Chapter 10 #2
“What’s that?” I fold my arms over my chest, waiting to be impressed at the little firecracker standing barely over five feet in front of me.
“I’m going to believe every damn thing you tell me, so you better not lie to me…ever.”
I hold up my pinky. “You have my word.”
She laughs, and something in my chest loosens.
“Okay, fine. So your advice—stop thinking, start feeling. Let the songs be what they are.” She tilts her head.
“But the dancing part—it’s still a problem.
You make it sound so easy. Just relax. Just feel the music.
Like I haven’t been trying to do that for literally years.
It’s not that easy. I mean, can you dance? ”
“Sort of.”
“Listening…” Charlie prods.
I should not say what I’m about to say. I know this. And yet—
“I know one dance that I’ve had to perform.”
Charlie’s eyebrows shoot up. “Oh?”
“A bachelorette party. A few years back. The client specifically requested a…performance. It was a whole Magic Mike kind of thing.”
Charlie’s face transforms. Her eyes go wide. Her mouth drops open. She looks like a kid who just found out Christmas is coming early.
“You learned a whole Magic Mike routine?”
“I dabbled.” Oh, no. I don’t like how she’s looking at me like a starved coyote, ready to feast.
“Taio.” Charlie hops off the island. “Do the dance.”
“Absolutely not.”
“Do it.”
“Charlie, it’s inappropriate. The final move is me ripping off my pants.”
“Uh-huh.” She crosses her arms. “Do. The. Dance.”
“No.”
“Do it or you’re fired.”
I stare at her. “You can’t fire me. Sage hired me.”
“I outrank Sage. I’m the talent. The talent gets what the talent wants.” She flicks her hair, which is silly because there’s not one diva bone in her entire body. But she’s grinning now, clearly enjoying my discomfort. “Come on, show me your moves. Or do I need to hit the ATM first?”
“Hilarious,” I gripe.
“Taio,” Charlie says, dead-ass serious.
“Charlie,” I repeat, equally as serious.
We stare at each other across the kitchen. She’s not going to let this go. I can see it in her eyes, and that stubborn set to her jaw—the barely contained delight at having found a new way to torture me.
I’m going to regret this.
“Fine. Get a chair.”
Charlie
Sometimes Christmas means pine trees decorated in lights and ornaments.
Early morning warm cinnamon rolls to munch on while we dive into presents by the fire…
And sometimes Christmas means a hotter-than-hell escort, who is so tall he could hunt geese with a rake, doing body rolls in his slutty little gray sweatpants.
Well, deck my halls and jingle my bells, because Christmas is right here in front of me.
Taio drags one of the dining room chairs into the center of the kitchen, positioning it with the back facing me. His black T-shirt clings to his chest and shoulders like it’s trying to win a koala-hugging competition.
“I want it on record that this is basically quid pro quo,” he says.
“Noted. Now dance, monkey, dance.” I clap my hands together like they’re cymbals.
He shoots me a look that says I’ll remember that, then pulls out his phone and scrolls through what I assume is his music library.
A moment later come the opening notes of “Rodeo (Remix)” by Lah Pat and Flo Milli.
I specifically remember this song because everyone on TikTok was doing that trending dance that I couldn’t decode to save my actual life.
I learned the choreography and showed it to my social media manager who sweetly asked if we could just tuck that away for a rainy day.
I shake off the memory as I grab my phone. “Hang on, I can get this on the built-in speakers.”
Taio rolls his eyes. “Of course this place has built-in speakers. Probably has a button that makes champagne spray from the ceiling and another that summons a tiny French man to feed you grapes.” He turns off his phone as the intro explodes through hidden speakers with enough bass to make the fancy fruit bowl vibrate across the counter, transforming the pristine kitchen into what feels like the world’s most expensive strip club.
“Sit.” His tone is commanding, a glimpse of something gruff and animalistic, a side I know he’s determined not to show me. Either way, I obey.
Taio positions himself behind the chair, hands gripping the back, and for a moment he just stands there, head bowed, waiting for the beat to hit.
Then he moves.
