the Dance

by Alison G. Bailey

  “Car trouble?”

  “Yeah, I’ve tried it several times with no luck.” He glanced at his watch. “Too late to get anyone out here tonight.”

  “I can give you a ride home.” There was a little too much eagerness in my voice.

  Reaching for his cellphone, Hart said, “That’s okay. I don’t want to put you out. I’ll just call my buddy to come get me.”

  “You’re not putting me out. I’m leaving . . .” I dangled my keys in front of him. “. . . And I don’t have anywhere I need to be. Besides, no sense in bothering your friend when you have a hot chick offering to give you a ride.” I winked.

  Creeps, a few days ago I was worried about giving off the wrong signals and now I’m initiating the flirt.

  I felt the blush splash across my cheeks. “Wait . . . that didn’t sound right. I was just trying to be funny.”

  A deep throaty laugh vibrated up from Hart’s chest. He looked around as if he were trying to find an excuse not to accept my offer. Maybe I’d inadvertently overstepped a boundary. The rehab facility had given us a ton of information when Will was admitted that neither of us read. I wondered if there could be a rule about staff not mingling with patients and families outside the facility.

  Blue-gray eyes fell on me. “Where are you parked?”

  I pointed to the next row. “Right over there. The red mini coup.”

  With each word I realized the cause of Hart’s apprehension. He wasn’t sure if my car would be able to accommodate him or the wheelchair. For the first time, I saw a flash of vulnerability in his expression. It was kind of sweet and sad.

  “I guess that would work. Thank you. I really appreciate it,” he said, unbuckling his seatbelt.

  “Great! I can go throw my junk in the car and drive it around to you if you like. Um . . . do you need help with anything?”

  I felt one of my nervous rambles coming. Luckily, Hart nipped it in the bud.

  “No, on both counts.”

  The window rolled up and the driver’s door swung opened. Hart twisted, pulling on the handle behind him. The side of the car opened like a set of French doors. Sliding the titanium frame from the backseat, the wheelchair I’d seen him travel the halls in had been completely dismantled. The only things recognizable were the backrest, which folded down over the seat, and the small castor wheels in front. Hart acted like a one-man pit crew assembling the chair before my eyes.

  Turning toward the passenger’s side, he snatched one of the larger wheels and snapped it on the side of the frame. He repeated the same action with the other wheel. Then positioning the chair, he locked it in place. With one hand gripping the lower part of the steering wheel and his other hand on the chair, Hart slid smoothly into the seat. He grabbed the two foot plates stored behind the driver’s seat and attached them. Lifting each leg with his hands, he placed them on the foot plates, securing both with a strap across his calves. With his black bag in his lap, he unlocked the wheels, and pushed away from the car.

  “Wow.” The word fell from my mouth.

  A simple activity that most people did on a daily basis without much forethought for Hart was a meticulously choreographed routine. I was impressed how effortless he made it appear.

  My comment was rewarded with an appreciative glance from his piercing eyes.

  “Let me get that,” I said, stepping around him and shutting the doors.

  Laying my hands on the wheelchair push handles, I navigated Hart toward my car.

  His hands dropped to the push ring that controlled the large rear wheels of the chair. “Thanks but I’ve got this.”

  A hot prickling sensation swept up the back of my neck. My hands popped off the handles as if they were on fire and I stepped to the side. The last thing I ever wanted to do was offend him.

  “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean anything by it. I was just . . .”

  Wrapping his fingers around my wrist, he looked up with genuine sincerity. “It’s okay. Don’t worry about it. If I need help I know how to ask for it.”

  My chest deflated with a long sigh of relief. We locked eyes for . . .

  One Mississippi.

  Two Mississippi.

  Heat radiated from where his skin met mine, quickly spreading to every nook and cranny of my body.

  It began to sink in that the car ride would be the longest time I’d spent with Hart. Up to this point, our encounters were brief, teetering between playful banter and innocent flirting. All the other times I was able to step away if my nerves got the better of me. It never happened but knowing the option was there kept me calm. We were getting ready to be in close proximity for an extended period of time with no out. My nerves hopped, skipped, and jumped all over the place.

