The Dance (30 page)

“Just to make sure you don’t fall.”

“I . . . um . . . I.”

“I’m not looking for a peep show, Bryson.”

“I didn’t say you were. Why you would want to peep at me when you have . . . um . . .”

Hart’s eyebrows rose. “Big tits?”

My cheeks flushed with heat. “Did I call her that?”

A huge grin broke across his face. “Yes you did.”

“I’m sorry. I had no right to . . .”

“It’s okay. She does have big tits.”

We both tried to stifle our laughter but were ultimately unsuccessful.

“If you’re sure you’ll be okay, I’ll leave. Just put your jeans outside the door.”

“What for?” I asked.

“I’ll throw them in the washer.”

“You’ve already done more than enough for me.”

Holding my gaze, Hart said, “No problem.”

“You don’t need to wash my clothes.”

“I think I do.”

“No, really, it’s too much . . .”

“Bryson, you have vomit on your jeans.”

Hello, dignity? Where are you?

“Oh . . . okay.” I hid my embarrassment behind the mug and took another sip of coffee. “Hart, thanks again for taking care of me.”

“Best time I’ve had all day.” He moved toward the door then stopped. “Oh, Bryson.”

“Yeah?”

“I’ll cover up the peephole in the door.”

I tugged a hand towel down from the rack above me and threw it at him. Staying put a little longer, I sipped my coffee, enjoying the sound of Hart’s deep laughter as it faded behind the closed door.

My head had cleared enough that I felt confident in my legs. I headed over to the shower and turned it on. While waiting for the water to heat up, I finished my coffee and looked around. The bathroom was huge and from what I could tell fell in line with the modern feel of the rest of the place. On the same wall as the door, hung two small brightly colored abstract paintings that were in stark contrast to the rest of the monochromatic palate.

Once steam filled the air, I pulled the sweater over my head and shimmied out of my jeans. Standing in just my pale pink lace bra and matching panties, I quietly inched the door open enough to push my arm through and let the jeans fall from my fingers. They didn’t fall far. They were caught mid-float before hitting the floor.

I fumbled to shut the door, forgetting all about my arm, which was still hanging out in the hallway. “Ow!”

“Jesus, are you okay?” Hart said, concern evident in his tone.

I cracked the door open enough to free my arm. “I’m good, thanks.”

Shutting the door, I pressed my back against it and let out a deep sigh. Even with my throbbing arm, the sound of Hart’s deep rasp coupled with the fact I was standing merely inches away practically naked had my body humming. This was not good. Not good at all. Sure, Hart flirted with me but I got the impression this was his MO with most women. I was lonely and he was being a friend. That’s all it was and will be. I didn’t need to read any more into it.

Before pushing off from the door, I glanced down, gasping in horror. My nipples looked like a couple of B cup missiles ready for launch. And this was just from the sound of his voice.

Not good. Not good at all.

I unhooked my bra, let my panties drop to the floor, and stepped into the shower. The hot water poured over me, warming the Hart induced chills. I spotted the shampoo and body wash and quickly got to work.

Stepping out of the shower, I grabbed one of the large fluffy black towels and wrapped it around my body. It wasn’t until standing in front of the mirror towel-drying my hair that I realized my purse with my brush was in the living room.

Dammit!

I did the best I could, running my fingers through the tangled mess a few times. I didn’t want to scare Hart any more than I had already. I pulled on my panties and the black and white plaid boxers.

Hart definitely had signature colors.

Since the gray long sleeve T-shirt was made of thicker material, I decided it’d be safe to go braless. I didn’t like to keep the girls confined at night. As I slipped it over my head I breathed in, hoping to catch a hint of his scent.

I needed to pull myself together before I went out there. This was just a silly little crush I was experiencing. Nothing more. Hart was showing me attention, being sweet and flirty, taking care of me. We were becoming friends, that’s all. He had Amber and I sure as hell didn’t need to get involved with anyone at this point in time.

I walked down the hall repeating the little pep talk to myself. As I approached the living room I was met by a pair of big caramel eyes and a wagging tail.

Excited to have a visitor, Butter circled around me several times, finally landing when I squatted down and did some ear scratching. “Hey, sweet girl.”

Hart was rounding the kitchen island carrying a plate in his lap with what looked to be a grilled cheese sandwich.

He stopped and stared at me for a brief moment, his gaze causing my body to heat up again. “Feeling better?”

“Much. Thanks.” I stood and scanned the room for my purse. “Do you know where my purse is?”

Butter’s nose shot into the air as she followed Hart to the coffee table. “I put it on the sofa.”

I quickly retrieved my brush and ran it through my damp hair.

“Sit and eat.” Hart commanded.

Butter and I both sat.

My attention turned to the coffee table. Along with the sandwich was a fresh cup of coffee, another bottled water, and Tylenol.

I fidgeted with the bottom of the long sleeves. “I’m not hungry.”

“Doesn’t matter. You need to eat. You’ll feel better. I promise.”

I wasn’t used to this type of care and attention.

I picked up the sandwich and took a small bite. Then another. And another and another until the entire thing was gone. Seeing that the sandwich had disappeared, Butter slunk back to her bed and curled up.

“Glad you weren’t hungry.” He teased

“It was delicious. Thank you.”

“Sorry it wasn’t gourmet.”

I gave him a shy smile. “It was just what I needed.”

“I only know how to cook two things.”

“What’s the second thing?”

“If I told you it would take all the mystery out of our relationship.” He teased, repeating my own words back to me.