I wish I could make a joke to put us both at ease. Or maybe find the words to convey my genuine shock. But no, all I can do is drop my jaw and gawk.
He’s fluid. That’s the only word for it.
Every movement flows into the next like water, his hips rolling in a way that makes my mouth go dry.
He circles me like a predator, one hand trailing along the back of the chair, making the hair on the back of my neck rise, eyes finding mine and holding them with an intensity that makes my stomach flip.
This is not the reluctant bodyguard who’s obviously parked me in the friend zone. This is something else entirely. Hot. Someone else entirely. Someone I really want to get to know.
He straddles the chair, legs spread wide, careful not to touch me, and then to my great horror and simultaneous glee, he does this thing with his hips that can only be described as obscene.
His hands run down his chest, his abs, his thighs.
He throws his head back. He bites his lip.
He looks like sex personified, and I am having a crisis.
I grip the edge of the chair on either side, partly for support and partly because I need something to do with my hands that isn’t reaching for him.
Taio’s voice drops an octave. “Shift to the left, Charlie.” His neck glistens with a thin sheen of sweat, each breath making his shoulders rise and fall as his hips carve figure-eights in the air.
The muscles in his thighs flex beneath the thin fabric of his sweatpants, and I swear I can feel the heat radiating from him like a furnace, making my own legs tremble in response.
“Like this?” I croak, shimmying two inches.
“Good girl.” He smirks, probably pleased he made me blush. I can feel the heat in my cheeks and I just know they are painted red.
He plants one heel on the open space on the seat, then shifts his weight, gyrating his hips, teasing me more and more, never making contact. And I’m sure he’d prefer to keep it that way, except at the worst possible moment, a tickle forms in my nose.
I try to hold it in, summoning inhuman strength to send this sneeze back down into the abyss of wherever sneezes form.
Instead, the pressure pops, silently, causing an internal eruption and for my head to duck forward at the precise moment Taio thrusts, causing his semi to crash into my face.
And I don’t mean a gentle touch. An adorable accident.
No, not adorable, because Taio’s dick caressing my cheek is like getting your face fondled by an elephant trunk.
He stumbles backward, face frozen in horror.
“Oh my God.” He backs up so fast he nearly trips over the discarded chair. “Oh shit, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to—the choreography, it just—I forgot how short you are—”
I’m laughing too hard to respond. Full-body, tears-streaming, can’t-breathe laughing. I fall out of the chair, one hand pressed to my allegedly assaulted nose, absolutely losing my mind.
“Charlie. Charlie, are you okay?”
“You—” I wheeze, trying to catch my breath. “You just—”
“I know. I know what I did. We don’t need to say it out loud.” He groans in agony.
I’m crying now, actual tears rolling down my cheeks as I try to hold my ribs, plagued with stitches from the hysterical laughter. “You really committed, man. I mean, I feel like I have to tip you now—”
“Please stop talking.”
“This is the greatest moment of my life.”
Taio drops into the dining chair I toppled out of, head in his hands, looking like a man who’s seriously reconsidering all his life choices.
I finally manage to pull myself together, wiping my eyes with the back of my hand. Taio is still sitting there, radiating mortification.
“Hey. I think I get it now.” I anchor my hand against his thigh and rise. Holding his face in both of my hands, I tilt his gaze up. “The part that’s missing? It should be fun, right? Or funny at least.”
“Yeah,” he says, his controlled masculine temperament returning. “You have a right to enjoy what you’ve built, Charlie.”
“Thank you. What an epiphany. All from a pervy nose boop.”
“Please don’t call it a ‘pervy nose boop.’”
“The face-to-crotch collision?”
“That’s worse.”
“A dick-piphany?” I offer.
“I’m going to walk into the ocean now.”
I laugh again, lighter this time, and perch on the edge of the kitchen island across from him. “Seriously, though. That was really good. You’re naturally athletic. I wish I was more like that.”
We’re quiet for a moment. The song has ended, replaced by silence that feels charged with something I can’t name.
“Know what I want for you?” Taio asks, his eyes latching on to mine.
I’m tempted to make a joke, but the sincerity is scrawled across his face. “What?”
