Chapter 17
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
TY
The first thing I do is remove my glasses and stick my contacts back into my eyes.
Avery seeing me in my old, thick glasses is…
embarrassing. No matter how many times people tell me they’re fashionable or that I should just be comfortable with who I am in all my forms, all I see when I look in the mirror is a version of myself I’ve tried to leave behind.
The weak one. The nerd. The one who was too quiet, too small, and read too much.
Why did I think it was a good idea to show up at her door like that in the first place?
No one ever sees me in my glasses. Half the team doesn’t even know I have them.
I could get Lasik, but the thought of going under the knife, so to speak, makes me nervous.
I can get hit by men weighing hundreds of pounds, but cutting my eye with a laser… That’s a different story.
I take a swig of mouthwash and swish it around, staring at myself as I do.
Why do I feel like I’m about to step onto the field for the Super Bowl?
I take a few deep breaths, willing my adrenaline to chill, but it won’t.
What’s wrong with me? I’ve done plenty of nerve-racking things in my life, but this is what’s going to make me feel like I’m about to break?
Dance lessons with a certain raven-haired girl in my living room?
I squeeze my eyes shut, picturing Avery.
She’s just so… cute. From her attitude to the way she wrinkles her nose when I do something she disapproves of, like leaving my dirty socks in the living room.
Honestly though, the fact that she lives her life like a wrecking ball crashing from one place to the next, but draws the line at dirty socks, cracks me up. Avery cracks me up.
I spit into the sink, staring as it swirls down the drain.
Avery wants to dance with me. Which means I’m about to embarrass myself.
Based on my collective knowledge, I’d say I have about as much rhythm as she has business being in the kitchen.
So like… none. She wasn’t wrong while she was probing about my abilities.
I tried to play it off, but she could tell.
I’m not a dancer. And the mere thought of Avery’s delicate hands gripping mine…
Something jolts through me, straightening my spine. I’ve felt this before.
I’m into Avery.
The girl who was sleeping in her car, the one who brought her cat and her chaos and moved into my house. I’ve got a thing for her. And this time, it stretches beyond pity. Which was a terrible excuse anyway.
I’ve got a thing for Avery.
What exactly that thing is, I guess I’ll find out in—I check my phone—three minutes.
Running my hands over my hair, I push it out of my face and make a grab for my cologne.
Cologne, really? I shrug, lift my t-shirt, and spray one tiny spritz on my abdomen for good measure.
I don’t want to seem like I’m trying too hard, but I’ve been told I smell good, and I want Avery to think so too.
If we’re going to be in close quarters, I want her to remember it for good reason.
It’s like I black out, and when I come to, I’m in the middle of my living room. Alone.
Avery isn’t here yet. I stare at the line of plants at the base of my expansive living room window.
What am I doing? Taking dance lessons is perfectly okay, but being drawn to the instructor the way I am is definitely not.
Especially given our circumstances. Talking to Avery is bad enough given our employment statuses, so I can only imagine that having her live with me is a cardinal sin.
If anyone knew… A shiver runs up my spine, and I remind myself that they don’t.
No one knows. Avery and I, well, our living situation is a secret.
I’m not—she’s not—going to lose anything over this. I won’t let that happen.
“You ready?”
I spin to face her. Avery stands on the opposite end of the room in a pair of black spandex shorts and the same tank top from earlier. Why did she have to change her shorts?
I cross my arms, a barrier that I know will soon be broken. “Are you ready?”
“Always.” She smiles wide, setting a speaker on the coffee table and scrolling through her phone. “Teaching the danceless how to dance is my specialty. You’ll be number like… five. Or something. The point is, no one is unteachable. Not even you.”
“Danceless?” I channel all of my disappointment from the fact that to her I’m just another number to teach into that one word.
“Danceless for now.” She doesn’t notice the way I slump as she chooses the perfect song. “Now the question is, what have you got? Can you keep a beat? Are we at least still at middle school slow dance level?”
I watch as she tosses her long hair over her shoulder.
It looks soft and wavy, a nice break from it always being pulled up into some configuration on top of her head.
It’s then that I realize for the first time that her hair isn’t jet black.
There’s a warmth to it I’ve never noticed before.