  The sound of a car horn blaring down the street broke the moment, causing Hart to let go of my arm.

  We walked and rolled to my car in comfortable silence. Pointing and clicking the keychain, all four door locks popped up. I opened my back door, tossing my bag and purse in the seat before hurrying around to the passenger’s side. Hart was already placing his bag on the front floorboard.

  I stood off to the side waiting for his instructions. “I’m right here if you need me.”

  He nodded his response as he rolled up close to the car and locked his brakes. Bracing one hand on the car door while clutching the overhead strap with the other, hart hoisted himself into the seat. As he dismantled the chair I stayed in position, ready to lend a hand. After the first wheel came off, he glanced up at me and smiled.

  Giving the wheel one good shove, Hart said, “Mind putting that in the backseat?”

  As the large wheel rolled toward me, I lunged, grabbing it before it fell to the ground. Butterflies swirled in my stomach as a huge smile hit my face. He obviously didn’t need my help but I was thrilled he’d asked for it. We worked as a team to finish taking the rest of the chair apart. Once it was safely secured in the backseat, I slid into the driver’s side.

  Fumbling to put the key in the ignition, I glanced out the corner of my eye as Hart was clicking into his seatbelt. He was so close. I took in a deep breath and tried to place his scent. It was a blend of cinnamon, ginger, allspice, cloves, and nutmeg. He smelled like warm pumpkin pie.

  “You need some help with that?”

  I blinked. “What?”

  “The key . . . you need some help with it?” His cheeks popped with those swoony deep dimples.

  I jiggled the key and finally got it to go in. “No, I got it. Do you need anything? Are you okay? Are you comfortable?”

  “I’m good. Are you okay?” He teased.

  I gave him a shy smile. “Sorry.”

  The car remained quiet while I steered out of the parking lot.

  “You want to make a right at the first light. After that you’ll keep straight for a few miles.” Hart paused for a second before continuing. “So . . . are you going to ask me?”

  I knew he meant the wheelchair. He seemed fixated on my reaction to it.

  I played it cool. “Ask you what?”

  “Oh, I don’t know . . . What have I been up to since the last time we saw each other? How long have I been working at the rehab center? Or maybe how my ass turned into a set of wheels?”

  I peeked over at him and then back at the road ahead. “So tell me . . . how long have you worked at the rehab center?”

  He chuckled. “I’ve been there a little over two years. One year in the PT director’s position.”

  “We’re the same age. How on earth did you snag a job like that?”

  “Working my ass off nonstop.”

  “Impressive. I have no idea what type of training you need for the job. With college and experience, that’s a lot to pack into a few years. And - -”

  “Sorry, turn left onto Coleman Boulevard. I took some college level classes during my junior and senior years in high school. Gave me a jumpstart.”

  “Really?” I squeaked.

  “Don’t be so surprised. I’m more than just a hot bod
.”

  A prickling sensation ran up my arms, neck, and face. Hart Mitchell was definitely full of impressive surprises.

  The car fell silent for a few seconds.

  “Motorcycle accident. SCI at T5, incomplete,” he said in a low voice.

  My gaze darted over, catching him staring straight ahead.

  “What’s SCI?”

  “Spinal cord injury.”

  “When did it happen?”

  “A week after we graduated. I spent my summer vacation in the hospital and rehab.”

  Gripping the steering wheel tighter, I resisted the urge to place my hand on top of his. “I’m sorry.”

  “Take a right at the next light.” He instructed.

  We turned down restaurant row. As if on cue my stomach roared to life, reminding me it wanted food on a regular basis. Out the corner of my eye, I saw a set of broad shoulders trembling as Hart tried to suppress a laugh.

  “Well, there’s no sense in pretending you didn’t hear that. You want to grab a bite to eat? We could catch up more,” I said, hoping he’d take me up on the offer.