“I want you to be proud of being you. It’s okay to love yourself, Tweety.
You have plenty of ammo. You just need to pull the trigger of self-awareness.
Of course the internet is coming for you at every turn.
We love to throw rocks at shiny things. To envy what we can’t have.
To shun what feels unique. But the moment you stop giving a damn about fitting in their perfect little pop-star box is the moment you become unforgettable. ”
Unforgettable. It echoes through my mind like a promise, or a curse. Jury’s still out.
“So,” I say, when I can’t bear the intimate silence between us, “what are we now?”
Taio’s expression shifts to something more guarded. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, you just sweated on me a little while you were giving me a lap dance. Feels like we’ve crossed some kind of threshold.”
“I’m your bodyguard. Same as before.”
“Are you sure? Because you also just booped my nose with your dick.”
He chokes on nothing. “Can we please retire that phrase?”
“Never. It’s going in my memoirs.”
“Charlie.”
“Fine, fine.” I hold up my hands in surrender. “Bodyguard and pop star. Very professional. Except for the part where you dry-humped my face.”
“I’m going to need therapy after this.”
“Join the club.” I chuckle at his glowing cheeks. It’s sort of adorable to see such a large man brought to his knees by a little embarrassment.
He rises to his feet, creating a gulf between our bodies that feels wider than the actual steps he takes.
The temperature in the room seems to drop as I watch him rebuild the fortress around himself brick by brick—bodyguard mode reactivating despite the fact we’ve just crossed lines that no employee handbook would ever condone.
“Listen,” he says, “about tomorrow night. The performance. I’ve been thinking.”
“Dangerous activity.”
“Maybe you should go rogue.”
I blink. “Go rogue?”
“One number. Just one. Where you don’t do the choreography. Where you just…stand there and sing. Let the music be enough.” He shrugs. “Give yourself one moment in the show that’s just for you. Something you can actually enjoy without worrying about hitting marks or looking like a…”
“Like a fish on a dock?”
“I wasn’t going to say that.”
“But you were thinking it.”
“I was thinking you deserve to have fun up there. And if dancing isn’t fun for you, then maybe don’t dance. For one song. Let yourself perform like you did for me on that balcony. You looked so alive and happy.”
I turn this over in my mind. It’s not a bad idea. The show is tightly choreographed, every moment planned down to the second, but isn’t it still mine? I can make a change. Isn’t it time I start running my own damn show?
“Go rogue,” I repeat. “I like it.”
“Just don’t tell Sage I suggested it. She already thinks I’m a corrupting influence.”
“Aren’t you?”
He doesn’t answer. Instead, he moves toward the massive stainless-steel refrigerator and pulls out a bottle of some green smoothie concoction that looks like a liquified lawn.
“I’m going to go take a shower,” he says, heading for the door to the guesthouse. “Maybe try to wash off the shame of the last fifteen minutes.”
“Is that an invitation?”
He stops. Turns. Looks at me with an expression that’s half exasperation, half something else. Something warmer like intrigue.
“Behave, Charlie.”
“Why?”
I’m pushing. I know that. But I want to hear him say it. I want him to admit there’s something here—this electricity between us, this pull that I feel every time we’re in the same room.
But Taio doesn’t cave. He just shakes his head, that guarded expression firmly back in place. “Let it go. You have a busy day ahead.”
I pucker my bottom lip. “Can’t resist me forever, Taio. I’m a solid seven! You don’t turn down sevens with a bubbly personality.”
“Text me the moment you need anything today.” And then he’s gone, the door closing softly behind him.
I sit in the empty kitchen for a moment, surrounded by marble and steel and the phantom beat of “Rodeo (Remix)” still playing through my mind.
The door opens again. Taio’s head appears.
He holds up both hands, all ten fingers spread wide. “And for the record, you’re a goddamn ten.”
Then he’s gone again.
I touch my face, feeling the heat in my cheeks, the smile I can’t suppress.
A ten. He thinks I’m a ten.
And he still walked away. Which means he’s either the most disciplined man on the planet, or he’s fighting this much harder than I am.
Either way, I’m screwed.
But maybe—just maybe—so is he.