5. ey
Five
Shelley
I t’s embarrassing to admit, but I’ve never kissed a man before. Never snuck out to a parking lot for a few minutes alone together; never rubbed myself all over a guy like a cat in heat. So all this is brand new to me, an uncharted adventure, but even I can tell that ended weirdly.
One minute, Dallas was crowding me against the wall, fierce and possessive, kissing me so deeply that my knees turned to jelly. The next, he turned all rigid and robot-like, then fled to the studio without looking back.
Standing alone in the rain, I cup a hand in front of my mouth and check my breath. Seems fine to me. Next I sniff my armpits, just in case my deodorant has betrayed me.
Nope. All fine.
So… what the hell?
Rain pattering against my head and shoulders, I stare blindly out at the rows and rows of trucks and cars.
A minute ago, my body was so hot and bothered in Dallas’s arms that I’m surprised the raindrops didn’t turn to steam as they hit me.
Now, there’s a pit of cold in the center of my belly, and it’s spreading out through my insides, turning me numb.
Shoot.
My trainers scuff sadly against the concrete as I trudge back toward the door, heedless of the heavy rain. Hey, I’m wearing all black. It’s not like I’m gonna go see-through, and believe me, I’m in no rush to get back in there . Not while my thoughts are scrambled and my heart is cracked.
Because maybe Dallas could tell. Maybe I kissed him weirdly, or made an off-putting noise, or put my hands in a rookie position. Maybe it was super obvious that I’m a big ol’ virgin, and the handsome weatherman got scared off.
Meanwhile, my lips still tingle from his kiss. I can still taste peppermint tea on my tongue, and I’m supposed to go in there and brush powder on people’s noses and act normal?
As I swing it open, the studio door has never felt so heavy. My steps back to the makeup station are slow and mournful, like I’m walking to the gallows.
It’s not fair. The whole reason I’m a virgin is that I was waiting for someone special. Waiting for Dallas Adams. And now that means he doesn’t want me?
I mean, I’ll get better at kissing if he just gives me a chance. Come on.
Brenda the runner storms past, cutting across my path with a whole crate of two percent milk in her arms, a trail of bickering crew members following in her wake. Still soaked through with rain, I watch them go, my spine stiffening with gradual resolve.
If Brenda can fight this bizarre battle over the coffee machine, I can go to war too.
I can show Dallas Adams that I don’t deserve to be left in the rain.
* * *
The star weatherman ducks out on his lunch break, disappearing like a handsome ghost. He’s back for the rest of the day, splitting his time between the weather stage and his work station, but studiously avoids my chair.
Right before Dallas goes on stage for his final segment of the day, I march over to him with a brush and a pot of face powder, my jaw set with anger.
“Mr Adams,” I snap, my usually gentle voice cracking out of me like a whip. “One moment, please. You need powder or you’re going to look shiny.”
Are you trying to make my job harder, you big jerk?
Dallas startles but holds still as I dust him quickly, trying my best to not get any on his suit. His mouth is down-turned with unhappiness, but hey, he’s not the one who got kissed then ditched in record time earlier.
“On in ten,” the floor manager warns, hovering nearby with his clipboard. He looks ready to throw Dallas up on that stage by the scruff of his neck if need be.
“Thank you,” Dallas says, meeting my eye for a split second before frowning at the floor. A blush spreads over his cheeks beneath the powder, and my chest twists at the sight of it. What the hell is going on?
Up close, Dallas doesn’t seem like a man who just decided that I’m a bad kisser and bounced. He doesn’t seem like the callous heart breaker I’ve built him up to be in my head over the last few hours. He seems freaking miserable.
“Six,” the floor manager says. “Five. Four.”
With one last troubled glance at me, Dallas turns and bounds up the steps to the weather stage, getting into position just as the red light flicks on and the cameras start rolling.
Just like that, the tension melts from his broad shoulders, and that trademark dazzling smile comes out like the rising sun.
“This intermittent rain is here for the next few days, folks, so all those anxious gardeners out there can breathe a sigh of relief. Those yards will get a good, long drink over the weekend. Now, let’s talk temperatures. Over in the east…”
“You shouldn’t be here,” the floor manager mutters, quiet enough that no one else can hear.
He’s not an unkind man, clearly uncomfortable to be delivering this message, but his tone is stern and he fixes me with an unwavering gaze.
“You’ll put him off. You shouldn’t watch Dallas from this close, Shelley. ”
Um. Since when do I put Dallas off?
I raise an eyebrow, jerking my head up at the stage. “He seems fine to me.” As flawless and godlike as ever, owning the camera with his suit and dimples.
The floor manager sighs. “Yeah, well you haven’t noticed Dallas moping over you for the last six months.
He’s a crucial part of this program, you understand?
If you break the weatherman’s heart and he loses his sparkle, our ratings will plummet.
No one wants that. The bosses definitely don’t want that. ”
It occurs to me that I’m being politely threatened with being fired. All for hypothetically throwing Dallas Adams off his game.
Could I even do that? Do I really have that sort of power?
My shoulders firm, and I swear I grow two inches. Maybe I’m supposed to be cowed by this conversation, but if anything it makes me feel powerful. Chin raised, I stare up at the weatherman as he talks through the forecast, studying him in the light of this new information.
Six months, the floor manager just said. Dallas has wanted me for six months, which means this whole time, we’ve been pining after each other like two dummies. And he wants to throw that all away after a few clumsy kisses on my part?
Hell no. Not until I’ve said my piece, anyway.
I may be a makeup girl who loves puppies and cupcakes, but I’m also a fighter, damn it. And I’m not done with the city’s favorite weatherman just yet.
The floor manager clears his throat pointedly, and I nod and turn on my heel, walking back across the studio. But as I go, my plan starts to form.