  He looked at his stainless steel Fossil watch. “I can’t tonight. I have an appointment.”

  “What kind of an appointment do you have at nine o’clock at night?”

  He hesitated for a brief moment. “A business appointment. We don’t live in a nine-to-five world anymore, you know.”

  I chose not to think about what “business appointment” was code for.

  “Do you mind if I make a quick stop?”

  “I’m kind of at your mercy.”

  “This won’t take long,” I said, pulling up to the fast food speaker.” I rolled down my window. “Do you want anything?”

  “No thanks.”

  Leaning out, I placed my order. “I’ll have a double cheeseburger, biggie fries, a small Frosty, and a medium Diet Pepsi, please.”

  A garbled voice blared from the speaker. “I have a double cheeseburger, biggie fries, a medium Frosty, and regular Pepsi.”

  “No, a small Frosty and a medium Diet Pepsi.” I turned toward Hart and smiled. “It’s all about balance.”

  He chuckled. “Absolutely. That Diet Pepsi should really offset the rest of that junk.”

  “I don’t eat like this often.”

  His gaze took its time roaming down my body and back up. “I can see that.”

  A little tickle and tingle in the downtown area caused me to shift in my seat.

  After a few minutes the big bag of food followed by my drink and Frosty came through the window. I placed the bag between us, the cups in the cup holder, and drove off.

  Burger, cheese, and grease vapors filled the car, making my stomach growl louder and my mouth water.

  “Hey, do me a solid. Stick the spoon in the Frosty and hand it to me.”

  Hart unwrapped the spoon, but before handing it over he loaded it with the cold chocolatey goodness then plunged it into his mouth.

  Bold. Aggressive. Shocking. And I liked how comfortable and familiar it felt.

  “By all means help yourself.” I teased.

  He handed me the cup. “I usually do.”

  Two more turns and we were pulling into a nice older neighborhood in the Mount Pleasant area. Hart directed me to a white ranch-style house with black shutters and a large front porch. He let me help put the wheelchair together and walk him to the door. As I headed up the three steps, Hart went around to the side in order to use the small ramp that led up to the porch. I held the storm door open while he slid his key in the lock. We were quickly becoming a good team.

  As soon as the front door swung wide a blur of yellow fur came bounding out onto the porch.

  “Hey, girl! I missed you too.”

  Holding out his hands, the beautiful yellow lab pranced back and forth underneath them, wagging her long tail at lightning speed. Her nails sounded like little firecrackers, clicking and clacking over the wooden slats.

  “Sit,” Hart commanded.

  Without hesitation the dog sat dutifully by his side.

  “Bryson, this is Butter. Butter, Bryson.”

  The fact that Hart named his dog Butter and I loved cooking with butter was the ultimate kismet.

  Squatting down I scratched behind two big ears.

  With my lips puckered, I said in a squeaky voice, “What a beauty. Yes you are. You know how gorgeous you are, don’t you?”

  Butter leaned her head into my scratch, letting her eyes close in pure unadulterated ecstasy.

  “I think you’ve made a new friend.”

  “Every girl likes a little ear scratchin’ now and then.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  I heard the smile in his tone.

  “Okay, Butter, you’ve been spoiled enough for one night. Inside.”

  Big warm caramel-colored eyes looked up at Hart, begging him to let the scratching continue.

  “Inside, girl. Now,” he said firmly.

  Butter’s swishing tail bolted off the porch and bounced inside.

  Closing the storm door, Hart’s attention turned back on me. “Thank you for the ride.”

  “No problem. I’m glad I was at the right place at the right time.”

  “Me too.” We locked eyes again. This was becoming a habit. “How’s . . . um . . . Will, right?”

  “He’s fine.”

  “Is his therapy going well?”

  “Oh yeah. The therapy is doing the trick.”

  I wasn’t sure if Hart had already figured out that Will and I were married. At the very least I was sure he knew we were together. I mean, why else would I be showing up at the rehab every day. Even though I’d promised Will I wouldn’t tell anyone about our break up just yet, I felt the need to clarify my situation to Hart for some reason. Other than confiding in Sophie, I’d kept my word. But I wanted Hart to know that my relationship with Will wasn’t what it looked like.

