the Dance

by Alison G. Bailey

  I ran my hand over my face, praying that nothing was hanging or dangling. “Is something wrong?”

  Slowly shaking his head, Hart said, “No, nothing’s wrong.” He paused. “You look really pretty in the morning.”

  As inconspicuously as possible, I brought my knees together and squeezed.

  He shot his thumb over his shoulder. “I’ll see you out there.”

  “Good deal.” I sighed.

  Hart was almost out the door when I remembered the mystery of my jeans had not been solved. “Um . . . my jeans?”

  “In the dryer,” he yelled, as he left the room, never looking back.

  Since my jeans were still drying, I had some time to do a quick freshen up. The master bath was even larger than the one from last night with similar décor. My gaze roamed as I set my purse and sweater beside the sink. It looked like a regular bathroom with only a few exceptions to accommodate the wheelchair. The tub/shower combo had a door allowing Hart to roll right into it. Everything was lower—towel racks, mirror, and shelves. There was no cabinet under the sink and brushed metal grip bars were strategically placed to aid in mobility.

  I turned on the faucet and let the water warm up. As I filled my cupped hands with warm water, my thoughts drifted back to last night. It felt so natural and comfortable with Hart. When the conversation turned serious it didn’t derail into an argument. He gave up his night with the guys to take care of me. And then this morning . . . the look in his eyes . . . I wanted to believe that look was reserved for only me. I splashed the handful of water in my face and shook off the daydreaming.

  After putting on my bra and sweater, I ran the brush through my hair and gathered it up into a high ponytail using the spare scrunchy I always kept in my purse. Poking my head in the bedroom, I saw no sign of Hart or my jeans.

  With more time to kill, I went ahead and folded Hart’s shirt and boxers. The psychotic single white female part of me wanted to take them home. But I suppressed the urge and placed them on the top of his dresser. I then sat on the side of the bed and pulled on my beige wool socks. Then I made the bed. Then I sat on the bed, fingering the owl pendant around my neck while my foot wiggled back and forth. I thought about dusting but the room was spotless.

  The longer I waited for my clothes the more anxious I got for some reason. Maybe because for the first time in my life I was half naked in a man’s bedroom. A man that I was attracted to. A man I didn’t want to say goodbye to. Unable to sit still any longer, I hopped up and walked around the room, admiring the artwork created by Hart’s mother.

  Over the bed hung a giant abstract oil done predominantly in shades of blue. The wavy strokes swirled around and down the canvas, resembling waves churning to the bottom of the ocean. At the very top, streaks of bright red, yellow, green, and orange broke through, streaming down the canvas. There was something very familiar about this painting. Last night too many things were filling my head for me to have noticed any of the artwork in the room. I wracked my brain trying to remember if I’d seen this exact painting or a similar one at some point. I liked art and certainly appreciated it but I wasn’t exactly an art buff.

  Glancing at the clock I realized while I was getting lost in the paintings a chunk of time had slipped away. But Hart still hadn’t returned with my jeans. Not wanting to make him late, I decided my only option was to go searching for the rest of my outfit. My sweater hit me mid-thigh but for added security I tugged the hem a little lower. I realized Hart had seen me in his boxers and it wasn’t like I was naked. But a girl could never be too careful when it came to a potential hoo-haw flash.

  With my purse slung over my shoulder, I cracked open the bedroom door and listened for noise.

  Silence.

  I quietly tiptoed across the dark hardwood until I reached the end of the hallway. Craning my neck around the corner, I scanned the living room and kitchen areas.

  Empty.

  I spotted a door just past the kitchen. Figuring that had to be the laundry room, I headed toward it. Just as I reached for the doorknob, the door flew open and Butter came barreling through. Unable to contain her excitement, she circled me several times, her propeller tail tickling the backs of my knees.

  “Shh, Butter. You gotta calm down.” The words came out between giggles.

  With each repetition, I reached for her collar with no luck.

  “Butter. Sit.” Hart’s voice caused Butter’s tail to drop to the floor and my head to pop up.

  I grabbed the hem of my sweater and tugged. “Hi.”

  His gaze roamed the length of my body before landing back on my eyes.

  With an innocent expression, he asked, “Looking for these?”

  No doubt the heat coursing through me had my blush blushing.

  “I knew you had to leave soon and I didn’t want to make you late.”

  “I still have time.” He took another look-see while holding my pants.

  As a cool draft crawled up my leg, I caught something in those blue-gray eyes that told me Hart was in the mood to play. He knew I wanted my pants. He knew I needed my pants. He wanted to see how long it would take for me to ask for my pants. What he didn’t know was, I was up for the challenge.

