“I said no,” Grace states firmly. “And that’s the end of it. Alex and I are not a puppet for people to stare at. We’re people, who are going to be doing a non-risky dance because I don’t have time to trust him or teach him anything else. My God, it’s one dance. My grade won’t suffer for playing it safe for one dance.”
Nobody says anything so I take that as my cue, “Right,” I agree, “we’re better off playing it safe.”
Because what other option did I have?
Chapter Eleven
Grace
One would think that dancing for a living would stop the pre-performance jitters, even just a small performance in front of class, but it doesn't.
Instead, I’m standing outside the door shaking my hands to get rid of my nerves. I don't know why shaking your hands like you're trying to fling invisible water off them works, but it does, and I'm not questioning it.
“Nervous?” Ian asks from beside me, peering into the room.
“Sure.”
He arches an eyebrow at me.
“Okay,” I concede in a less mocking tone. “I'm a little nervous.”
Ian goes back to looking into the classroom. “You doubt your dancing ability?”
“No,” I almost scoff.
“You doubt Alex?”
That was a whole ‘nother set of nerves. Last night, even against what we wanted to do, Alex and I eventually gave into peer pressure and performed a small, but appropriate, dance for our friends and my fake boyfriend to view. It went well, almost too well.
“I wouldn't worry about Alex,” Ian adds on, taking my silence to mean more than it really does. “He’ll pull through for you.”
“I know.”
“So don't worry.”
“I'm not worried.”
Ian tilts his head and looks at me. “You're a shitty liar, anyone ever tell you that?”
A part of me wants to stick out my tongue at him, but the adult part of me just huffs and rolls my eyes. It may not be much more mature, but it was a step up.
“Speaking of the devil,” Ian murmurs.
I turn to stare down the hallway to see Alex coming towards me. He's dressed in a flannel shirt that's been tucked into his jeans and he has on a pair of well-polished cowboy boots.
“Ma’am,” Alex says as he comes up to the doorway, tipping his imaginary hat. Alex slaps Ian on the shoulder as he passes both of us to enter the room.
“What is he wearing?” I gape.
“Uh, usually the clothes he wears when he's working the farm over the summer,” Ian blinks. “Is he heading home after classes?”
Not that I was aware of. Also, not that I'd be privy to that information about his life. “We’re going to clash,” is all I can think to say.
Ian arches an eyebrow as he looks down at my outfit. I have on yoga pants and an oversized shirt with ballet flats on. “You don't think you two match?”
I scoff, “Of course not.”
“Hmm. You definitely seem to match to me,” he winks before striding into the classroom after Alex.
I hate men. What did Ian even mean?
“Miss. Hart, how are you? Ready for the big performance, I hope?” Mrs. Voit asks.
“Yes,” I smile.
“Then why are you standing in the hallway? Let's get this show on the road!”
I nod and shuffle my feet into the dance room. Ian tilts his head from the other side of the room as invitation to come sit by him and Alex, but the harem of girls surrounding them, the girls drooling all over the quarterback, makes my lip curl and I flop onto the floor as far away from them as I can get.
“Well, let's begin class. Who would like to go first?” Mrs. Voit asks the room.
A few of the girls get up and begin their little dance routine to the tune of Hollaback Girl. It was a disaster of epic proportions, but we still clapped to be kind. And then there was Alex, who let out a wolf whistle.
Typical.
That's how the majority of class went, though. Skanky dances that resulted in pinched faces with applause and wolf whistles. By the time the end of class rolled around, Alex and I had managed to, unfortunately, be the main act.
Mrs. Voit brought up our soundtrack, an old school jive for our fast-paced swing dance. Part of the panic started to settle into my gut as I place one hand on Alex’s shoulder and the other in his hand.
For a brief moment, it felt like we were back at prom, about to slow dance together for the millionth time.
And then the beat picked up. The next few minutes went by in a blur of movement and small laughter that escaped as I flowed with the movements Alex’s mind created. For a split second, I was back in high school with all the feelings that accompanied being in Alex Hunter's arms.
