The Wrong Girl_Hanson University_Book Two

by McKenna Kerrick

  I want to smirk, scoff and poke my finger in his chest as I loudly protest that, but I do none of it. Instead, I say, “Then it’s one performance piece. After that, we’ll move on to different partners.”

  His face goes white. “Performance piece?”

  Oh bloody hell, he really wasn’t paying attention at all. “Did you even hear a word she said today?”

  “Not really.”

  My God. Someone send help for this poor guy, and quickly. “Alex,” I frown. “We have to do a small dance piece that resembles something we’re going through in our lives with our partner. We’re supposed to pick something and then made a dance routine out of it.”

  “Absolutely fucking not happening,” he says matter-of-factly.

  I finally manage to tug my arm free long enough to cross my arms over my chest. “You don’t get a say in the matter. Our first grade is depending on this.”

  “I don’t have time to learn to tap dance or do some girly twinkle-toes shit.”

  “I’m not asking you to perform ballet,” I snap.

  Alex doesn’t even seem to register that because his face is losing more and more color by the minute. I can already see his headstone now: Here lies Alex Hunter, football extraordinaire, female magnet, but brought down by the mere thought of guys in tights and leotards.

  “Oh my God,” I breathe out. “Would you relax? I’ll do something simple and you just follow along and then it’ll be over with. Does that sound okay?”

  Ian comes into my peripheral vision, startling me enough that I remember we’re standing in front of the doorway to a still full classroom with spectators watching. “So, has it always been this way between you two?” Ian asks. “Or do you two just go toe-to-toe for funsies of hating each other?”

  “I don’t hate him,” I scowl at Ian. “I don’t have time to hate him.”

  “Right, because I’m the one who did everything wrong,” Alex scoffs. “I knew you would find a way to blame me.”

  “You’re kidding me right?” I narrow my eyes at the quarterback. “I never once said I blamed you for anything.”

  “But you think it.”

  If I could magically grow a foot taller and then gain two hundred pounds, I would slap him if I could reach him and have a desirable impact.

  “Okay,” Ian draws out the word. “That wasn’t what I meant.”

  And yet that’s exactly where it took off towards.

  “Let's just go hit the gym,” Ian says to Alex. “You can do one little dance with her and call it a day.”

  Alex looks like he's going to protest but sighs instead. “Fine,” he says like a petulant child, “come over after our practice lets out and we can do whatever twinkle-toes shit you've got planned.”

  “It's not ballet!” I grudgingly say. I forgot how much being around Alex makes me feel like a child myself, wanting to resort to violence by hitting him and also wanting to stomp my foot at his aggravating tone.

  “Okay, okay, that's good for now,” Ian interrupts and starts shoving Alex out the door. “See you later, Grace.”

  Is it wrong if I yell Over my dead body! even if it's not true?

  Probably.

  I snatch my bag up off the floor and cut through the group of girls that are still standing around gossiping. They really need to find someone else to stalk or talk about. He's just a stupid guy.

  There's a line to get into the Union and I tap my foot impatiently while standing in the never ending line behind yet another behemoth of a man.

  Could they seriously just make one male specimen of normal proportions at this school?

  Apparently that's just too much to ask, though.

  Since the line doesn't seem to be going anywhere, I pull out my phone and scroll through my contacts until I come up to my old dance partner’s number.

  “Baby cakes!” comes a southern drawl in my ear. “Why has it taken you this long to call?”

  That's a good question. “Hey, Jesse, what's up?”

  He scoffs like an overdramatic diva, which he is, and then says, “They want me to teach Rachel, honey. I can't choreograph Rachel. She's too much of a prima donna.”

  The corner of my mouth tilts at his outrage. “So only one of you is allowed to get your panties in a bunch?”

  “I don't wear panties,” he huffs.

  “Same thing.”

  “She's so difficult. Were you aware that Miss Thang won't drink water during rehearsal unless it's slightly chilled, not refrigerator cold, and comes strictly in a glass bottle?”

