Chapter 4
CHAPTER FOUR
Careful. I might become a habit
“Hi again. You good?” Johnny steers us through a dizzying set of turns in response to the lead singer’s next call. The momentum forces us into more intimate contact. “For a second there I was afraid we’d lose a national treasure to a tidal wave of sequins and patent leather.”
“Good, fine, yes,” I say, distracted despite myself by his closeness, the firm, heated pressure of his touch at my back. “Thanks for the rescue.”
“That’s twice in one night.” He spins us in more loops, a thrill ride that makes my heart race. “Careful, I might become a habit.”
“Think I’m safe. These days I’m fairly risk averse. I tend to keep a wide berth between me and any potential addictions.”
True, if not entirely accurate at the moment, seeing as I’ve given into the compulsion to flit so close to the flame that is this charismatic but unavailable man. No, I scold the ache of want pulsing at the vee of my thighs. No wishing that his playful teasing will lead to anything more.
We’re through with enacting the role of gullible damsel to seductive, disloyal hero.
Been there, done that. Moved on to a new story.
“I guess I should commend your wisdom, but I admit, it’s a blow,” he says with a rueful smile. “I’ll spill the news to my poor superhero cape, but I’m not sure either of us will recover.”
“Touched a pain point, did I?”
“I’ve rarely been so expertly shot down. Arrow barely hurt going in.”
Without warning, years of conditioning from my marriage kick in, bombarding me with sly, mean digs.
Leonard at his most patronizing, coating my understanding of the exchange with oily mud until I lose faith in what really happened.
I choke off the surge of doubt, eager to trip me into panic, but not soon enough.
What if? What if I read the byplay wrong?
“Did I make something out of nothing?” I worry my lower lip between my teeth, already rehearsing my apology.
Is the attraction one-sided?
Could be. Could be all in my head. Could be I’m acting like not just a dump bunny, but a super-duper lame dumb bunny. So high on myself I’m reading boy-likes-girl signs that don’t exist.
His smile fades. He tilts his head to the side, giving me a long assessing look that backs up the oxygen in my lungs. A blue tinted x-ray scan that strips me naked and ratchets that pulse between my legs into a higher gear.
At last, he leans down, putting his lips to my ear so close the glancing touch of his goatee zaps my nipples into hard points.
“I’m into you, never doubt it.” His low voice strums a needy and long-neglected string inside me. “But I heard that boundary you put up. The last thing I want is to make you uncomfortable, so I’ll tuck my interest safely away where it won’t show and we’ll enjoy this dance. Sound good?”
“Good.” Coming out of my dry throat, my reply is an almost soundless croak, so I nod for good measure.
He gives me another assessment. I cross my eyes. He bursts out laughing.
“Okay, I see we’re done dwelling in the awkward truth. But one last thing before we move on.”
“What’s that?”
“If you ever need another rescue, give a shout. No strings attached.”
“I—Thank you. I’ll keep that in mind.”
The tempo of the music levels up. In response, he whirls us around the floor and I make believe.
No longer in the here and now, I’m at court in an air castle, living the opening act of a story that, by royal fiat, ends… not in happily ever after. No, that’s not what I want.
In this fairytale, Johnny is free to fall at my feet, overcome by cheerful, uncomplicated lust. There is no other woman.
No one to get in the way of a barnburner of a one-night stand.
Nothing preventing him from dishing me up multiple orgasms and praising me for being a good girl each and every time I come.
The lead singer directs the dancers into a promenade that winds across the parquet.
Positioned side by side, my hip kisses Johnny’s, turning each step into glorious torture.
His arm is a solid weight across my shoulder, protective and steady.
In contrast, my hand rests lightly at his waist, as tentative as a hummingbird ready to take flight, lest I give in to the urge to grab a fistful of his cummerbund and haul him off to his room.
Never has having ethics been such a pisser.
“I read online recently that you’re in final rehearsals for a new Off-Broadway show. How’d that come about? I think you’ve mostly done television and film, right?” Johnny asks.
My heart skips, skitters and jumps. I tell it to calm down. Lots of people read that article, it’s no big deal. His question is just polite inquiry. Not evidence that he cyberstalks my career.
Not like I do his.
Before I can reply, our section of the line snakes around a corner to heel-toe, heel-toe down the length of the dance floor. Heading toward us, Arlo and Johnny’s fiancée show off fancier footwork, clearly having a good time.
“Like mother, like son,” Johnny hollers over the noise.
“I had to give him something,” his fiancée calls back, “It sure wasn’t going to be my height.”
“I keep telling you, that’s not how genetics work.”
The dancers around us hoot with laughter and offer their own teasing observations.
Arlo shoots me a grin so chock full of joy it would take an act of nature not to beam him a full wattage smile in return.
Once we pass the other couple, I release a soft, silent groan.
Cross another prospect off the list.
There is no way I could kiss or do anything more with that sweet young man now.
Not when the whole time I’d be fantasizing about sitting on his almost stepdad’s face.