Then the song abruptly stopped. Alex let go of me, and took a step backwards. His face was set in stone and there was no applause from our classmates.
Looking out to the crowd, Ian’s smirk only added to my confusion as to what was happening. Something inside of me shifted during the dance, my whole world shifting on its axis and it didn't seem like I was the only one to notice.
“Very, very well done,” Mrs. Voit broke the silence with her applause. “Brava!”
The clock in the corner of the room chimes, letting everybody know that class was over. My mouth opens as I turn to Alex, except I have no idea what to say. Not that it matters any, he's already grabbing his bag and running out of the room.
“What was that all about?” I ask Ian as he approaches.
“I told you, you match,” Ian shrugs. “You two go well together, you're both just too blind to see it.”
I balk. “I meant with everyone in class.”
Ian rolls his eyes. “Probably so in awe of the two of you. Should've seen your faces Grace, it was pretty obvious you both enjoyed dancing and knew how to dance together. Those girls are probably just jealous.”
“Then what's Alex's excuse?”
Ian, once again, arches his eyebrows at me. “You mean he's treating you different than every other day? Because it seemed pretty normal to me. It didn't seem normal to you?”
Oh, God. Maybe I'm imagining things after all. Clearly my little trip down memory lane was one-sided. Why am I even thinking of Alex like that?
“You okay there, Grace?”
“What?” I ask.
“You look kind of like you saw a ghost.”
“I was just remembering something,” I smile weakly. “You know, a long time ago.”
“Mm,” Ian nods. “Wouldn't have to do with Alex and you, would it?”
“There is no Alex and me. I can't stand him. Plus, he hates me. I broke his heart. Or bruised his ego, whatever he's saying.”
“I think you two really need to have a talk face-to-face sometime,” Ian sighs. “It would make this whole ordeal go by a lot faster. I can't believe you two are playing chicken to one another.”
“I am not playing chicken.” I lift my chin in defiance. “I could talk to Alex if I wanted to.”
“Really? You want to bet on that?”
“Sure,” I shrug. “I've got nothing to lose.” Except my dignity, but who really needed that anyways in a world full of Kardashians?
“Alright, if you chicken out, then you have to announce to the whole cafeteria that you were in love with Alex.”
“What?” I gape. “Why would I do that?”
“You’re the new girl. You’re part of Alex’s past and Alex keeps his past pretty private.”
“Really? Because from what I’ve been hearing, he’s pretty open about his conquests of the campus.”
“But not you,” Ian smiles.
“And what if I win?”
“Then you don’t have to make a spectacle of yourself in front of the whole cafeteria?”
“How about this, if I win then you have to kiss a girl.”
Ian rolls his eyes. “Now that’s a dumb point.”
“Why? Seems about as reasonable as what you told me to do,” I shrug. “T
hat’s our bet.”
“Sure thing. Now, let’s go.”
“Go where?” I frown.
“To see Alex. You don’t get time to rehearse what to say, this is a bet after all.”
Great, just great. Ian grabs my hand and pulls me out of the room and down the hall. People are quickly stepping out of the way for the large football player currently barreling towards them.
It doesn’t take long before I’m practically leaping to keep up with Ian’s long strides as we head towards the football stadium. In the back corner of the lot is where the team’s locker room is. My heels dig into the dirt.
“Oh no, I am not about to see a bunch of butt naked guys and their junk hanging out over a bet!” I half-yell in panic.
“Relax, you’ll be fine. No one is going to have their junk out,” Ian rolls his eyes. “God, you’re dramatic. Have you always been like this?”
“I’m dramatic?” I hiss and tug on my hand pointlessly, his grip is way too strong. “You’re the one trying to deflower my innocent eyeballs.”
“You have lost your mind,” Ian laughs and shoves open the door. “Or have you changed your mind, is that what this is about?”