Avery’s hair is dark chocolate brown. And it’s natural.
I know this because Maggie once schooled me on all things hair when she was going through her “I might go to cosmetology school” phase.
She even bought a mannequin head and dyed it all colors of the rainbow in preparation.
In the end, she never actually went. In the process, I became quite fond of brunettes.
Avery gazes up at me, completely unaware of the mental appraisal happening behind my eyes.
Then she smiles, her eyes crinkle, and her nose scrunches.
She’s just so… cute. My resolve weakens more as Avery sways to the quirky song, somehow making it sound alluring. Sexy, even.
“What?” she asks, freezing.
I shake my head.
“Don’t do that.” She pokes me in the chest. “You have to talk sometimes, you know. What were you thinking?”
“I’m thinking about how your toes better be ready to get clobbered,” I say, pleased with myself when she lets out a short laugh. “And that you scrunch your nose when you smile. Like a bunny or something.”
“Are you calling me a rabbit?”
“I said bunny. And bunnies are cute.”
A rosy tint splashes across her cheeks. “Cute?”
I nod.
She scrunches her nose so hard it smushes up her whole face. “Like this?”
I let out a cough to cover up the laugh I can’t keep down. “No. Definitely not like that.”
She holds the pose for a second longer before relaxing her features and skipping over to the speaker like nothing happened. Like I didn’t basically just admit to her that I think she’s cute.
“Okay. We’ll start here.” She presses play then looks me dead in the eye. “I want to see you step and snap. Like me. Follow along.”
Avery takes a step to the side and snaps on the beat, some kind of bizarre disco funk song spilling into the room.
Could she have picked something more… awkward?
Dollyboy hops onto the back of an armchair, settling in for his front row entertainment.
I keep my spine rigid, finally moving along with her as she rolls a wrist, prompting me to match her rhythm.
She slows for a moment, watching me, and I swear it’s like I’ve stuck my head in an oven.
Moments like this make me think that would be an easier way to go.
At least it’s faster than slowly roasting under her gaze, embarrassment consuming me.
A smile is frozen on her face as she encourages me with a nod.
“Like this.” She tries again, stepping and snapping in an exaggerated way.
I may be a lot of things, but I’m not a quitter. So I suck it up and swallow my pride and do the simple step, hardly even fumbling this time.
“Yes, Ty! Good!” Her smile is so bright it could light up all of Legacy Field. She bounces side to side, adding a flourish with her moves as I’m stuck in my own clumsy step sequence. I can’t bring myself to speak. Is this really happening? Or have I died and been plunged to some new layer of hell?
She stops the music, and silence consumes the room.
“Okay. Alright. Not bad! Not bad at all!” She slaps me in the shoulder, something wild in her eyes. “Ty! You should have told me you had rhythm. I was fearing the worst.”
“You doubted me?”
“After the way you responded when I asked about your abilities, how could I not?” Her eyes linger on mine a second longer, sending something warm quaking down my spine.
Then she turns away, clearing her throat.
“I don’t think we’ll be side-to-side stepping with your mom.
Do you want to try a waltz? Are you up for it? ”
She spins to face me, her excitement palpable. A waltz? That sounds so… formal.
It’s like she can read my mind because her full lips part and she says, “I know ‘waltz’ sounds a bit formal, but it’s just three steps. And seeing how coordinated you actually are, I have faith you can handle it.”
I can’t help but smile. “You think I can handle it?”
She smiles right back, stepping closer. “I think so.”
“Show me.”
Taking her bait, I move in too, lifting my hands.
Her eyes lock on mine as she grips them both and positions one on her waist. A rush moves through me, hot and wanting.
My fingertips press into the small of her back as her other hand squeezes around mine.
In an instant, our bodies are pressed together.
Something kind of sexy plays from her Bluetooth speakers, transforming this moment into something that feels…
well, kind of sexy. Which is never something I thought I would say about a waltz.
Her eyes train on my chest, a shaky breath filling her lungs. “Okay. So we step, side, close… Ow!”
“Sorry.” I grimace, dropping her hands, but she grabs them up again.
“It’s okay! I’m okay. Still have ten toes. You’re learning, hiccups are expected. Now, let’s try again.”