but before handing it over he loaded it with the cold chocolatey goodness then plunged it into his mouth.

Bold. Aggressive. Shocking. And I liked how comfortable and familiar it felt.

“By all means help yourself.” I teased.

He handed me the cup. “I usually do.”

Two more turns and we were pulling into a nice older neighborhood in the Mount Pleasant area. Hart directed me to a white ranch-style house with black shutters and a large front porch. He let me help put the wheelchair together and walk him to the door. As I headed up the three steps, Hart went around to the side in order to use the small ramp that led up to the porch. I held the storm door open while he slid his key in the lock. We were quickly becoming a good team.

As soon as the front door swung wide a blur of yellow fur came bounding out onto the porch.

“Hey, girl! I missed you too.”

Holding out his hands, the beautiful yellow lab pranced back and forth underneath them, wagging her long tail at lightning speed. Her nails sounded like little firecrackers, clicking and clacking over the wooden slats.

“Sit,” Hart commanded.

Without hesitation the dog sat dutifully by his side.

“Bryson, this is Butter. Butter, Bryson.”

The fact that Hart named his dog Butter and I loved cooking with
butter
was the ultimate kismet.

Squatting down I scratched behind two big ears.

With my lips puckered, I said in a squeaky voice, “What a beauty. Yes you are. You know how gorgeous you are, don’t you?”

Butter leaned her head into my scratch, letting her eyes close in pure unadulterated ecstasy.

“I think you’ve made a new friend.”

“Every girl likes a little ear scratchin’ now and then.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

I heard the smile in his tone.

“Okay, Butter, you’ve been spoiled enough for one night. Inside.”

Big warm caramel-colored eyes looked up at Hart, begging him to let the scratching continue.

“Inside, girl. Now,” he said firmly.

Butter’s swishing tail bolted off the porch and bounced inside.

Closing the storm door, Hart’s attention turned back on me. “Thank you for the ride.”

“No problem. I’m glad I was at the right place at the right time.”

“Me too.” We locked eyes again. This was becoming a habit. “How’s . . . um . . . Will, right?”

“He’s fine.”

“Is his therapy going well?”

“Oh yeah. The therapy is doing the trick.”

I wasn’t sure if Hart had already figured out that Will and I were married. At the very least I was sure he knew we were together. I mean, why else would I be showing up at the rehab every day. Even though I’d promised Will I wouldn’t tell anyone about our break up just yet, I felt the need to clarify my situation to Hart for some reason. Other than confiding in Sophie, I’d kept my word. But I wanted Hart to know that my relationship with Will wasn’t what it looked like.

“Hart, about me and Will . . . we’re not . . .”

Suddenly, the click, click, click of heels on the steps echoed behind me. A mane of fire engine red hair whooshed past me and toward Hart. With her hooker heels she stood a good foot taller than me. The skinny jeans painted on the larger than life ass and the fuchsia crop top left nothing to the imagination.

“Hey, baby.” She purred as her black painted fingernails combed through Hart’s blond locks.

I do not like her.

“Hey, Amber,” he said hesitantly, removing her hand from his hair.

She turned, giving me the once over. “Hey, I’m Amber.”

My muscles tensed and my eyes narrowed. I struggled to keep my hands from forming into fists. This chick had sex written all over her . . . in neon . . . with a spotlight. She reminded me of the type of women Will gravitated toward online. My shoulders slumped forward with the weight of disappointment. If Amber was a prime example of what men were attracted to, I was doomed to spend the rest of my life alone.

Let the cat collecting commence.

I had no right to feel jealous or let down. It was just . . . whenever Hart and I were together, I felt special. Even though the time was brief, those moments brightened the rest of my day. It was like all of his focus and energies were solely on me and I ate it up. I’d been starving so long for attention and affection. But I didn’t realize how hungry I was until the few morsels Hart had fed me were threatened.

My introduction reflected my sullen mood change. “I’m Bryson.”

Amber nodded, a slow approving smile creeping over her inflated red lips. “Nice.” Keeping her eyes on me, she asked Hart, “Is sweet Bryson joining us tonight?”

“No! She was just leaving,” Hart blurted out. “Amber, go inside.” The tone in his voice was the same as when he gave his dog commands.

Amber huffed then tossed me a wink before disappearing into the house.

My arms crossed, complementing my arched eyebrow. “A business meeting?”

“A business meeting.”

“Huh.”

I wanted Hart to give some sign that he’d rather stay out on the porch with me than go in and conduct business with Amber. But it quickly became awkward and obvious that I was the third wheel that needed to go.

Avoiding direct eye contact, I said, “I guess I better leave so you can get down to business.”

