Chapter Twenty-One #2
A few of the guys asked me what I was up to, and even offered to come help out if we needed them to, which tells me they’re all in need of a distraction from the season.
Richie is taking our losing streak personally, like his injury is the reason we’re not advancing when it’s a team effort to have gotten where we are.
But telling him that won’t make him feel better because we’re all our own worst critics.
We overanalyze every little thing we do and assume if we just worked a little harder, moved a little faster, then it would make a difference.
Unfortunately, that’s not the case.
Even though Belle wouldn’t mind the help, I tell them we’re good for now.
That they can help when we need to move heavy furniture around.
I know they’ll show up when the times comes because they all love Belle.
She’s made just about every guy on the team food, which wraps them around her finger without knowing it.
By the time both walls are done and we’re back to waiting for paint to dry, Belle is dancing around to a Taylor Swift song, using a brush as a microphone and putting on a show.
I’ve always been transfixed by her, but it’s nothing compared to the carefree version who slips out from time to time.
She’s usually so busy with work, or stressed for the same reason, that she can’t always enjoy herself.
When a slower song comes on, I can’t stop myself from hooking an arm around her waist and dancing with her. She lowers the brush and stares up at me with a warm smile on her face that softens her eyes. “Hi,” she says quietly, putting her free hand on my back and letting me sway us around the room.
“Hi.”
We keep staring at one another as the song goes on, and I wonder if she can feel how fast my heart is racing. If she only knew what she does to me, how my body always melts in her presence, then she’d never question my feelings.
I take the brush from her and set it aside, then guide that hand to my back as well. I wrap my arms around her and breathe her in. She smells like a mixture of lavender, strawberries, and paint and even with smears of it on her she’s the prettiest thing I’ve had the pleasure of laying my eyes on.
I press a kiss to her temple, pulling her into me until we’re practically hugging.
Her arms lower until they’re wound around my waist, her chin resting just below my pecks. “This is nice,” she whispers. I lift her enough to set her feet onto mine and do all the work for us, moving in slow circles even as the music changes from a slow song to a faster-paced one.
“It is,” I agree, lips against the crown of her head now. When was the last time I slow danced with somebody? It had to be prom, right? Who the hell did I even bring?
Belle pulls back a little to look up at me, her chin resting where her cheek was. “What are you thinking about?”
“Prom,” I answer honestly.
She laughs. “What? Why?”
“I’m trying to remember who I took. Pretty sure that was the last time I ever slow danced with anybody, but I’m drawing a blank.”
She makes a noncommittal noise. “Are you serious? You don’t remember bringing Brittany Wimble?”
My brows furrow, fighting to put a face to a name. “No. How do you remember?”
Belle looks mystified by my lack of memory of that time. It wasn’t that long ago, but it wasn’t an important enough memory to save.
“Everybody was talking about it,” she says slowly, shaking her head in disbelief. “She was dating the quarterback up until, like, two weeks before prom. Then suddenly she was going with you. She had that godawful poofy dress that was so big it barely fit into the car.”
Now that she mentions it, I do remember a lot of tulle. I’m pretty sure some of it got dragged on the ground after getting stuck in the door and Brittany getting mad about it. “Huh. I do recall Brad glaring at me a lot that night.”
Brad was the quarterback she dated. It slowly starts coming back. Brittany, the cute blond, had been handsy all night. I think she did it to get a rise out of her ex-boyfriend. And I’m pretty sure they wound up going to the after party together.
“Huh,” is all I can say because it’s insignificant now.
“And you’re wrong,” she informs me, bringing my attention back down to her.
“The last time you slow danced with somebody was at your cousin’s wedding two years after you graduated high school.
Your aunt tried setting you up with a friend’s daughter and made you dance with her, and then I cut in when I saw the way you looked. ”
It comes back to me instantly.
The girl Aunt Aimee had introduced to me was all hands, palming my muscles and even my ass, in front of everybody.
She told me she had a five-year plan that involved at least three babies and maybe marriage.
I looked around as she droned on about it hoping to be saved.
Belle, of course, was the one to come to the rescue.
Belle laughs. “She was so mad when I butt in and asked to dance with you. I think she made a voodoo doll and taped my face to it after that.”
We danced all night. Only that one half-song was a slow one, but we didn’t miss any of the others. She pulled me onto the dance floor and made me dance to everything from the Harlem Shake to Gangnam Style. And I obliged.
“You have a good memory,” I comment, huffing out a laugh. “I wonder if she ever got her marriage and kids.”
Not that I particularly care if she did if I’m being honest with myself.
“That was a fun night,” Belle says, still looking up at me. “I remember trying not to blush when we slow danced, and people watched. I thought somebody would tell us to find other partners because we were inseparable.”
We were. “I would have told them to fuck off if they had suggested it.”
For a second, she looks like she’s trying to believe me. Then she gets on her tiptoes, and I meet her halfway to press a kiss to her lips. What I think is meant to be a quick peck turns into something a little deeper.
I explore her mouth with mine, backing us up until her butt meets the edge of the counter. Then I lift her by the waist and set her down on top of it and wedge myself between her thighs.
It’s a slow exploration. Hardly as desperate or as heated as the ones we shared the first time.
I lick the seam of her lips and feel my cock twitch when she opens for me, letting my tongue glide in and trace hers.
Her arms go to my neck as she angles her head to deepen it, arching her hips forward to rub against me.
I moan into her mouth and reach for her breast when we hear a voice clear from behind us. I’m quick to pull away, shielding her from whoever walked in. Belle must have left the door unlocked when she let me in.
Dane is standing there looking red in the face as he studies me, then at Belle still sitting on the counter. “Oh.”
Well…shit.
Belle quickly gets done, flattening out her shirt. “Dane. Hi. Hey.” She sounds breathy, and I’d feel a little cocky if I didn’t see the mortification on her face from getting caught.
Dane clears his throat again, studying the two of us before adjusting the piece of wood tucked under his arm. “Is this a bad time? I can come back. I should probably come back. Sorry—”
“No!” she blurts, stepping forward. “No. I’m sorry. We ate lunch and were waiting for the paint to dry and…”
She stops trying to explain because nothing about that justifiable leads up to us making out on the counter. Grabbing her phone, she pauses the music and offers him a smile. It’s stiff, still embarrassed, and I feel like shit. I hadn’t meant for anybody to walk in on us.
Dane looks like he’s trying to figure out what to say, and I feel like I need to defuse the situation somehow. “Sorry, man. I distracted her from work. Is that the wood for the shelves?”
He looks down at the board like he’d forgotten why he came in the first place. Thankfully, he takes the bait. “Yeah. This is what I’m thinking would work best for the shelves. I started making one of them and have photos to show you, Belle.”
He’s cautious as he walks into the store, setting the wood down on the counter that Belle was just sitting on.
I debate on whether to stay or not, not wanting to get even more in the way than I already am but also not wanting to ditch her to an uncomfortable conversation and make her deal with it alone.
“Are we doing a third coat?” I ask Belle, gesturing toward the wall.
“Oh, uh…” She looks over at them and shakes her head. “No, I think two will be fine since we were painting over white. If it’s splotchy in spots I can do them myself. You can go. I’ll finish up things here and meet you at home.”
I make sure she looks okay enough for me to leave and gather our garbage to dispose of elsewhere. “All right. I’ll see you tonight.”
I don’t press a kiss against her head like I want to or make any move in front of Dane. If I wanted to be a dick, I would have. But there’s no point in making the situation worse.
“Bye,” she squeaks out, wincing at the pitch in her voice.
I give one last look at Dane, nod in his direction, and take my leave.
I’ll have to make that up to her somehow tonight.