Dance for Me

by J.C. Valentine

  I can’t breathe. It feels like someone sucked all the oxygen out of the room and my lungs are about to collapse. I flounder for something to say, but all I come up with is an angry, “Are you crazy!”

  Annie doesn’t appear the least bit surprised by my outburst, although a couple heads turn to see what the fuss is about. “I’ve thought about it a lot over the last week, and I believe that this is a good move.”

  “You think?” I huff. Unbelievable. The one person in my life, who I thought had a good head on her shoulders, has lost her ever-loving mind. I may not know a ton about Jason, but what I do know is enough for me to say that she’s too good for him and she’ll regret it. “To move halfway across the country, you’d better be a hell of a lot more positive than that.”

  I’m mad. Steaming. Ready to hunt down Jason and kick him in the sack for trying to take my friend away.

  “I am sure, Joe.” She sighs, reaching across the table and placing her hand over mine. I think about pulling it away, but I don’t. I leave it there and decide to hear her out. “This isn’t a snap decision. There’s more to it than just deciding to follow my boyfriend to Cali.”

  “Then why don’t you tell me, because right now, I’m seriously upset with you. I can’t believe that you’d just up and leave me alone like this. Sisters before misters, remember?”

  “You know Jason and I had a plan.” She slowly draws back and I can tell that whatever she wants to say, she’s afraid. Why would she be afraid to talk to me?

  Realization hits me and I slump back in my chair. Why else would a woman walk away from her life, unless she was given a very good reason? “Oh, my God. You’re pregnant.”

  Her emerald eyes flare and her mouth drops open for a split second, before setting into a firm line. I have my answer. Stunned, frustrated, worried…so many emotions run through me that I can’t get a handle on them all.

  Sliding my chair back, I dump my tray in the garbage and stride toward the exit. Annie calls after me, but it’s just background noise.

  SEVENTEEN

  I sing, badly. But that doesn’t stop me from trying. The next song is “Dance Magic” and I roll right into it, even though I hate David Bowie. I’m much more of a Billy Idol kind of girl.

  There is no shame in admitting that you are alone and plastered before dinner time on a Monday, especially if there is no one you know around to see you crashing and burning in a puddle of self-pity.

  Why a puddle of self-pity? I’m still trying to figure that out. I just know that there is this ache in my chest that is only dulled by the burn of alcohol, so I keep pouring more, hoping to lose myself so completely that this day will be nothing more than a black hole in my memory. But, after I lose my balance and nearly break my ankle, I do the smartest thing I’ve done all day—I throw in the towel and drop down on the couch.

  The silence that follows drives home how alone I truly am, and when I kill the music, the lively atmosphere in the living room dies along with it.

  Life sucks. Anyone who says differently is a liar or an idiot. Taking on the responsibilities of an adult before you know how to be one sucks. Losing both parents before the age of eighteen sucks. Using your body to get by might sound like a fantasy to some, but in reality, it sucks. Knowing you have very little claim on the man you call your boyfriend sucks, too.

  From the very first breath we take, we’re destined to experience pain. I’ve experienced enough of it that it’s begun to drown out any happiness that might dare come my way. Some days, my senses feel dulled, my emotions diluted. I ignore it all and push on. Otherwise nothing would get done. All of it, every last bit, just plain sucks.

  I lift my half-empty glass of scotch and toast the air, then slug it down. The burn feels good, makes me feel alive. Then the lethargy begins to kick in, and I figure, why not have another? Maybe this one will do the trick. There’s no one here to tell me to stop, no one here to judge my actions. It’s just me and the bottle.

  I pour myself another glass. And another. I don’t remember crawling into bed, but I do remember waking up in the middle of the night. Just snippets of memory really. The room spinning, my stomach pitching and rolling with it. An unseen hand holding my hair back as I retch into a bucket beside the bed.

  When I wake up in the morning, the sheets cling to me. The chill in the room causes goosebumps to erupt on my skin, but I’m sweating, as though I have a fever. The sun spilling through the partially opened curtains blinds me and my head pounds violently.

