The Dance (44 page)

I love you.

I yanked the bottom of his shirt as high as I could before Hart’s hand stopped me.

His voice was low and husky. “It’s getting late.” I froze. “You need a good night’s sleep before your big day tomorrow.”

Rejection invaded my stomach, causing it to harden and feel hollow as I removed my lips from his skin.

I angled myself away from him, dropping my head. “Yeah, you’re right. I’ll head out after I clean up.”

I attempted to stand but Hart’s arm snaked around my waist, holding me in place.

“Bryson, look at me.” When I didn’t, he added. “Please.”

I blinked several times, pushing back the tears before gazing into his concerned eyes. “Sorry, I’m just nervous about tomorrow.”

Brushing the hair away from my face, he placed a soft kiss on my cheek. “You’re going to do great.”

“Thanks.”

“Go on home and get a good night’s sleep. I’ll clean up.”

I wondered why Hart was being so persistent with trying to get me to leave. The hollow feeling in my stomach moved to my chest as I gathered my things. I gave Butter one last pat on the head before going to the door.

“Good luck with tomorrow and call me. I want to know how things went,” he said, quickly glancing down at his watch.

“The place is closed on Mondays so all I’ll be doing is filling out paperwork and getting familiar with the equipment and procedures.”

He took my hand and caught my gaze. “I still want to know how your day went.” I turned to leave. “Bryson, are you sure everything’s okay?”

I needed to get out of there. If he asked me one more time if everything was okay I was going to blow and pummel him with questions. I couldn’t act like a suspicious jealous girlfriend because I wasn’t his girlfriend. He didn’t owe me any explanation on how or with whom he spent his time with.

I plastered a fake smile on my face and tried to sound nonchalant. “It’s all good. I’ll see ya when I see ya.”

I turned on my heels and sprinted to my car. Hart stayed in the doorway as I pulled out of the driveway. As I passed Miss Polly’s house another car turned down the street headed in my direction. I didn’t pay it much attention when it drove by. Glancing in the rearview mirror I stopped breathing as the car pulled into Hart’s driveway. I pressed the gas pedal, whipped around the corner, and headed home.

He’s a nice guy being nice.

Just two friends helping each other out.

“When the girl of your dreams comes back into your life, control is the last thing you have.”

My head was screaming that Hart wasn’t doing anything wrong but I didn’t have the stomach to watch Amber get out of that car and walk into his house.

Two more weeks passed with no contact from Will whatsoever. I knew he couldn’t have been back at work yet but his salary was direct deposited in our joint account like always and the bills got paid like always. Sophie kept pushing me to find out what was going on with him. I planned on doing just that but wanted to get used to being a part of the workforce before tackling anything else. It’s easy to be brave when you’re just thinking about doing something. It’s a whole other ball of wax when you actually take action and do it.

Things with Hart were perfect, except for me falling in love with him and his commitment to our deal . . . kind of. He called a few minutes after I got home the night he gave me the chef’s jacket, making sure I was safe and that my nerves weren’t getting the best of me. We stayed on the phone until the sound of his voice had me so relaxed I drifted off to sleep. If he’d been with Amber or anyone else, my well-being wouldn’t have crossed his mind.

It’s highly possible I misinterpreted his actions and the car I thought I saw pull into his driveway. The car could have been lost and was turning around or I mistook a neighbor’s driveway for Hart’s. Either way he spent the rest of that night with me even if it was only his voice. I hated that my mistrust of Will bled into my relationship with Hart. Not that it was a relationship in the boyfriend/girlfriend sense, I kept telling my heart.

The more I was around Hart the more I wished I’d listened to Sophie years ago. If I’d taken her advice and taken a break from Will, I’d have a wider frame of reference when it came to how guys operated. As it stood right now, I couldn’t figure out if Hart was confusing or I was just confused. Adding sex into the mix wasn’t what baffled me. There was no question Hart and I had chemistry and craved each other. In fact, having sex with him was the least confusing part of the situation. It was the time before and after we were in his bed . . . or in his chair . . . or on his sofa . . . or in his car. Then there was that time in his shower with the handheld showerhead and loofah. Oh . . . and the time he had me lying naked across the conference table in his office . . . his tongue and hands were truly magical. Anyway, it was what happened between our sexy times that I couldn’t wrap my head around.

Will was never affectionate with me unless it led to sex. Even when we first started dating he rarely held my hand. Hart treated me in a very loving way. I melted with each sweet kiss and light touch. The way his eyes roamed over my body when I was fully clothed caused goosebumps to appear on every inch of my body. And when he talked, I swooned at least five times from his words no matter how long the conversation lasted. Without Hart knowing, I caught him looking at me on several occasions. The struggle was evident in his eyes, especially those times when he thought I was asleep and he was safe from being discovered. I’d read enough romance novels to know all these things added up to a boyfriend. But for every boyfriendy move he made, a “friend” comment usually followed, “that’s what
friends
are for,” or “I care because you’re my
friend.
” Sometimes I thought he was trying harder to convince himself of this more than me.