“No! I haven’t changed my mind. But goodness grief, we could just wait until they’re on the field.”
“Coach would kill us if you came on the field. Plus, we’re here early while Coach isn’t here so we don’t get in trouble.” Ian leans briefly on a steel door. “Don’t worry about it, Lila comes in here all the time.”
“I didn’t need to know that,” I squeak as Ian throws open the door. Instead of trusting him, because why would I trust someone who is literally dragging my ass into the boy’s locker room, I slap my free hand over my eyes and stumble along behind Ian.
“What the hell is going on?” a voice yells. There’s a lot of shuffling noises happening afterwards and all I can imagine is a room full of half-naked guys scrambling to put their clothes on in haste.
“You’re sending me to Hell for this,” I hiss at Ian.
“Grace?” Killian’s surprised voice fills my ears. “Ian, what are you doing?”
“Don’t mind us, we’ve got a bet,” Ian says before jolting me to a stop. “Alright, proceed.”
“I’m going to kill you,” I tell Ian. “I mean it. If I could shove you off a cliff right now, I would so do it. This is not how this is supposed to go. It’s cheating and you are a terrible, horrible person.”
“Are you done?” Ian chuckles. “I promise everyone is decent, you can uncover your eyes.”
“Nope. Not going to happen,” I frown. “That was a sleazeball move, Ian.”
“Why is she in the locker room?” Killian asks from behind me. “Grace, why are you in here?”
“Because he,” I wave my hand and connect with who I hope is Ian, “tricked me.”
“I didn’t trick her,” Ian snorts. “I made a bet with her. And the quicker the bet takes place, the sooner it’ll be over.”
“Fine, I can do this with my eyes closed,” I huff and swing out my hand again, slapping, hopefully Ian, in the chest. “Hello, Alex. Nice to see you. How have you been? Good? Thanks, me too.” I place my free hand over my hip. “There, bet completed.”
“Yeah, no. That’s not how it goes,” Ian clicks his tongue. “You have to actually look and talk to him.”
“That was not part of the rules we established,” I point out.
“Doesn’t matter. If you want to win, then open your eyes and have a decent conversation,” Ian says.
“This is so cheating,” I huff.
“Oh my God, just do it,” Ian groans.
“Fine,” I growl as I pry my fingers away from my face and open my eyes. I had my hand over them so tightly, it takes a moment for the room to come into full color instead of fuzzies. And then I’m staring at a t-shirt, about a foot in front of my nose and it doesn’t belong to Ian or Killian.
No, it belongs to my ex-boyfriend. Karma’s such a nice person, isn’t she?
“Hey,” I say quietly, all the air and pent up frustration leaving my body.
Alex doesn’t say anything, he just stares down the bridge of his nose at me like he’s trying to decide if I’m a Chihuahua who is going to bite him or let him do his own thing in life.
“What’s up?” I add on.
“What kind of game are you playing?” Alex finally asks.
“Ian called me a chicken,” I raise my chin again. “I’m not a chicken.”
Alex looks up and cocks an eyebrow at the man standing behind me.
“To be fair,” I hear Ian say, “I called you both chickens, not just her.”
“Why am I a chicken?” Alex frowns.
“Because we don’t talk,” I answer for Ian. “Because we go well beyond reason to avoid each other, or be bitchy to each other.” I feel the muscle in my leg throb with our last real conversation in my head. “We can’t be in the same room together.”
“So this is what? An olive branch?” Alex practically sneers as he says it. “I don’t need an olive branch from you.”
From me. “Of course not,” I say, feeling my cheeks heat up and a lead ball feeling start in my stomach. “Right, my bad.” This is definitely not how I thought this would go.
Chapter Twelve
Alex
What is she doing here?
Her face has gone red and she’s tightened her arms around her stomach, which is Grace’s tell when she’s upset or scared. Which is my fault.