  The humming in my ears is almost as bad—sharp and stabbing, like someone left a power drill running in my skull.

  But wait.

  I force myself to sit up and my body sways with the effort.

  The drill isn’t in my head, but somewhere else in the apartment. As I try to assess where exactly it’s coming from, it stops. Moments tick by and I watch the doorway. One thought repeats in my head as I wait: A hand held my hair back.

  Someone is in my apartment.

  Quickly, I sift through my memory, compiling a list of who has a key to my place, but it’s like wading through quicksand. My thoughts are sluggish, and by the time I think I’ve counted everyone, which is practically no one, as Annie and my landlord are the only two people who should have one, it’s too late.

  Ransom fills the doorway. He pauses when he sees me, a soft smile in his eyes. “You’re awake. How are you feeling?”

  I’m lost for words. I watch him stride into the room, his long legs eating up the carpet so fast my eyes strain to keep up, but I do. Dressed in only a pair of loose fitting jeans that hang low on his hips, revealing a sculpted torso, he’s impossible to look away from. Makes it impossible to think.

  A tall glass of green liquid is pushed in front of my face. “What’s this?” I croak as I cautiously accept the offering. My nose scrunches up as I take a sniff. There is a medley of scents, all of which make me queasy.

  “It’s my mother’s hangover remedy. It’s guaranteed to clear your head and get you back on your feet.”

  By throwing up, I presume. “What’s in it?”

  “Just a few greens, some protein, and a couple vitamins. Drink.”

  His fingertips nudge the bottom of the glass, urging me to do as he says. I take a cautious sip. It’s a balance between sweet and bitter, not altogether appalling. The grainy texture turns me off a bit, though, as does the slight smell of peanut butter, but I continue drinking until the cup is half gone and my stomach threatens to revolt.

  Handing the glass over, I lie back down and close my eyes. Listening as Ransom sets the glass down and lowers himself onto the bed beside me, I’m reminded of a question I needed to ask.

  “How did you get into my apartment?” I’d been in such a foul mood after leaving Annie, I hoped like hell my anger hadn’t made me forget to lock up.

  “I borrowed a spare I found in your junk drawer.”

  Somehow, that strikes me as even worse than forgetting to flip the locks. “So you just took it?”

  “In case of an emergency.”

  I repeat his words to myself. For some reason, it strikes me as funny. Here’s this man who I’ve been having sex with for months, who never cared a lick about my personal anything before, and suddenly, he’s concerned about my welfare. “Why didn’t you just ask?”

  “Would you have given it to me if I had?”

  I open my eyes and fall straight into his. They’re blank, unreadable…and I don’t know what I would have done. “I guess we’ll never know.”

  He sighs. “No, I suppose we never will.” Standing, he crosses to the door and bends down to scoop up a bundle of fresh sheets. “Go grab a shower. I’ll take care of things in here.”

  I don’t argue because as disgusting as I feel, I need a moment alone more.

  I take my time showering and exploring how I feel about Ransom having a key to my place. I didn’t give it to him, he took it. I’m not sure how I feel about that.

  On one hand, I’m ticked off that he had the a
udacity to just help himself. It’s basically stealing, but should I really be surprised? I’ve never known him to be courteous or particularly concerned with other people’s feelings.

  On the other hand, I’m happy he’s here. I don’t know what possessed him to let himself inside—a surprise visit?—but I know that he helped me last night when he didn’t have to.

  By the time I turn off the water, I’ve decided to let Ransom slide on a technicality. As embarrassed as I am that he saw me at my worst—for the second time—he took care of me. He stayed and made sure I was okay, and he’s still here.

  I find Ransom braced against the countertop, waiting for me. His features grow darker as I step out of the shower and wrap myself in a towel. For a moment, we just stare at each other. I feel as though, despite the time we’ve spent together, there’s something I’m missing. Something I’m overlooking, but for the life of me, I can’t put my finger on it. It’s not the first time I’ve felt this way, and it’s disconcerting.