“With the events of tonight, I’d say there’s very little mystery left.”

“Before I forget. Do you like toasted Pop Tarts for breakfast?”

I picked up my coffee with both hands and scooted farther back on the sofa. “I could teach you how to cook.”

“Why would I need to learn how to cook when I have a lovely lunch lady visit me every day?”

My cheeks flushed. There was that word again. “Come on. Man cannot live on grilled cheese and toaster pastries alone.”

“I’ll let you attempt to teach me on one condition.”

“Name it.”

“That I don’t lose my lunch lady visits.”

I answered in a low voice. “You won’t.”

Our gaze locked. Hart and I both knew once Will was released that the daily lunches would come to an end. My life was a mess at the moment and I knew it was unfair to bring Hart into it even as a friend. But I was quickly realizing how much our time together meant to me and I didn’t want to give it up.

Breaking the moment, I said, “When would you like your first lesson?”

“I’m wide open.”

“How about tomorrow?”

“I already have plans.”
With Amber?
“Besides, you probably won’t feel like doing much of anything.”

“I’m feeling better already.”

He hesitated for a second. “Okay. Weekends are best for me.”

“Next weekend?”

He cocked an eyebrow. “Are you sure it won’t cause trouble?”

I took a stab at sounding confident. “Why would it cause any trouble? It’s just one friend helping out another friend.”

He slowly nodded. “True.”

There was a slight twinge of disappointment in my stomach. I was so confused. One minute I thought Hart felt the same pull as I did. Then he’d say something that had me crashing back down to reality. It was becoming very obvious that my instincts were out of whack. I mean, I thought Will loved me for all these years and I was way off the mark with that one. I suddenly wished I’d taken Sophie’s advice and played the field some when I was younger. Even a little frame of reference would help at the moment.

“So next weekend it is. That will give me enough time to plan and shop for lesson one.”

Grinning, Hart tipped his chin up a little. “Oh, there’s going to be multiple lessons?”

“Eh, if you’re a good student one might do the trick.”

“Then I’ll make sure to be bad.” His expression went flat, as if he were shocked by the degree of his flirting.

I took another sip of coffee and hid my blush.

Clearing his throat, Hart asked, “How about some more coffee?”

“I’m good, thanks.”

“I’m gonna get a refill.”

While he headed toward the kitchen, it gave me a chance to get a better, less blurred view of the main part of the house. A collection of sports magazines and books lined the black bookshelves that were on the opposite wall from the large flat screen TV. Along the wall in the dining room, gallery, shelves held up pictures of varying sizes. Some were art pieces, like sketches and paintings while others were photos. I couldn’t quite make out who all was in the shots, so I headed over there, my curiosity getting the best of me.

The photos were predominantly of Hart, Colin, Ronnie, and Doug from childhood up to adulthood. My heart sank seeing pictures of a younger Hart standing. It made me feel good knowing he had such great friends by his side when he needed them the most. There were several photos of him playing sports post-wheelchair—basketball, snow skiing, water volleyball. Hart certainly didn’t let his disability slow him down.

“See anything you like?” The raspy tone hit my ears, letting me know I’d been caught snooping.

“I was just admiring your photos and artwork. Did you paint these?”

Shaking his head, he said, “My mom was the artist.”

“And the paintings in the bathroom?”

“Hers too. Any artwork you see around here was done by her.”

“It’s gorgeous work. I’d love to meet her someday.”

“You’re about eleven years too late. She passed away from ovarian cancer my junior year in high school.”

Clutching the back of a dining room chair, my gaze dropped. “That’s terrible.” I paused for a few seconds then looked back at him. “I’m so sorry.”

My heart ached at the thought of Hart losing his mom at such a young age. This must have been the reason he had to move in with his dad and transfer to Garrison.

“It was a long time ago and life goes on. Right?”

His tone was flat but I could tell in his eyes he was as affected by this mother’s death today as when it happened.

Not wanting to upset him I redirected. “You and the three stooges have been friends for a long time?”

We both eyed a picture of the four friends at what looked to be a ski resort.

“Colin and I grew up together. We met Ronnie and Doug in middle school and couldn’t get rid of them.”

“Old friends are special. I have Sophie. Not sure if you remember her.”

“She’s the one who took you away from me.”

Comments like that made my body hum and my head swirl. “So, no pictures of the rest of your family?”

“Not much of a family.”

“And no pictures of your girl?”

I knew I was a glutton for punishment by wading in Amber waters.

“I don’t have a girl.” He turned abruptly and headed toward the living room.

I hesitated for a moment and then followed.

“I’m sorry. I just assumed that you and Amber . . .”

“You assumed wrong.” He interrupted.

I lowered myself back onto the sofa. Grabbing the Tylenol, I popped two in my mouth and chased them with a swig of water.

Rubbing the back of his neck, Hart said, “Bryson, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to sound like an ass.”

“Perfectly okay. I shouldn’t have pried into your personal life.”

He looked directly at me. “I don’t have anything to hide. Amber and I have a business arrangement. Period.”

I pushed back on the sofa as an awkward silence settled in the air. This was the first of its kind between me and Hart. Our friendship or whatever this was developing into was foreign territory for me. Besides Sophie, I didn’t have a lot of my own friends, especially male ones. The couples Will and I hung out with were made up of his friends and their wives.

My encounters with Hart had been light and breezy for the most part. A tug of war was taking place in my head. Part of me wanted some details about Amber but the other part wanted to stay ignorant. I decided the best thing would be to get us back to light and breezy, so I joked my way out of the awkwardness.