by Julie Cross
Soon she’s in front of me, all curious and nosy. I point a finger at Tate, who’s trying to figure out what I’m doing.
“This is one of my teammates,” I tell Angel. “Tate, this is Angel…she’s a friend of my brother’s.”
Her eyebrows lift. “Right. A friend of Braden’s. That I am.”
“Tate’s a dance virgin,” I tell her.
“I’m not—” He protests but then stops, probably wanting to see where I’m going with this.
I turn Angel around so her back is to me. I’m about to show Tate where to put his hands, but she stops me. “Wait…I need to channel my eighteen-year-old self for this music.” I give her a second, and finally she says she’s ready.
“Hands here…” I direct, laying them on Angel’s hips. I give him a few more tips, and Tate listens about as intently as I do when Jamie and Leo are helping me with hockey stuff. This kind of dancing, this music, not exactly my scene, but still, it’s not rocket science.
Angel turns to Tate after our short little demo. “See? It’s easy. Now which girl do you have your eye on? I can feel out the situation for you.”
“That would be the tall redhead in the center,” I answer for Tate. “His girlfriend.”
“Your girlfriend?” Angel says, and then she gives Tate her most warm smile, the motherly one. “You’ve got nothing to worry about. She already likes you. Effort goes a long way.”
Claire looks over this way, goading Tate with her eyes. I give him a shove in that direction, and he surprises me by walking straight over there, no hesitation. Angel and I lean against the wall, watching him and Claire dance together. Claire is smiling a lot, and Tate surprisingly shows no signs of being rhythmically challenged.
I hold a hand out to Angel, and she slaps me a low five. “Nice work, partner.”
“What would the world do without us?”
Angel goes back into Ricky’s office, and I stay in my spot, my gaze glued to Haley in her short pink dress with lip gloss to match. Her hair is down and flowing everywhere in a sexy, I just had a hot make-out session way. My pulse quickens just thinking the word make-out with Haley in sight. Soon, I’m pushing off the wall, heading in her direction. Even though I shouldn’t. Even though it was me who turned her down a couple of weeks ago. But Tate would have outed me anyway, right?
She sees me when I’m still a few feet away, and the smile drops from her face. I almost disappear back into the crowd, because that isn’t the reaction I’d been hoping for. But who am I kidding? She doesn’t owe me any reaction at all.
But then she’s right in front of me, arms crossed, eyebrows lifted. “How did you know I was here?”
I shake my head. “I didn’t. Tate caught me leaving and asked me to hang out.”
For a long moment, we look at each other, both of us trying to decide how this will go. Finally, Haley wraps her fingers around my shirt and tugs me toward her little crew. She gives me this stare from over her shoulder, rolls her eyes, and says, “Same old Fletch, huh?”
Same old Fletch. Unwilling. Being dragged into Haley’s life. That thought sits heavily in the pit of my stomach, and suddenly I don’t give a fuck about her friends watching. Or Tanley being here.
I reach for her, drag her body against mine, feel her breath catch, her mouth fall open in surprise. But she doesn’t stop me. The music gets faster, louder, like it’s inside me and all around. I stop thinking about eight counts and posture and downbeats. Haley molds herself to me, and we easily move together. I press my face into her hair, inhale. Her hands are everywhere—sliding over my chest, my back, under my shirt.
Soon I’m consumed by thoughts of the last conversation we had, Haley saying I didn’t even have the balls to kiss her. She’s the one who did it first. She’s right. And now all I can think about is proving her wrong. I step out of her hold, grasp her hand, and head her off the dance floor.
Normally, I’d never pull a girl away from her friends or take her somewhere alone without asking first. But with Haley, I don’t have to ask. I simply think the question, and I can feel her answer.
My heart is pounding, my thoughts in a haze, as I lead her through the dark backstage and fumble around for the dressing-room doorknob. And then I fling it open, tug her inside, and press her against the door. The music is faint in the background. Even in the dark, I see her chest rise and fall with rapid speed.
