Chapter 40 Gagged #2
I set my jaw. “No, I want to win this!”
Reed snorts as “Born to Hand Jive,” the track that backs the iconic Danny Cha-Cha dance scene, starts up. He whips us into a twirling frenzy, and I cackle maniacally as we fly across the floor.
“Something’s definitely bothering you,” Reed says, assessing me way too accurately.
He tugs me harder against him and throws his right arm out and up on an angle.
We swing around as one piece—chests flush.
Fire, the good kind, roars at the contact.
At the feel of him against my hips as I mimic his movements.
I throw out my opposite arm, recognizing the action from years of obsessing over Dancing with the Stars.
His freakishly bright eyes pierce mine as we slow down. “Just tell me.”
Just tell him, Rikki. Tell him things, instead of stewing in the suspicious explanations you’ve conjured up for his girlfriend announcement at the table.
Reed releases my back, catches my free hand, and ushers me back into a normal hold.
I blow out a flustered breath. “I guess I’m annoyed.”
He spins me and catches my hand again. “Great, why?”
We fall back into a quick-but-consistent shuffle.
“Because! You waited till we were at a public event in front of all your friends to mention a label. We’ve been in the car all day, and you didn’t ever utter the word girlfriend.
Your friends got to know I was your girlfriend before I did, and of course I have to wonder why.
Why today? Why here? Why now? What’s your angle?
Is it a tactic to exploit me in some way?
“Am I fulfilling a fantasy you’ve had of actually bringing someone you enjoy hanging out with to a wedding after going to heaps of them alone?
When I go home tomorrow are you still going to want to be something real?
Are you still going to call me your girlfriend when I’m not around to physically touch, or will it expire at midnight like Cinderella?
We haven’t discussed it! Is it like the pact?
Does it only work when we’re together, or are you actually saying you want to be with me now—here and not here?
“Dropping that label in a public space leaves me subconsciously spinning, plotting out all the possible things you might be thinking that word means while we’re supposed to be having fun at this grossly expensive, spectacular wedding for your extremely famous friend.”
“Jump and straddle,” Reed says.
“Excuse me?”
“Jump and straddle me. Now.”
He drops a sharp nod as the music crescendos.
I bend my knees and jump. He swings me and my hips up.
My legs fly toward the ceiling like I’m made of helium, and he brings me back down into a straddle around his waist, my legs jutting out behind him.
Then he swings me back out with the momentum and catches both my legs with one arm so he’s holding me across his chest. I brace, recognizing this sequence and worrying he’s going to try to swing me around his back without practicing—but he just spins in an arc before setting me back on the floor, sliding his hands down my arms, and pulling us back into hold.
“Jesus Christ, Reed. Are you also a part-time professional dancer?”
He tugs me close, keeping us moving, and presses his forehead into mine. “Rikki,” he breathes. “I don’t have an angle. You’ve got this image of me as a secret villain in your head. You’re waiting for me to flip a switch that isn’t there.”
I pull back an inch to study Reed’s eyes. Earnest, kind, open.
Jordyn’s words reverberate in my head. You never give them the benefit of the doubt. You give them the absolute doubt.
Is that what I’m doing? Am I not being careful? Am I being distant?
“I’m not going to hurt you,” Reed says. The words are backed with so much sincerity. It’s impossible not to believe them.
I swallow as he spins me out and in. My back lands against his chest. “Men aren’t this nice,” I hiss over my shoulder.
His hands slide down my waist until his palms are pressed against my hips, urging mine to move with his, against him. My breath catches as desire flames through my core.
His lips hover over my ear. “I’m not nice, Rikki. I’m kind. There’s a difference.”
He lifts my hands up over my head and twists me back to face him, ensnaring me with his eyes as we gallop back into a shuffle to stay with the music.
“Reed,” I breathe. “I don’t think I’ve ever liked a person this much, and I’m pretty panicked about it.”
The music shifts. Reed adjusts our tempo as “Super Trouper” fills the room. I can’t help but smile as the voices of what sounds like every guest in this hall join in with ABBA to belt the opening lyrics.
“What about your exes?”
My lungs forget how to function as Reed’s hands suddenly slide to my upper thighs. He squats, encouraging me with pressure to swing my hips from side to side as he makes his way back to standing and maneuvers us back into a close hold.
I’m going to be ashes by the time we finish this.
Amusement sparks in his eyes. He knows he has me flustered as hell.
What did he ask?
What about your exes?
“Through my twenties . . .” I start, out of breath now. “The bar I had was so low. Not on purpose, but in retrospect I can see that it was like, one foot off the ground. I was just looking for someone peaceful. Someone calm—I didn’t know what I wanted in a partner. I just knew what I didn’t want.
“I ended up with a lot of stagnant, passive-aggressive people that I never truly felt connected to. No one I could actually depend on to be there with me in whatever I tried to accomplish or do. No one could match . . .” I smile, glancing down at our feet for a millisecond.
“Your freak?” he finishes, grinning.
I blow out a slow breath. “Saying this out loud is making me feel like I’m on the edge of a panic attack.”
“You’re just facing more fears, Renee.”
I roll my eyes for the millionth time today. “What do you know about my fears?”
“I know you do what I do,” he says firmly. “You avoid opening up.”
I cut him an obstinate look. “What?”
“To protect yourself. You’re afraid of being known.” He twists our arms into an infinity sign so we’re side by side. We move forward in sync, shuffling from one foot to the other with the beat. “It’s a classic defense mechanism. You would know.”