  A part of me feels bad for Jesse, but then again he's one of Wilmington’s best choreographers and that means he won't always work with people he likes. “Sounds dreadful.”

  “It is!” Jesse sighs. “But what about you, baby cakes? How goes dance at an under prestigious school?”

  “It's fine, I guess.”

  Jesse doesn't say anything for a long moment. Long enough I start to question whether or not he hung up the phone. “You don't sound okay. Is it the football guy?”

  “Why would you ask me that?”

  “Oh, so it is the football guy.”

  “I never said it was Alex!”

  Jesse laughs. “You didn't have to. It's pretty obvious.”

  “It is not.”

  “You suck at lying. What did the poor man do now?”

  “I have to dance with him,” I say grudgingly. “Can you believe that?” I raise my voice. “How did I get this shitty of luck?”

  “Uh, you've had this shitty of luck since I've known you. Can Alex dance? You never told me if he could or not.”

  I bite my lip as the line pushes forward. “He can do some things,” I hesitate. “But I don't know if he's still going to the pool hall to dance on Friday nights or not.”

  “You could ask him. Then you'll know what you're working with.”

  “No! What kind of insane logic is that?”

  Jesse blows a raspberry into the phone. “The only one being insane is you, baby cakes.”

  I know he's right, but I hate being wrong. Something I have in common with the obnoxious quarterback.

  “I'm just not getting the issue. It's been four years. At what point does the awkwardness end?”

  I have no idea considering I haven't reached that point yet. “He's going to be mean.”

  “Has he given you a reason to think that?”

  “Besides some football bimbo spilling her drink on me and him not batting an eye? Or to be a dick because I chose to follow my dream instead of following him like some puppy?”

  “Wow, that was deep, Grace. He really said that?”

  “He said I lost my dance scholarship because I wasn't good enough.” Or alluded to that heavily.

  “Well that's an asshole thing to say to someone. Regardless of whether or not you've been in their pants,” Jesse says.

  That causes me to roll my eyes and I lean around the behemoth in front of me to see that we're almost up to the counter. “So what dance should I do?”

  “Something ridiculously easy.”

  “That takes all the fun out of it.”

  “Grace Hart, are you trying to fail the poor guy?” Jesse scoffs. “That's not like you.”

  “It's not that. I just don't know how to get him to dance.”

  “He's a football player. He's got rhythm in his feet, he just doesn't know it yet.”

  If only that were true.

  “If all else fails, just have him stand there and parade around him.”

  I snort. “So he can look like a typical guy at a frat party with a bimbo?”

  “I didn't say slutty dance; get your mind out of the gutter.”

  “How else was I supposed to take that?” I scoff.

  “Uh, the not dirty way?”

  I scowl, but it’s not like Jesse can see me. The behemoth moves in front of me and I’m now face-to-face with the lady whose outstretched hand is begging for my I.D. card. “Here,” I smile at her, but she just swipes and hands it back to me,
looking through me like I’m a ghost.

  “Where are you at? It’s so noisy.”

  “Cafeteria. I need substance.”

  “Please tell me you’re not eating burgers and fries,” Jesse growls. “Your diet is important.”

  From how amazing the taco stand looks, my diet doesn’t seem all that important anymore. “I know, I know, stay away from the food caked in oil and grease. I’m well aware.”

  “You’re well aware,” he mocks in horror. “You mean like that time you just had to challenge one of the soccer girls to a burrito eating contest and then spent the afternoon vomiting because your spins were making you sick?”

  “Well,” I pause and look longingly towards the tacos, “it seemed like a good idea at the time.”

  “Just stick with your usual.”

  “So now you’re my nutritionist as well?” I ask.

  “Somebody has to be. God knows if you were left to feed yourself everyday without being held accountable you’d be scarfing down french fries and anything remotely covered in chocolate.”

  He’s not wrong. I would definitely do that if given the option. “Okay, so grilled chicken strips, a banana and,” I scour the rest of the room for something else, “sweet potato fries covered in parmesan?”