You’ve never even kissed me, Fletch. You won’t do it. You won’t put yourself out there.
We both take a quick breath together, our hearts pounding in the dark. And then I lift her off the ground, her dress hiking up, her legs wrapping around me. Maybe I haven’t made the first move before, but I sure as hell have imagined it.
Chapter Thirty-Four
–Haley–
My back collides with the wall the same moment Fletch’s mouth collides with mine.
I can’t breathe. I can’t think.
All I can do is feel. All of it. Everything. Like Fletch’s arm locked around my waist. His other hand in my hair. The softness of his lips. The thudding of his heart. I barely remember walking in here. Not that I even know where here is. It’s dark. I don’t care. I just want…need…
“I need…” I breathe out the words without meaning to. My legs tighten around his waist, my dress sliding higher up my thighs.
“You need?” he prompts. Fletch moves his mouth to my neck. “Need to stop?”
“God, no.”
He shifts me, pressing more of my weight into the door, freeing one of his hands. Warm fingers brush over my satin panties. I inhale sharply, the scent of fresh flowers filling my nostrils.
“This,” he says.
Not a question. Tonight, I’m with Decisive Fletch. Observant Fletch. The Fletcher Scott who takes context clues to a whole new level.
His mouth is on mine again, my fingers slip into his hair, and I’m so far from nervous, far from self-conscious. I couldn’t find my way back there even if I wanted to.
His hand moves into the little space between us, beneath my dress, and his fingers find their way to my breasts. I pull my lips from his, a sigh escaping. Fletch pauses, his body tensing. Then he takes a few steps sideways, and suddenly I’m perched on the edge of what feels like a shelf.
Lips are on my shoulder now, my collar bone, the straps of my dress slipping down. I dig my heels into Fletch’s back and drag him even closer. Just when I’m about to grab his hand and put it back in the vicinity of my panties, he does it himself, gently moving his fingers over the thin satin material, while his lips are much more rough against mine. The dark world blurs all around me and then sharpens, allowing me to see the angles of his face, the muscles in his arms, gripping me tight.
I’m lost. A million times lost. Hurtling toward something new. And just when I’m a heartbeat away, I realize what’s happening. “Wait…”
But it’s too late. It hits too fast. My fingers press into Fletch’s back, my head falling against his shoulder. The blood pumping in my ears makes it hard to hear him whispering to me. At first it sounds like he’s calling me baby, which doesn’t really seem like a Fletch thing. And I realize baby rhymes with Haley, and then the idea of Fletcher Scott whispering my name while that is happening brings me even further over this cliff.
I’m soaring too high to have any control. I grab Fletch’s face and kiss him. Hard. My fingers knot in his hair, and I don’t even know what I’m saying, but I’m saying something against his lips.
He laughs, light, sexy, his warm breath touching my lips. “Was that English?”
Now I’m waking up from the haze. Almost as quickly as I got there. My face heats up. Maybe he didn’t notice? Just kiss him again. I’m leaning toward him, ready to dive in, when the door opens a crack. Without warning, light fills the space we’re in. I squint and look around—it’s a dressing room, I think.
Fletch has this puzzled look on his face like he’s trying to figure me out. My cheeks burn all over again.
“Anyone in her
e?” a female voice says. “Counting to five and then I’m entering. With a child.”
I press my hands into Fletch’s chest, shoving him back, and then I hop down, righting my dress. I look at him again and have to look away. God, he must think I’m…
But I don’t know what. Desperate? Loud? Great at moaning?
Jesus Christ. I gotta get out of here.
Fletch says something to whoever is trying to enter, and the door shuts again. But I’ve got it open in two seconds. “I better go back—” I stop because I don’t want to make this worse.
“Haley, wait.”
I give him one last look and then turn beet-red again. “Sorry,” I mutter before stepping out of the door.
A small light is now on backstage, and I almost knock over Fletch’s dance partner, Angel. She’s got a dark-haired crying toddler in her arms. She opens her mouth to say something, but I get embarrassed all over again and walk away, practically at a jog.