I blink at him as the statement charges across my psyche, leaving a path of destruction in its wake. People are clapping around us. We have an audience now, standing along the edges of the circle, clapping to “Super Trouper” as it comes to its crux.
It’s just us and two other couples left. When did that happen? Willy Wonka and a sexy blueberry girl, and another Sandy-Danny combo. On the stage, Matt Trent and Marissa are singing and dancing, watching us, now dressed in traditional bride-and-groom garb. Or maybe they’re Mamma Mia! themed?
“The only place you speak completely freely is in your writing,” Reed says against my neck. His breath sends renewed flames running over my already-charred skin.
“You only speak freely in your writing,” I accuse.
“I’m gonna spin you while we walk. You ready to pirouette?”
“Yes.”
He releases one of my hands and lightning fast whips the other up over our heads, twirling me. I spot his face, spinning like a top as we move forward to the final bridge.
The crowd is whooping, so we must be doing something right. Reed catches me in an abrupt stop against his torso. My free palm clutches at his biceps. He bends his legs. “Fall back,” he breathes.
I drop my hands to his waist and let my torso fall back as he swings me in an arch, my hair tracing a parabola through the air as the audience explodes again.
I crunch back up and land with my hand against his pec.
“Once upon a time at the start of this, yes, I was only speaking freely in my writing,” he says. “But—I realized I want you to know things about me. And since then they’ve started to just spill out.
“The things I’ve always wanted and worked for these past ten years . . . seem to finally be coming within reach.” He shakes his head. “I’m stepping up to the plate and going to bat for all of it. And the biggest swing by far”—he sucks in a breath—“is you.”
He twirls me twice and catches my hand as hot golden light floods my chest.
“I’ve spent fourteen years as an emotional recluse,” Reed says simply. “I’m ready to stop being a fucking coward.”
Pride swells in my chest. For his story. His openness. He’s a living, breathing example of emotional growth. The inexplicable plugged-in feeling I always have around this man maxes out. I’m a human spotlight burning across the floor.
“I want you to know me too,” I tell him.
“Super Trouper” ends and the intro to “Gimme! Gimme! Gimme!” rolls in. Reed pulls me back into a tight hold against his chest. We’re nose to nose as the song ramps up. “Then let go.” I feel his smile against my lips. “Step off the cliff with me.”
I almost laugh.
Step off the cliff.
I tripped off weeks ago. At the end of our second date. Way too fast.
I had just published the piece about instalove.
But I also knew that Whitney and Glenn had mad fucking issues.
And as much as I wanted to make Whitney feel better by digging in and writing that article when our family tried everything to get her to postpone sealing her relationship with Glenn in marriage after a mere eleven months, I didn’t believe it myself.
I didn’t believe in them. I didn’t believe you could be so sure about someone so quickly.
But I’ve been counseling them for weeks now, and they’re doing great. Glenn is showing so much potential and desire to grow. And he’s taking initiative when I thought he would back down and feel ganged up on.
I misjudged him.
And now what? I’m going to push away the best guy who’s ever walked into my life because I—what? Don’t believe in fucking magical love stories?
I literally appeared here via magic journal from the Disney gods of the universe or some shit. Why am I pretending that isn’t my reality? When did I become so fucking jaded? When did I decide to live in this bubble of bulletproof glass?
I tripped off the cliff weeks ago. And I shoved my knife into the cliffside. And I’ve been desperately clinging to it, trying to throw myself back up ever since.
But the more I spend time with this man, the harder it is to hold on.
It feels good to let go.
I peer into his ardent eyes as we continue to whirl across the floor.
A smile curls into my cheeks. “Reed, I already have.”
Curiosity flashes across his face. “Wh—”
“We have our winners! End-of-movie Danny and Sandy, get on up here and claim your prize!”
Reed and I look up. King George is waving to us.
I’m floating outside my body as we stroll up to the bride and groom on stage. Reed and I are official. Labels and pictures and introducing each other to people in our lives official. We’re going to do long distance. He thinks I’m worth the trouble.
I’m sweating and giddy and terrified, and Regent Fallow the Lost Prince of Yorlabala is here. King George drops sashes over our heads. Dancing queen and king, respectively.
“Reed!” Matthew Trent tugs Reed into a hug, and Marissa does the same. “So glad you could make it! Thanks for coming, man. You two were so great!”
“So happy to be here. Thank you for having us! This is my girlfriend, Rikki.” Reed pulls me forward, and Matthew Trent hugs me as I tell him it’s so nice to meet him.
Regent Fallow is hugging me.
“I didn’t know this guy had a girlfriend. Good for him! You two looked great together out there!” He thinks we looked great together. The universe and Regent Fallow think we’re great together.
“We should grab a picture,” Reed suggests, pulling out his phone. King George takes it from him and grabs a shot of Reed and me next to Matthew Trent and Marissa.
One degree away from Regent Fallow of Yorlabala. What is my life? Or is it zero degrees? Am I zero degrees from Regent Fallow of Yorlabala? I need some air. I’m overheating. So much dance. So much new information.
King George hands us our AMEX gift cards and dismisses us from the stage before turning his mic back on to say more things to the guests.
I turn to Reed as he takes my hand. “Can we get some air?” The back of this airport-hangar-size room is all glass and opens up to a marina.
“I’d love to.”