“Thanks again for the ride.”

Not wanting to leave on a down note, I made an attempt at a joke. “Oh, you’re talking to me. I thought you were giving Amber a little pat on the back.”

A flash flood of heat washed over my entire body. I knew as word number three was flying out of my mouth I needed to stop. But it appeared that whenever I was around Hart my mind and body worked independently of each other.

“Bryson, are you okay?”

I looked up and was met by a serious expression. Hart didn’t seem mad, but genuinely concerned at my snotty childish outburst regarding Amber.

“Sorry . . . I shouldn’t have said . . . It was my lame stab at a joke.” I took a step back. “You’re welcome.” I took another step back, waving my hand in the air. “Have fun with all dat biz-nass.”

I turned and rushed down the steps.

“Bryson.” His deep tone hit my ears.

My entire body whipped around. “Yeah?”

“You’re even lovelier than you were back in school.” He treated me to a new smile, a sweet smile, before heading into the house.

Standing at the bottom of the steps, I stared at the door for several seconds. There was no point. Hart wasn’t going to make a sudden change in plans and come back out.

I was almost at my car when the booming bass of Flo Rida’s “GDFR” song rumbled from the house. My head was already in mid-twist as my inner Peeping Tom surfaced. The front curtain-covered window filled with the silhouette of Amber seductively swaying her hips while her hands lifted up her flaming mane of hair.

Doesn’t anyone use blinds anymore?

I froze in place, my gaze following the path of her hands as they made their way down her body. Her fingers hooked around the top of her crop top and slowly peeled it away from her large chest. The hips stayed in perpetual motion while her hair whipped from side to side. She continued enjoying the feel of her own body, paying extra attention to her nippular area.

The outline of Hart came into view. The Frosty from earlier bubbled and churned in my stomach. I needed to leave. I’d seen too much already. But my legs were currently ignoring my commands, forcing me to watch Hart pull Amber toward him and bury his face deep between her tits.

“Are you lost, dear?”

A gasp of epic proportion shot out of me. The small crackly voice had me jumping twenty miles out of my skin. Turning around, I was met by a gray-haired little lady, holding a cane in one hand and a leash in the other. At the end of the leash was a tiny white puff.

“Are you okay? Your face is bright red. Do you have a fever?” Concern was evident in her tone.

As inconspicuously as possible, I side stepped away from the peepshow, trying to distract the little lady’s sweet brown eyes. “Oh . . . uh . . . yeah. I’m fine. I was just heading home.”

“You’re a friend of Hart’s?”

My gaze darted between the window display and the old lady. “Yes, ma’am. We actually went to high school together.”

“That’s nice. He’s such a sweet boy. Always checks on me. He brings me fried chicken from work every time they fix it for dinner.” The old lady closed her eyes and puckered her lips as if she had just taken a delicious bite of the fried bird. “Oooh . . . they make the best buttermilk fried chicken. Have you had it?”

I shook my head.

“Hart piles so much on my plate that I have enough for the entire week. I’m Polly by the way. What’s your name, hun?”

“Bryson.” I smiled and relaxed a little, realizing she wasn’t able to hear the booming music.

“What a lovely name. It’s nice to meet you, Bryson.”

“Nice to meet you too.”

“I’m sure I’ll be seeing more of you. Maybe you could come for fried chicken next time.”

“That would be great.”

Looking down at the white puff, she said, “Come on, Honeybun. Time for bed.”

A pair of beady black eyes poked out from behind the fur and looked up at Polly. “Goodnight, Bryson.”

“Goodnight,” I called after her as she waddled off down the sidewalk.

I watched the little old lady and Honeybun head into the house right next door to Hart’s. Forcing my gaze to stay straight ahead, I got into my car. My eyes had been tainted enough for one night. Besides, as I drove home I preferred to fill my head with thoughts of the Hart who brought his elderly neighbor fried chicken rather than the Hart who was banging Slutty McMasterson.

About a mile down the road the fried chicken flew the coup and my thoughts drifted back to the old bump and grind. I gripped the steering wheel tighter with one hand while the other hand shoved fries in my mouth. Hart and Amber didn’t even look as if they had anything in common. Not that I had an idea of what either of their interests were or hobbies . . . nor did I care . . . nor was it any of my business.

As I pulled into my driveway, it occurred to me that I was working a little too hard at trying to convince myself how much I didn’t care about the Hart and Amber show. More than likely it was just the newness of the subject matter. For months all of my thoughts and energies had been concentrated on my failed marriage. My mind just needed a little break. A simple diversion. Everyone needs a little mindless fluff now and again to break up the pain in life.