  “If you leave out the parmesan, then sure.”

  There was no way I was leaving out the parmesan. “Okay, that’s fine,” I lie.

  “Is there anything else I need to know about your football player?”

  “Why do you ask that?”

  “Because your voice is still wavering like you’re not sure about something.”

  “I’ve got nothing to worry about,” I insist.

  Jesse sounds like he doesn’t believe me. “Then you shouldn’t have a problem coming up with a simple dance routine for him to follow. It’s not like he’s going to get distracted and try and get in your pants, right?”

  “He...might be under the impression I’m seeing somebody.”

  Jesse makes a high-pitched noise on the other line. “Who in the hell are you seeing? And why wasn’t I involved?”

  “Because he thinks it’s you.” I can’t help but cringe after the words come out.

  Jesse doesn’t say anything for the longest moment. His breathing is choppy and I’m ready for the screaming to begin, but all I get is a sudden jolt of loud laughter in my ear. “Oh my God, that’s great. You told him you were dating me? That’s rich. You’re dating a gay man, I’ll give you props for apparently being the one to swindle me away from the gender I’ve always been attracted to.”

  “It’s not funny! He ambushed me and it just came out!” I protest.

  “Baby cakes,” Jesse continues to laugh, “it’s hilarious.”

  Chapter Six

  Grace

  I spin again, feeling a slight headache come on as I stop myself and spread my hands out in a ta-da fashion. “Well?” I ask.

  Alex blinks a few times, his face not giving any indication if he was paying the slightest bit of attention to me or not.

  “Hello?” I wave my hand in front of his face. “Are you paying any attention at all?”

  “I am,” Alex clears his throat and shifts on his desk chair. “I’m just wondering what in God’s name you think I’m going to be able to do in all that fancy movement you just did.”

  “It’s not hard.”

  “It is to those of us who have no idea what the hell it is you just did.”

  “Okay,” I breathe out. “Let’s just try again.”

  Alex shakes his head. “No, I don’t think it’s going to work. You need to dumb it down. Make it Dancing For Dummies: Football Player Edition kind of dumb. Just do something else.”

  Do something else? Is he insane? I spent all afternoon preparing that piece and he just tells me no like it’s the final verdict. “Look, it really isn’t that hard, I swear. Just try it and you’ll see.”

  “That’s not going to happen, sugar.”

  I grind my teeth down. “Please?”

  Alex quirks an eyebrow at me but doesn’t say anything else. Which is guy speak for I’m not budging. Stupid ass football player.

  “You’re not even going to try?” I groan. “You can’t be a quitter!”

  “Can’t quit something I never tried.”

  Dear God, I want to throw my toe-shoe at him. Not that it’ll have a desirable impact, but it’ll probably feel good to throw something at his monstrous head.

  “There’s got to be a million and one different things that are far easier than whatever you just did,” Alex continues. “So let’s try and pick something and slow it down so that I can keep up.”

  “I don’t know what to show you. That took me all afternoon.” I'd like to think I'm more mature than a toddler who wants to stomp her foot, but I want to stomp my foot.

  Alex sighs heavily and spins around at his desk to fiddle with something on his laptop.

  “Excuse me?” I say loudly to gain his attention. “We’re supposed to be practicing, not playing a computer video game.”

  “I'm not playing a video game,” Alex says with his back still to me. “I'm trying to find a song.”

  Now I'm just dumbfounded. “A song?”

  “You know, musicians put together a melody and then someone comes along with words, thus making it a song? Although, if you want to be technical about it, you don't have to have words. Sometimes the best music speaks for itself.”

  “I don't get how a song is going to make me magically come up with a new dance for you,” I frown and cross my arms over my chest.

  “It probably won't. But you're one of those people that feel the emotion of music, right?” Alex looks over his broad shoulder at me with a quirked eyebrow. “That is what you do, isn't it?”

  My face turns red. “Yes.”