  “Are you mad that I have a key?” His voice is a low rumble and I detect a hint of concern.

  “No, just surprised.” Reaching around him, I retrieve a comb and lead us into the kitchen where I begin working the tangles from my hair while a pot of coffee brews.

  There’s only one question still nagging at me, and I ask it again, even though I suspect I already know what his answer will be. “Why didn’t you ask?”

  Ransom’s mouth twists and he repeats his earlier question. “Would you have given it to me?”

  I already know my answer, but I take a moment to think it over anyway. When it doesn’t change, I tell him, “No, probably not.”

  He gives me a look that says that’s why. I have to grit my teeth to keep from saying something I’ll regret.

  “Why did you come over last night? I thought we were spending some time apart.”

  Ransom moves behind the counter that overlooks the living room and pours a cup of coffee. He drinks it black. “Do I need a reason?”

  “No.” I shake my head. Something tells me to tread lightly. The way Ransom’s shoulders seem to bunch up, and the tension he’s throwing off, makes me uneasy. “How long are you staying?”

  His eyes meet mine over the rim of his cup. “Is that a nice way of asking me to leave?”

  “Again, no. Just making conversation over here. I think the question is perfectly reasonable.” Especially since I didn’t invite you over in the first place. I don’t voice that to him though. I have the feeling he’s spoiling for a fight, and I’m not going to give it to him. Not with the…Wait. What the hell happened to my hangover? With the amount of alcohol I put away last night, I should be laid out in bed right now.

  “What did you put in that drink again?” I rub my temples, testing for aches and pains, but the only thing I detect is the slightest, almost insignificant strain behind my eyes.

  Ransom smirks. “Told you it worked. Doesn’t smell or taste the greatest, but it never fails to deliver.” Abandoning his cup on the counter, he walks over and cups my face in his large palm. His thumb strokes over my jaw and presses into my chin as he tilts my head back.

  “I’m glad you’re feeling okay. With the state you were in last night, I wasn’t sure you would be.”

  “Even with your magic potion?”

  He smiles faintly at my attempt to lighten the mood. “Even with it, yes. That’s the second time I’ve seen you like that. The first time I understand. You were having fun. But this time was different. You seemed…sad. Why is that?”

  I get lost in his eyes so easily—dark eyes that see straight through me. When Ransom looks at me like this, I feel a pull to tell him everything, to confess all my secrets. It’s the princess complex. The innate desire to have a man who cares enough to swoop in and solve all my problems. But that’s the problem. Ransom isn’t that man…Is he?

  Months ago, I would have said no, he isn’t, and been one-hundred percent certain I was right. Now, I don’t know what to make of him.

  “I got some news that I didn’t like.” I shrug and slip from his hold, eager to drop this conversation. It’s too early to get too heavy.

  Grabbing a fistful of his black AC/DC concert t-shirt now covering his gorgeous chest, I plaster myself against him. “I never thanked you for fixing me up. What do you say we head back to the bedroom so I can show you how grateful I am.”

  Ransom’s smile is dark, dangerous, and oh so sexy. I have a hard time catching my breath as he sets his cup aside and backs me into the hallway. Little touches are how he teases me—sliding a finger across my cheek, tracing my bottom lip, skating a path from throat to sternum, creating an invisible line between my breasts. Once we’re in my bedroom, he tugs my towel away.

  Standing naked before Ransom has always been thrilling, if not a little terrifying. I anticipate the predatory gleam that he always gets in his eyes whenever we’re about to have sex. It’s how I know what kind of mood he’s in. It’s always been aggressive, but tonight, there’s no sign of it. In its place, I only see desire. There’s a feral heat lingering in their depths, but Ransom’s eyes are gentle, almost placid.

  Like he’s seeing me.

  I wonder what he sees. A woman who is confident in her own skin? Or a woman who has devalued herself by taking off her clothes for other men? That’s my fear, the one that wiggles a little deeper into my gray matter every time I step onto that stage. What kind of guy would want a woman who strips for a living? Someone who shows off their body to anyone with a dollar to wave.