Kayla and Leslie are still busy dancing with each other, they might not have noticed me leave. And Tate and Claire haven’t moved spots, either. I head straight for the bar, hoping I don’t get carded again, because Leslie has my purse. I step in line behind a few people. I can’t get my heart to slow down. I close my eyes and draw in a breath, but this just puts me back in that dark room, Fletch lifting my dress, his skillful hands moving over me.
Fuuuuuck.
I shake out my arms and give myself a pep talk—be cool. No big deal. God, I don’t think I’ll be able to smell flowers again without seeing—
“As your designated driver,” Tate says, appearing out of nowhere, “it’s my duty to advise you to drink lots of water with your booze.”
“Water,” I repeat. “Got it.”
He’s standing beside me. Not going anywhere. And then I realize he’s studying me. “You look…have you been—”
“Shut up,” I snap. “Just don’t.”
“Yeah. Okay.” Tate turns to face forward again. “You might want to fix your dress.”
I glance down. My dress is shifted so far over, my right boob is practically hanging out. That was probably what Angel tried to tell me before I took off.
While I’m adjusting my clothing, I sneak a peek at Tate—for Claire’s sake—and his eyes are trained on the head in front of him. Good boy.
I exhale. Fletch is probably back there laughing at me. Or comparing me to all the other much older, much more experienced women he’s been with.
Chapter Thirty-Five
–Fletcher–
Angel knocks on the door again. I’m sure she’s figured out that I’m in here. Maybe wondering why I haven’t followed Haley out. But I’m in no condition to leave. I shake my arms out, trying to calm myself. And then I lean over the sink and splash some cold water on my face.
“Baby Scott,” Angel says in her the-kid-is-with-me voice. “If you’re gonna be a while, can you just toss the diaper bag out in the hall?”
Josie is crying now. Loudly.
My breathing hasn’t returned to normal yet, but other parts of me have. Mostly. Crying babies certainly help the cause. I exhale and then open the door and stand half behind it. Angel steps inside and immediately turns to face me. “That good, huh?”
I glare at her.
She dumps the crying kid on the floor and goes digging for a pacifier in the diaper bag. “I’m completely jealous. I haven’t had dressing-room sex in forever.”
Angel hands Josie the pacifier and then lifts her up again. “I have got to ask Bobby why we never have dressing-room sex anymore.”
I’m still not breathing normal. I know I’m gonna get hell for this, but I have no choice but to pull out the inhaler and take a puff. I point a finger at Angel. “Don’t.”
“Nope. Not saying anything,” she mutters. Josie popped that pacifier in, and now her head is on her mom’s shoulder, her eyes closed.
My lungs expand, my breathing deeper and more solid. I could go back out there now. Talk to Haley. Check on her. But something stops me. Confusion. I don’t know what just happened. I glance at Angel then back at the door. This repeats a few times.
“What?” she says, rolling her eyes. “I know you want to tell me.”
I toss the inhaler back in my bag and lean against the wall. “I’m not sure—I mean…”
“This must be a feelings question, because you don’t usually have any trouble talking about more physical topics,” she concludes. She lays Josie on her belly on the couch and pats her back in this hypnotic pattern.
“It is physical,” I say eventually. “Did Haley seem upset when she left?”
Angels thinks for a moment. “She seemed embarrassed.”
“That’s what I thought, too.” I walk a few paces. “I mean it was weird…good. Really good. But weird.”
“What was weird? The sex?”
“No sex.” I shake my head. “We were just kissing, but I think she…I mean I know she…”
Angel’s eyebrows rise again. “Oh. No wonder she was embarrassed.”
I stare at her. “Orgasms are embarrassing to girls?”
“Sometimes.” Angel laughs at my expression. “Wouldn’t you be embarrassed if things went prematurely on your end?”
“Well, yeah,” I agree. Been there, done that. Grew out of that, thank God. “But it’s different. Most girls would want that to happen, so it can happen again. Later.”