  “Great. Try this.” Alex reaches over and taps a key on the laptop and music starts playing. It's Maren Morris’ I Could Use A Love Song.

  “Do I want to know why you have a slow song on your laptop?” I ask.

  “Obviously to make someone think I'm super fucking romantic to get them into bed.”

  Right. Because he's Alex Hunter, the manwhore extraordinaire. It’s not because he has a freaking clue about how to treat someone properly. And that's a shitty thought, because he does know how to treat someone properly.

  “Are you going to dance or stare at me some more?” Alex frowns.

  “I'm not staring at you.”

  “You're looking right at me, sugar. Hard to believe that you're not when you are.”

  Gah. “Just give me a second, I'm thinking.” I close my eyes and try and picture a melody to move my body to, something that'll be simple enough I can incorporate a partner, but it's too much of an emotional piece. Alex would be too stiff and wouldn't know how to move to it. “You need to change the song.”

  “Why?”

  “Because there's no dance that I can incorporate you into that you're going to feel it with the appropriate amount of emotion that the song deserves.” There, I said it.

  Alex rolls his eyes and turns back towards his laptop. “Fine, let's do this the ridiculously easy way.”

  I have no idea what he's talking about. My way had been the ridiculously easy way.

  “Okay, that's better,” Alex stands up and holds out his large hand.

  I stare it. “What?”

  “You're kidding me, right?” Alex frowns while still keeping his hand extended out. “You've been gone four years, sugar. There's no way you forgot how to swing dance in that amount of time.”

  It's then the song occurs to me. It's one of the few pieces I remember Alex spinning me around to. “You want to swing dance instead of what I just showed you?”

  “Yes.”

  “You do realize that swing dancing is actually harder than what I showed you, right?”

  “Potato, pah-tato.”

  That feeling of wanting to grow a foot and gain two hundred pounds to be able to successfully slap him is b
ack.

  Alex stretches out his shoulders, causing the t-shirt he's wearing to pull tight across his chest, showing off his impressive muscles.

  Not that I'm looking at him or anything.

  Okay, I might have ogled for half a second. But that's all. Because he drives me crazy and I need to stay away from him for my own sanity.

  “So,” I clear my throat. “Swing dancing it is.”

  “If you don't hurry up, the song is going to end. And I don't know about you, but I don't have all night to be doing this.”

  “Fine.” I grab a hold of his stupid, and yes I'm calling his hand stupid, hand and let him twirl me around for the remainder of the song. My side has a kink in it and I'm out of breath by the time he dips me backwards, all the while he's managed to keep a straight face.

  “Let's just do that and call it a day,” he says.

  I narrow my eyes at him. “One practice dance and you want to call it a day?”

  “Let's not push our luck. That one went well enough.”

  He's crazy. Certifiably insane. “That's not how this works!”

  Alex huffs and spreads his legs apart, like he's preparing for tiny little me to ambush him.

  “Again.” This time I hold out my hand.

  “Grace.”

  “Alex.”

  We're both glaring at each other now.

  A knock vibrates through the door before it swings open. “Hey do you want pizza?” Abruptly Gage stops talking.

  “We’re in the middle of something,” I grind out.

  Gage rolls his eyes. “Why do exes always have to act like they've got a rod shoved up their ass? Just bone and be done with it.”

  My mouth falls open. “I do not want to bone him!”

  “Okay, sure you don't,” Gage shrugs.

  “I don't!”

  “I just agreed with you,” Gage sighs.

  But he didn't, not really.

  “Grace and I were dancing,” Alex finally contributes to the conversation.

  “You were dancing?” Gage doesn't sound the least bit like he's buying it.

  “We were just wrapping up,” Alex adds.

  “No we weren't!” I huff out. “We need to keep practicing.”

  “You know what?” Gage steps back until he's fully in the hallway, his hand on the doorknob. “Maybe I'll just save you a pizza until you're done practicing or not practicing or whatever it is you're doing up here.”