  Sometimes, I don’t even like myself, so how can he like me?

  Ransom strips off his clothes, dropping them on the floor where they join mine, and we are both standing naked before one another. His body is one that makes every muscle inside of me clench. One look and I burn for his touch. I shiver when he circles his arms around me and guides us to the bed. I stretch out beneath him, and as I look into his eyes I catch a glimpse of something that gives me pause.

  For the briefest moment, it makes sense. It’s not what he sees in me that keeps him coming back. It’s what I see in him. He looks at me with wonderment. With a vulnerability that suggests being with me gives him something he needs.

  Suddenly, I don’t see the same man who throws me against doors and drives into me with little care beyond his own desires. I see a man who needs to be cared for. A man who just might be as lost as I have been since the day I lost my mother. Without a second thought, I open my arms to that man and accept him inside of me, and together we lose ourselves in the temporary pleasure of each other’s body.

  EIGHTEEN

  Annie’s driving me crazy. I can’t escape the guilt of walking away from her. I’m sitting in the back of the room of Art Comp, trying to concentrate on taking notes, but it’s impossible when she keeps finding any excuse she can to look back at me.

  After she had texted me a dozen times last week, I broke down and told Ransom what happened. He thinks I need to get over it and apologize. I know he’s right. I know I’m being petty, but this feels like a betrayal. Annie’s my only real friend and while I always knew our lives would lead us down different paths after college, I always thought we’d remain close.

  I never thought our lives would end up thousands of miles apart.

  I’m not stupid. I know once she’s gone, we’ll never see each other again. All the promises in the world won’t make a difference once she’s out in California starting the next chapter of her life. She’s going to be a mother—I still can’t wrap my head around that one—which leaves no room for me. At best, we might exchange an occasional email or phone call, but it won’t be the same. We won’t be the same.

  I’m wasting time being angry with her, but I don’t know how else to deal with everything I’m feeling inside of me. So, for now, I’m keeping my distance.

  When class lets out, I gather my books and hope that I’ll get lost in the wave of students leaving the room, but Annie is waiting for me at the bottom of the stairs when I get there. I’
m not ready to talk to her yet.

  As I reach the last step, an uncertain smile grows on her face, and a low hum starts up inside my head. “Can we talk for a minute?”

  Annie wears her emotions on her sleeve, so it’s not hard to tell that she is hurt by my behavior. Still, as much as I want to reach out and pull her in for a hug and assure her it’s going to be fine, I don’t. The excuse falls from my lips before I know it’s coming.

  “I can’t. I have to talk with Professor Scott about the final project.”

  Her eyes are locked with mine, searching, and I know she can tell I’m lying, but she lets it slide. “Okay, well, maybe we can catch up later then.”

  I smile tightly, because we both know it’s unlikely. But it’s nice to pretend. “Sure.”

  Annie doesn’t leave right away, making it impossible to keep up my ruse. If I linger, the lie will be exposed. Maybe that’s what’s she’s going for. Maybe she’s trying to beat me at my own game. I catch her giving me a sidelong look as she stacks her papers neatly into her backpack, and that’s all the confirmation I need. The little devil is cleverer than I thought.

  Realizing I have to follow through with my bogus excuse, I slowly walk toward Ransom’s desk, where he is seated, his head down, as he quietly flips through an overlarge art book.

  I clear my throat to get him to notice me, and when he lifts his head, his smile is bright. Too bright. I dart my eyes over my shoulder and he follows the movement, seeing Annie. His smile instantly turns professional.

  “What can I do for you, Miss Hart?”

  I hadn’t intended to tell him. My plan was to wait until the last possible moment and then slap my name at the bottom of the project list, but Annie has put me in a tight position and I can’t think of anything else right now.

  Drawing in a deep breath, I say in a rush, “I signed up to pose for Mrs. Jackson’s modeling class for the final project.”