Ian dragging her through here, her fingers over her eyes and their little conversation about a bet put me in a foul mood. What kind of bet could they be talking about? And then he called us chickens for avoiding one another.
It’s not that he’s wrong, per se. But shit, this is our business, not anyone else’s. And everyone else is constantly telling me what I should be doing.
Talk to her.
Stop being a dick to her.
Just leave her alone.
But hell, it doesn’t even matter what I want it seems. Or what Grace wants, since Ian had to trick her into doing this. And with the looks Ian and Killian are sharing behind Grace’s head, I have a feeling this was set up.
“Do you want to talk to me?” I ask Grace. “Actually talk to me? Not because this idiot over here dares you to?”
She half-turns, like she’s looking for Ian, but stops herself. “Yes.”
Just hearing that one little syllable leave her mouth leaves my knees feeling weak. She wants to talk to me. Actually talk to me. With real words and real context in the conversation. “Okay,” I agree and grab her forearm since her hands are hidden. “You two,” I glare at Killian and Ian, “are going to leave us alone. You want us to be friends so bad, fine. But you don’t get to be privy to that conversation. And as far as this bet goes, Grace wins.” I tug on her forearm to get her to follow me. “Come on.”
She's struggling to keep pace with my long strides as I march her through the locker room. The curiosity is burning a hole deep in my gut.
Why does she want to talk to me?
Was it because I left immediately after class without looking at her?
God, she probably felt my heart trying to beat out of my chest when I held her in my arms. That stupid dance was the longest, shortest dance I'd ever taken part in.
That doesn't even make any sense, a part of me goes.
But screw it, I want to know why she wants to talk to me. Why now of all days she decided she could talk to me like an actual human being.
Why, why, why…
I yank open a door, shuffling Grace in before flicking on the light and slamming the door closed behind us.
“Did you just bring me into a storage closet?” Grace gapes. “Oh my God, this is where serial killers kill people.”
“What?” I stare.
“In all those trashy high school murder movies, this is totally the place that the serial killer finds the dumb blonde and kills her.”
She's not making any sense. “Do y
ou want to go back out there where everyone is going to shove their nose in our business?”
“No,” Grace relents. “But you could have picked a better place to haul my ass to.”
“I'll be sure to file that information for next time,” I deadpan. “No more serial killer closets.”
“Thanks.”
It goes silent. Each of us seems to be measuring up the other person. Her roots are starting to show through the blonde dye in her hair. Eyes always wide like she’s constantly surprised by things in the world. She looks so damn pretty it hurts my soul, but I doubt she’d care to hear it.
“Look, this bet with Ian and me, I’m not trying to be a pain in your ass,” Grace sighs. “Or force myself into your life. I just took it because, honestly, I’m not a chicken. I’m not afraid to talk to you, most of the time. There’s just part of the time where I wonder if we’re going to cause an epic fight or something. We share friends, it’s not fair to make them pick sides.”
I consider this. She’s made a valid point. Us, whatever it is we’re doing, clearly isn’t working if it’s going to cause our friends to be put in the middle. And Grace always cares about other people’s emotions. “True.”
She gives me a small smile, a strained one at best. “So, friends? Fake friends? I don’t know how to go about this,” she rambles.
“You want to be my fake friend?” I scoff. Yeah, sounds like a thrilling idea. I’ll just get right on that.
Grace winces and opens and closes her mouth a few times.
“Is it really that bad to just be my friend? A normal friend?” I counter. “We were friends before.”
“That’s before, you know,” she waves her hand between us.
“It was a long time ago.” I’m not sure how I said it so calmly, but I did.
“Exactly. Then why doesn’t it feel like a long time ago?” Grace frowns.
Because I want you. Like hell am I saying that out loud though. I don’t have a death wish. “It’s been a long time since we’ve been just friends,” I correct. “It’s not been so long since we’ve been, uh, more.”
“You seem to be doing well.” She tilts her head to the side. “Different girl every night.”
The Wrong Girl_Hanson University_Book Two Page 8