Chapter 4
Lucy
TJ weaves us in and out of tables like he dodges things for a living. Maybe he does. I really should have brushed up on football before attending this gala.
A couple of guys whistle in our direction.
“Taking my advice, Teej?” asks a man who looks familiar to me.
I stumble as recognition dawns. That’s Anton freaking Bates.
He’s got his arm tucked snuggly around the waist of a knockout brunette in a skin-tight, strapless black dress.
I’m immediately jealous of her toned shoulders and the killer red lipstick she’s pulling off.
Her mask is black with feathers at her temples, so I can’t make out much more of her face, but I’m sure it’s Anton’s girlfriend, Rose.
The two of them made a public splash last year when she took a bullet for him.
Now her eyes crinkle with a smile as she glances between TJ and me.
“What advice?” she asks, looking up at Anton.
“Nothing,” TJ interjects and then shakes his head at Anton. “And no.”
“You sure about that?”
TJ glances back at me, and the look he gives me is piercing, like he’s got X-ray vision, and he can see right through me. I wish I knew if he liked what he saw.
It doesn’t matter. Not really. I’m not trying to impress TJ. I’m just trying to get inspired to write a romance novel.
TJ’s eyes soften, and he winks at me again before returning Anton’s gaze. “Not that sort of thing, Bates.”
If I’m not mistaken, Anton’s shoulders drop a little, like he’s disappointed, but before I can be certain, he stands up straighter again.
“Keep an open mind!” He turns his full attention to his date, pressing his nose to her forehead and dropping a delicate kiss on her brow. “Come on, Sammy Rose. Let’s dance.”
TJ leads me onward, but I look over my shoulder to where Anton pulls Rose to him at the edge of the dance floor.
The song that’s currently playing is fast, with a techno beat, but he wraps his arms around her waist, draws her to his chest, and gazes down at her, like they’re the only two people in this crowded room.
I wonder what sort of love song is playing in their heads.
Or maybe it’s their hearts. Whatever it is, his and hers must sound the same.
They are totally in sync, totally enraptured with each other.
That’s the type of connection I strive to write about in books.
I wobble on my heels and TJ tightens his grip on my hand. “You okay?”
“Yeah, sorry. I was watching your friend and his date. They’re cute.”
“They’re madly in love.” He makes an exasperated expression, and I chuckle softly as he tucks my hand into the crook of his elbow and leads me up the main staircase.
“Where are you taking me?”
TJ turns left, and we walk down the hallway that I passed upon my entrance. “I thought you said no questions?”
I roll my eyes. “No personal questions.”
“Oh, well, in that case, I suppose it’s safe to answer. I didn’t want to break any of your rules.”
“How noble of you.”
He laughs, and it’s a deep, throaty sound that sends a jolt of pleasure through my stomach. “I’ll be your noblest knight tonight, madam.”
“Eww. I’m not a madam.”
“Then what?” He has his head angled toward me. “What would you like me to call you?”
I look up at him and arch my brows. He doesn’t stop staring, a smile tickling the corners of his mouth like I’m amusing him.
I find that hard to believe. I’m not a good time.
That’s what my stepsisters are always around for.
They’re the loud and outgoing ones. My stepmom, too.
Those three can talk to anyone, charm anyone.
They’re outrageous, but they’re also good-natured and funny.
People like being around them. Meanwhile, I’m awkward, I never know what to say or how to start a conversation, and then I get in my head because I’m afraid everyone is bored when they’re talking to me.
But TJ is here now. He’s giving me his full attention. I can do this. I can be bold and have fun for one night, like I promised Cassie. It’s good to flex a new muscle every now and again, right?
“You can call me Cinderella,” I say before I lose my nerve. It sounds ridiculous the moment it’s out of my mouth, but TJ’s gaze hounds me, and he nods slowly.
“You look like Cinderella, not gonna lie. It was the first thought I had when I saw you.”
He noticed me? Embarrassment and pleasure war for the upper hand in my gut. His intense gaze makes my pulse points fizzle. “Was that before or after you nearly blinded your teammate?”
He smirks, shaking his head but keeping his attention trained on me. “Del’ll live. His scarred corneas are worth it if it means I caught your eye like you caught mine.”