My first day at Good Eats went well. Nancy had me fill out all the necessary paperwork. I felt stupid when I had to ask her which box to mark indicating how much I wanted taken out in taxes. She answered, never blinking an eye at the fact that a twenty-six-year-old grown woman didn’t know how to fill out a simple form. I spent the rest of the day learning how to operate the equipment, who was in charge of each area, and a more detailed description of what I’d be doing.

My second day at Good Eats was like jumping into a fire. There were three big luncheons we were catering. I breathed a sigh of relief when Nancy first told me I’d be on salad prep until I was actually on
salad prep
. Things started out okay but quickly turned as the hustle and impatience increased in the kitchen. There were a few times I thought I’d been hired by Chef Gordon Ramsey instead of the little petite gray-haired lady. That morning was a chaotic blur but everything got out on time and the clients were happy. And I guessed Nancy was happy too because she’s let me come back every day for the past two weeks.

“Bryson!”

My name shot across the kitchen as I was finishing up cleaning for the day. It was past nine o’clock and I was the only other person here besides Nancy, who was sitting at her desk in the corner of the giant space. She had a nice office separate from this area but rarely used it, preferring instead to huddle in the corner for some reason. Her gaze remained focused on a big book in front of her as she held an envelope in the air. I dried my hands on the white towel I had slung over my shoulder as I walked toward her.

Standing in front of her desk, I fidgeted with the hem of my chef’s jacket waiting for her to speak. Even after being around her for two weeks, sometimes ten hours a day, Nancy still intimidated me. She may have been only five feet four but her personality was a solid six five.

Not looking up, she waved the mystery envelope in the air. My mind raced with possibilities of what was inside it. Maybe I made a mistake on a form and needed to redo it. Maybe it was payday. At the moment my nerves were taking over and I couldn’t remember if it was. Maybe it was a reprimand. Three strikes and I’m out. Off the top of my head I couldn’t think of anything major I’d done wrong. Or maybe it was a pink slip. Never having a job meant never having been fired. So I didn’t know for sure if a pink slip was pink or even came in a white envelope that Nancy was still waving in the air. I swallowed hard, took a step forward, and reached for the envelope.

Since she never looked up, I assumed she wasn’t in the mood to explain what this was, so I kept it short and sweet. “Well, goodnight.”

The hand that had been holding the envelope popped up and gave a slight wave. I slowly backed away, clutching the paper to my chest. My heart pounded as I grabbed my coat and purse and headed to my car. Before pulling out of the parking lot, I stared at the envelope, debating whether to open it now or wait until I got home.

Screw it.

I flipped on the car light. Running my nail along the seal, I sliced open the envelope. I took a deep breath and pulled out the piece of paper. A huge smile spread across my face as I blinked back tears while looking at my very first paycheck. The amount wasn’t a lot but I earned every penny of it and it was all mine. Last week I’d taken enough money from mine and Will’s joint account to open my own checking account. Knowing I’d be putting my own money into my own account gave me a sense of overwhelming pride. And the first person I wanted to share the news with was Hart.

By the time I’d gotten home it was almost 10 o’clock. I decided telling Hart my great news would have to wait until the next day. He was at work by 8 a.m. during the week so I didn’t want to bother him in case he was asleep. I’d already eaten dinner at Good Eats, one of the perks of working at a catering company, so I headed up to my bedroom.

I glanced at the clock. Maybe he was still awake. I’d just tell him my news and say goodnight. He usually tried to get to bed by ten though. I plugged in the cellphone and placed it on the nightstand. Biting my lower lip, I stared at the phone, teetering between to call or not to call. I texted him earlier today about me working late. Maybe he’s up waiting for me to call.

I didn’t want to come off as a clingy girlfriend because I was neither clingy nor his girlfriend. But the fact was, over the last few weeks I ended each day listening to Hart’s voice, whether I was in his arms or in my own bed. Tonight was the first time I’d worked late and I was jonesing for some rasp. So more than wanting to share my news, I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to fall asleep without hearing him.

Taking the TV remote in my right hand, I crawled into my unmade bed, and snuggled down into the sheets. Aiming the remote, I flipped through the channels, hoping to distract my thoughts. As I glanced at my phone the fingers of my left hand twitched so I switched the remote to my left palm in order to keep it busy. One more flip around the channels then I was giving up and going to sleep . . . at least I was going to try.

By 11 p.m., with nothing holding my interest on the TV, I clicked it off and reached for the bedside lamp when my phone buzzed with a text. The familiar flutter tickled my stomach as the corners of my mouth curled into a smile.

Hart:
Busy?

Me:
No.

Almost immediately the cellphone rang and I couldn’t press the answer icon fast enough.

“Hi.” I sounded out of breath.

“Hi.”

“What are you doing up? It’s past your bedtime.”

“I couldn’t sleep.” The deep baritone drifted in my ear sending my body into quiver mode.

God, his voice did things to me.