Chapter 11 #2
At that notion, and because I intend to dazzle, rather than sizzle tonight, I hastily look around. “The air smells funny. If there’s a fire, I didn’t start it.” Sniffing the air, I worry that my weird luck somehow tipped a candle over or sparked the electrical system.
“No fires. I think some of the guys are smoking cigars on the patio.”
“You should go join them.”
“I don’t smoke cigars. Have to keep my lungs in top condition. An exception might be made on important occasions—wedding day, baby’s birth...”
“Wedding day? Baby’s birth?” I whisper my life longings as the Christmas tree shifts to a soft and warm glow. But I can’t let it catch on fire. That would be a disaster, and Christmas trees are dry and highly flammable. I have a list of safety rules as well.
But with the way Chase’s massive fingers wrap around mine, I’d argue he could put out a blaze with his bare hands.
I’ve been holding my breath and inhale deeply. With it comes the reality of what’s happening.
I’m dancing with The Crush. Our feet move in time to the music: one, two, three, four. We glide as though we’ve danced together a thousand times before.
Heat pinches my cheeks as I try and fail to convince myself this is an impossible fairytale fantasy.
“I’m dancing with Chase Collins,” I say on my exhale.
“That’s me.”
“You weren’t supposed to hear that, but thank you for helping me out back there with Benedict.” Obviously, that’s why we’re dancing.
“Of course. Freddie would’ve insisted. Would’ve done the same.”
“Except, I have rules.”
“Do you mean standards?”
“Those and rules.”
“Rules about who you dance with? Glad I made the cut.”
“I mean, rules about being polite. Normal.” He wasn’t supposed to hear that last part either.
Chase wears a half smile. “Normal, huh?”
It’s too late to wish away the flush of my cheeks, so I plow ahead. “Yeah, not saying everything that comes to mind or rambling.”
“What if I said I like that?”
“I wouldn’t believe you. And rules about being nice and recognizing people’s feelings in a given situation.”
“I’m not convinced Benedict has those, so no worries there. Maybe he and Marlow will find each other and can somehow mathematically negate each other’s negative qualities.”
I tilt my head from side to side, trying not to smile in agreement because that would be rude—and not gossiping is on my list. “That wouldn’t be the worst thing, but I thought you and Marlow were friends.”
He tips his head back and laughs. “Friends? Far from it.”
“She said you invited her to prom, but obviously couldn’t go because you left Hinnifin.”
“Pippa, that is so far from the truth, I don’t know what to do other than laugh.” But his expression is hard, like he’s upset—that she’d lie? That they couldn’t go together?
Shock, disbelief, surprise, suspicion, doubt, and wonder cascade through me at a rapid clip. “Yeah, but—”
“Yeah, but we’re dancing now.”
“This feels dangerous, given my tendency toward calamity.”
“I’ll keep you safe.”
If the incident with Benedict was any indication, I believe him. “But you can’t protect me from myself. Or you. Didn’t mean to say that. I just meant—” I must’ve lost my filter somewhere on the dance floor. Better not lose a contact too—I don’t have my glasses with me.
“Me? I’d never hurt you, Pippa.”
“I meant like if you threw a football and it hit me in the head. Because chances are it would.”
“My aim is true.” He looks at me for a long moment.
Even though we’re moving, it feels like we go still, a fixed object in the middle of the dance floor universe with everyone whirling around us.
His eyes search mine and then his expression of concern shifts to amusement, as if he realized something.
Awkwardly scrambling, because I know what he must be thinking, I blurt, “What you heard earlier about the crush was in the past and had nothing to do with my heart.”
I want to tell him that he already hit me hard in the chest, breaking that fragile thing in there, but follow my rules and think before I speak. I have to keep my shields up.
“We shouldn’t be dancing,” he says with a smile.
“Exactly. Now you understand. There’s no telling what I’ll bump into or break or—”
“But I want to dance with you.”
“You want to see me do more damage by embarrassing myself in public. Is it amusing to you? And I thought Benedict was twisted.” I start to pull away.
He draws me closer.
“Chase, this is like me spotting a lion cub, going up to pet it, and not expecting to get scratched. I’m rambling. I’ll stop now,” I say more to myself than anything.
“I graduated from being called Cub. They call me the Lion now.” His voice is low, masculine, and has a flirtatiousness to it that tempts me to want to hear more.
“Exactly, and here I go, wandering into the coliseum and see a baby cub in the ring. It’s so cute. So cuddly.”
His lips corkscrew with a smirk. “Are you saying I’m cute and cuddly?”
I wrinkle my nose. “No.”
Yes. So cute. So cuddly.
Then, giving myself a shake and getting back on track, I finish my tragic anecdote. “I crouch down to pet the little fur ball. Then—” I snap my teeth. “The big lion silently comes up from behind and bites my head off.”
“I’m not a gladiator nor would I—”
“Nice try, Bruiser. Let me remind you that once upon a time, you made it very clear that’s not the case. You and Freddie were the source of countless cases of embarrassment. Go find Abigail and her friends. Marlow made sure everyone knows all about the saucident, the chocolate, all of it.”
“That wasn’t us.” He frowns and it’s kind of adorable.
“Oh, don’t even try to lure me under your spell.”
“I’m not a sorcerer.” He chuckles like this is all very amusing to him.
“You never know.”
“What if things have changed?”
“What if we shouldn’t be dancing?”
“But we are.”
I let out a little sound of frustration because never has my heart and mind been at such odds. Okay, that’s not true. They engage in war anytime I think about Chase Collins. Now he’s here in person, we’re dancing, and he’s being flirty. It’s confusing the heck out of me.
“What if this turns into the first of many dances?”
My pulse doubles as we swirl around the parquet floor, weaving gracefully between other couples.
The song changes and is a little more upbeat, but he doesn’t let go.
“I’m not seventeen and gullible anymore. I’m a confident career woman making my way in the world and not subject to the silly whims and pranks of teenage boys...or men.”
“Fair enough. I’ll fix that, by the way.”
“There’s nothing to fix. Nothing is broken.” Except for my sense of self-preservation. My teenage pride. Okay, my heart was a little broken. A lot.
We pass the moms who wave at us like we just granted a wish they didn’t know they had. They all but coo and ask us when they should start planning for grandchildren.
“Pippa, I wasn’t expecting you,” Chase says softly.
I lean back in surprise, trying to calculate the meaning of his tone. The I wasn’t part was spoken normally. Then he said, expecting with a slight emphasis. I’m not sure whether you, meaning me, was followed by a period or an exclamation point. I can’t tell. I’m afraid to.
His eyes sparkle, as usual, so I’m not sure whether to be flattered by his comment or offended, considering I’m Sponge-girl—and that’s not some comic superhero action hero, though that would’ve been cool.