  “Hart, about me and Will . . . we’re not . . .”

  Suddenly, the click, click, click of heels on the steps echoed behind me. A mane of fire engine red hair whooshed past me and toward Hart. With her hooker heels she stood a good foot taller than me. The skinny jeans painted on the larger than life ass and the fuchsia crop top left nothing to the imagination.

  “Hey, baby.” She purred as her black painted fingernails combed through Hart’s blond locks.

  I do not like her.

  “Hey, Amber,” he said hesitantly, removing her hand from his hair.

  She turned, giving me the once over. “Hey, I’m Amber.”

  My muscles tensed and my eyes narrowed. I struggled to keep my hands from forming into fists. This chick had sex written all over her . . . in neon . . . with a spotlight. She reminded me of the type of women Will gravitated toward online. My shoulders slumped forward with the weight of disappointment. If Amber was a prime example of what men were attracted to, I was doomed to spend the rest of my life alone.

  Let the cat collecting commence.

  I had no right to feel jealous or let down. It was just . . . whenever Hart and I were together, I felt special. Even though the time was brief, those moments brightened the rest of my day. It was like all of his focus and energies were solely on me and I ate it up. I’d been starving so long for attention and affection. But I didn’t realize how hungry I was until the few morsels Hart had fed me were threatened.

  My introduction reflected my sullen mood change. “I’m Bryson.”

  Amber nodded, a slow approving smile creeping over her inflated red lips. “Nice.” Keeping her eyes on me, she asked Hart, “Is sweet Bryson joining us tonight?”

  “No! She was just leaving,” Hart blurted out. “Amber, go inside.” The tone in his voice was the same as when he gave his dog commands.

  Amber huffed then tossed me a wink before disappearing into the house.

  My arms crossed, complementing my arched eyebrow. “A business meeting?”

  “A business meeting.”

  “Huh.”


  I wanted Hart to give some sign that he’d rather stay out on the porch with me than go in and conduct business with Amber. But it quickly became awkward and obvious that I was the third wheel that needed to go.

  Avoiding direct eye contact, I said, “I guess I better leave so you can get down to business.”

  “Thanks again for the ride.”

  Not wanting to leave on a down note, I made an attempt at a joke. “Oh, you’re talking to me. I thought you were giving Amber a little pat on the back.”

  A flash flood of heat washed over my entire body. I knew as word number three was flying out of my mouth I needed to stop. But it appeared that whenever I was around Hart my mind and body worked independently of each other.

  “Bryson, are you okay?”

  I looked up and was met by a serious expression. Hart didn’t seem mad, but genuinely concerned at my snotty childish outburst regarding Amber.

  “Sorry . . . I shouldn’t have said . . . It was my lame stab at a joke.” I took a step back. “You’re welcome.” I took another step back, waving my hand in the air. “Have fun with all dat biz-nass.”

  I turned and rushed down the steps.

  “Bryson.” His deep tone hit my ears.

  My entire body whipped around. “Yeah?”

  “You’re even lovelier than you were back in school.” He treated me to a new smile, a sweet smile, before heading into the house.

  Standing at the bottom of the steps, I stared at the door for several seconds. There was no point. Hart wasn’t going to make a sudden change in plans and come back out.

  I was almost at my car when the booming bass of Flo Rida’s “GDFR” song rumbled from the house. My head was already in mid-twist as my inner Peeping Tom surfaced. The front curtain-covered window filled with the silhouette of Amber seductively swaying her hips while her hands lifted up her flaming mane of hair.

  Doesn’t anyone use blinds anymore?

  I froze in place, my gaze following the path of her hands as they made their way down her body. Her fingers hooked around the top of her crop top and slowly peeled it away from her large chest. The hips stayed in perpetual motion while her hair whipped from side to side. She continued enjoying the feel of her own body, paying extra attention to her nippular area.