I feel a blush spreading from my forehead down to the soles of my sore feet. “Don’t flatter yourself. You were up on stage, tripping over yourself … kinda tough to miss.”
“Still chalking it up as a win.”
“Whatever helps you sleep at night,” I say airily and hide a smile when he snort-laughs. “Now,” I continue, “you were about to tell me where you’re taking me?”
“Well.” He stops outside an unmarked door. “It’s only fitting that Cinderella gets the best view of the ball.” He pushes open the door to reveal another flight of stairs. “How are you with heights?”
“Not afraid of them, if that’s what you’re asking.” I look up at the steep flight and then down at my shoes and my pinched toes.
TJ tracks my gaze. “But your feet are killing you, aren’t they?”
Perceptive. That’s a trait I definitely want my main male character to have in my next book.
“Like you wouldn’t believe,” I admit. “But I really want to see the view, so I can power through.”
He sniffs. “Not on my watch. You won’t be able to enjoy it if you get there and your feet are blistered. Here.” He turns around and gestures to his shoulders. “I’ll piggyback you.”
I burst into laughter. “You will not.”
“Why? It’s a perfect solution.”
“There’s no way I can climb on your back in my dress.”
He frowns, humming to himself. “You’re right about that. It’s very bottom-heavy.”
“Just what every woman wants to hear.”
His eyes bug beneath his mask. “You know I didn’t mean …
I meant … Your bottom is great, no matter how it looks.
Not that I’m looking. Not that I can really see it at all, given the dress, which is what you were saying in the first place, and—” He presses his lips together. “I’m going to shut up now.”
I can’t help laughing. I add nervous rambling to my list of character traits.
“You sure you don’t want to say anything else about my figure while you’re at it?” I pop a hip.
TJ swallows. I hold out my hands, palms up, and do a slight turn. His eyes scan my masked face in micromovements, like he wants to see every inch, before he dips his gaze to trace the curve of my waist. He glances down at my toes and then casually brings his eyes back to meet mine.
The joke is definitely on me here, and this stairwell just became hotter than a stone-fire grill. I’m melting under his observation.
“I’ll keep my comments to myself for now.” There’s a rasp in his throat that wasn’t there before.
I need a thousand fans to combat the heat in my cheeks.
“I have a solution to our problem.” He steps toward me. “Can I touch you here?” He motions to my back. “And here?” He points to my knees … or at least, where my knees are beneath my dress.
I catch on to his plan pretty quickly. “You’re going to carry me bridal style?”
“Is that what it’s called?”
“Yes.”
“Is that alright with you? The view’s pretty great.”
“I guess, but I don’t—”
He scoops me up in one fluid motion, and suddenly I’m up close and personal with the muscles I’ve taken note of from afar. A pretty great view, indeed.
“—want to hurt you,” I finish on a breath.
“Pfft.” He brushes off my concern with an exhale, and I feel the warmth of it on my cheek.
His breath smells like peppermint, and there’s a pleasant aroma of pine that surrounds him.
My senses are in overdrive, and I don’t hate it.
I try to catalog everything. My skin seems to vibrate where he’s touching me, and my stomach could be classified as a carbonated beverage right now.
But beyond these physical sensations, I feel cared for and ladylike.
I’m all for a strong female protagonist, but there’s no rule that says you can’t be strong and have a strong desire to be held. At least, not in my book. My books.
“You good?” TJ asks, and I feel the vibration of his chest.
“Yep,” I squeak. I clear my throat and give myself a little pep talk as TJ starts climbing the stairs.
Pull yourself together, Lu. This is for research purposes. Put yourself in character. What would your FMC do? More importantly, what would fun, unrestrained Lu do?
“You have a very thick neck,” I blurt.
That? That is what fun, unrestrained Lu would do? Comment on a man’s thick neck? I’m mentally face-palming myself and wishing I could evaporate into my cloud of embarrassment.
TJ lets out a warm laugh. “Look at us—you with a heavy bottom and me with a thick neck.”
“Shut up. You can’t deny it.” I decide to go with this, in all the awkwardness. I can’t deny that it’s fun, teasing and talking … being close to him. “Your neck is like the column on one of those old Roman buildings.”