“You’re comparing Haley to Rosie and Henrietta—”
“Haley is nothing like Henrietta,” I say. Jesus. What the hell?
“I just mean all the girls in your life are too busy playing your teacher to be self-conscious. I’m glad I stayed out of that game, but I’m not an idiot. I know what’s going on. I know who you hook up with and exactly what went down.” She wrinkles her nose. “Or who.”
I open my mouth to protest but decide there’s no point. Not a lot of secrets around here. Plus, outside of my crush on a dancer way too old for me a couple of years ago, I’ve never been embarrassed about anything I’ve done in that realm.
“I’m sure we’ve all given you an unrealistic perspective. Plus, how old is Haley? Sixteen? Seventeen? When I was her age, orgasms were not a part of sex—”
“Wait…what?”
She laughs. “See? We messed you up. First sexual experiences are not pleasurable for most girls, especially if you’re young like Haley.”
I let that sink in for a second, but then I remember something. “She’s not a virgin. And she seems to be into honesty in that area. Guess that could be a new thing?”
Angel’s face lights up. “Oh! Maybe Haley is having one of those sexual awakenings, where it’s all about being physical and owning her body and her pleasure. Could be her summer project.” She waves a finger at me. “If that’s true, she picked the right guy. You refused to date her but will make out with her. You’re attentive, yet detached.”
It’s like someone sucker punched me right in the stomach. For a second I can’t breathe, and my stomach ties up in knots. I barely register Angel standing in front of me, offering her water bottle. I shake my head.
“That bothers you, doesn’t it? Being her boy toy.” She gives me that know-it-all look. “This is about feelings, Fletch.”
I close my eyes and pinch the bridge of my nose.
“Look at me.” Angel rests a hand on my arm and waits for me to turn my head. “You’re gonna fall in love with this girl. You can’t stop it from happening, no matter how hard you try. But I promise you, it’ll be okay. We’ve all been crazy in love. We’ve all had our hearts broken. You. Will. Be. Okay.”
“But what about everyone else and my town and—”
“It won’t matter. Just tell her how you feel, that you’re ready, and none of that will matter anymore.”
I want to protest, to give her a list of carefully thought-out, logical arguments to everything she just claimed to be fact. But I can’t. I’m too busy freaking the fuck out. I need to find Haley. I leave Angel standing there in
the dressing room, and I’m out the door, back in the club in no time. I search the dance floor, the beating music hitting me right in the heart.
I’m frozen for a moment, the memory of Haley’s fingers pressing into my back, her incoherent words against my lips. I don’t want to love her. I don’t want to fall in love with anyone.
But I’m not sure I have a choice with this girl.
Haley is nowhere in sight, so I look for Tate. He’s taller, and I know he wouldn’t leave if any of the girls were still here. But he’s not here. Still, I keep searching, even asking a girl to check the bathroom for me, but no Haley. Or Claire or Tate. I send Haley a quick text asking her if she left, but ten minutes later, no answer. I head back to the dressing room where Angel is waiting patiently for me to return.
“Well?” she prompts. “How did it go?”
“She’s not here.” I turn around, checking the room, as if Haley may have hidden here or something.
“Do you know where she went?”
“No idea.” I shake my head, but then I remember. “I do know who she’s with. Technically I could call him—”
Angel gives me this look, and I shut my mouth and dial Tate’s number.
“Hey, Fletch…did we leave something behind?”
“Um, no, I don’t think so. Is Haley with you?”
“Uh-huh. We’re heading to Wilson’s party. He’s got that big house near Lake Cameron.” Tate seems to turn down the loud background music and protests follow. “If you want to stop by.”
“Okay, thanks, man.” I hang up before he can ask me why I really called. I turn to Angel. “Whatever I was gonna tell her will have to wait until tomorrow. She’s going to some jock-infested party.”
“Well, aren’t you a jock? Can’t you go to that party and talk to her?” Angel presses.
I eye her warily. “Tomorrow sounds better.”
“Yeah, because it feels real good to sit on that kind of embarrassment for fourteen hours.”