He hums. “Which buildings are you referring to, Cinderella?”
“I have no clue what their names are. History and geography are not my strength. Honestly, math and science aren’t either. Don’t pick me for your trivia team.”
“Same. We can be clueless about all things cultural, mathematical, and spatial together. I leave that sort of stuff to Poe.”
“Who’s Poe?”
“My teammate, Lawrence Poe.” TJ tips his head back so he can look at me.
Our faces are very close together. I can see the scruff of his five o’clock shadow.
I have a weird and completely inappropriate desire to run my lips over it—to feel the coarseness of it under my tongue.
Who am I and what is going on in my brain right now?
I shake my head slightly. “I guess I should admit that football is another thing I’m clueless about.”
He gasps dramatically.
I hold back a smile. “This is probably a good time to ask you what exactly you do on the team.”
“What do I do?” he asks, incredulous. He darts a glance down at me as he continues to climb up and up and up.
“Are you, like, a bench warmer? A manager? Are you any good?”
He blows out a breath and looks up to the ceiling. “Am I any good?” he mutters to the heavens. “You are crushing my ego right now, you know that, Cinderella?”
“Sorry!” I say again. “I know literally nothing about the River Foxes. Never watched a game in my life.”
“Never?” He narrows his gaze at me. “Why are you smiling so big?”
I try to stop smiling, but I can’t. “Because you’re trying really hard to be casual when I’ve apparently insulted your football prowess. Let me guess, you’re some sort of star?”
I feel his chest puff up against my back. “You could say that.”
“So modest, too.” I click my tongue.
“It’s hard to be modest when you’re as good as I am, Cinderella.” The cool confidence in his tone makes my nerve endings feel like they’ve hopped on the backs of a stampede of buffalo. “That,” he goes on, “and I have to be arrogant. I couldn’t do my job if I didn’t believe I could do my job.”
My throat goes dry. There’s that directness I noticed earlier. It’s hot to hear him talk about his work with confidence in his capabilities.
“Noted,” I say, swallowing a shiver at the intensity in his gaze and because I’m suddenly all too aware of the callouses on his hands. They’re worker hands, and yet he’s holding me like I’m made of glass and it’s his one job in life not to let me shatter.
“If you watch a game, look for number twenty-five. That’s me. I’m the running back, so I’ll be in the middle of everything.”
I’ve never had any desire to watch a football game until this very moment, but I’m supposed to be playing coy, so I shrug as much as I can, given my current position. “Might have to check one out.”
“Might have to score a touchdown for you this weekend,” he counters. “You’ll know when I do.”
I’m guessing a touchdown is a good thing, and the way my pulse spikes and my breath comes in short bursts tells me there’s something to this sort of method-acting flirting.
“How so?” I ask, my voice a whisper. My heart whirls to life like a helicopter lifting off.
“Trust me.” He dips his chin so our gazes lock in—complementary pieces in a puzzle. “You’ll know.”
He breaks eye contact even as there’s a little voice in my head that’s squealing like the little piggy running all the way home. I can’t even believe this is my life right now. How did I end up here?
Oh yeah, a bossy literary agent, a killer case of writer’s block, and a very expensive ticket. Not to mention a vintage wedding gown, courtesy of my sweet fairy godmother landlady.
“We made it.” TJ stops on the last step. He’s barely even breathing heavily after hauling me up here. How is that possible? “You ready?” he asks.
“Born ready,” I tell him, because that feels like the sort of thing a self-assured, easy, breezy, beautiful Lucy would say.
Truthfully, I don’t know what I was born for, and I don’t mean that in a morbid way, just in a my parents died and I’ve made a complete mess of my life, so what am I really doing? sort of way.
TJ doesn’t know these sorts of esoteric thoughts are rolling around underneath the jeweled crown I’m wearing, and it’s very much for the best. I need to keep it that way. I need to channel fun Lucy for an hour or so more.
Then I can go back to Daisy’s Inn and pore over every minute and detail of what’s turning out to be an unforgettable night. I square my shoulders. If this is the one opportunity I’m giving myself, I’d better make the most of it.