  Sliding my purse off my shoulder, I placed it on the countertop and met his gaze. “So-o-o . . . this basketball game is pretty serious.”

  “Pretty serious.” His eyes lit up, knowing exactly what I was up to. “It’s the league championship.”

  “How long have you been playing?”

  “Six years.”

  Goosebumps popped up on my thighs but I be damned if they were going to take me down.

  “Where do you play?”

  “College of Charleston.”

  “I’d love to come watch you sometime.”

  “You’ll have to wait until next season. Today is the finals.”

  It was like we were playing in a verbal tennis match.

  “The cooking lesson still a go for next Saturday?”

  “Looking forward to it.” He smiled.

  I shivered. “Hart . . .”

  “Bryson . . .”

  “Give me my pants.”

  Dammit!

  Holding my jeans in front of me, he smugly said, “All you had to do was ask.”

  I snatched the pants out of his hands. “You think you’re pretty cute, don’t you?”

  “I’ve been told.” His gaze stayed glued to me.

  As I stepped into my jeans, I kept glancing up and was met by piercing eyes each time. I could stay here all day and play with Hart.

  He cleared his throat. “I need to take you to your car. You feel okay to drive, right?”

  I buttoned, zipped, and replied, “I’m good. I’ll just go grab . . .” Halfway through the sentence I realized I had no idea where my boots landed. “. . . My boots?”

  He tilted his chin up. “Next to the sofa.”

  While Hart put Butter out in the backyard to enjoy the beautiful sunny day, I slipped into my found boots.

  The majority of the ride back to my car was done in comfortable silence. We each swapped the occasional sneak peek at the other. Each time I caught a glimpse of Hart’s hand I wanted it to reach over and touch my hand, or my knee, or my thigh. Anything. As the rehab parking lot came into view a twinge of regret pinched my heart. I didn’t want to say goodbye just yet.

  Hart pulled up alongside my car. The air around us shifted. He stared straight ahead not saying a word, his hands gripping the steering wheel.

  I waited for a second, not sure if I should just hop out. Finally, I broke the deafening silence.

  I turned toward him. “Thank you again.”

  He nodded.

  Okay.

  I hadn’t been around Hart enough to be able to read all the subtle nuances of his expressions or moods. The atmosphere in the car had been great up until we pulled into the parking lot. If I’d learned anything in my life it was not to walk away from a situation when you cared.

  “Hart, is
everything okay?”

  His eyes met mine. “Yeah, everything’s fine.”

  There was an odd tone in his voice. We were acting as if we weren’t going to see each other again.

  “I already have the menu planned out in my head.”

  “What?”

  “For your lesson next weekend,” I said, the reassuring words for his benefit as much as mine.

  My hand rested on the door handle as I lingered for another second. “Good luck with the game.”

  “Thanks.”

  Unless I wanted to own up to the fact that I didn’t want to say goodbye just yet, I needed to leave. I took in a deep breath and without another word opened the door and hopped out. Immediately after the door shut I heard the buzz of the window lowering.

  “Hey, Bryson.”

  I bent down and looked inside the car. “Yeah?”

  “I had a great time with you.” He gave me the sweetest most sincere smile.

  Thank god the car was between us, hiding my buckling knees and helping me stay upright. There was something about his choice of words that sent electric shocks through my body. Hart was direct, firm, and specific with his words. His statements weren’t general. He didn’t just have a great time. He had a great time with me.

  “It was a lot of fun even with all the throwing up and . . .” My eyebrows squished together as a vague memory flashed in my head. “Did I say something about taking a bubble bath in your dimple last night?”

  “Yeah you did.” He grinned from ear to ear, emphasizing the aforementioned dimples.

  My eyes closed as I shook my head, hoping to transport back in time to a few minutes earlier. When I opened my eyes Hart was still staring, his tongue gliding across his lower lip.

  “I had a great time with you too.” I tossed a shy smile his way. “I better let you go so you’re not late for the game.”

  “See ya, Bryson.”

  “See ya, Hart.”

  I could feel Hart’s eyes on me as I walked away. I didn’t know if I was feeding off his vibe, but I definitely felt more confident in that moment than I had in . . . never. My back straightened, my shoulders pushed back, and my hips moved with a little extra sway.

  Once at my car, I fumbled with my keys and dropped them.

  Smooth, Bryson.

  Sticking my ass out, I exaggerated bending over and reached for the keys. Before standing back up, I peeked under my arm to find Hart looking and laughing.

  He gets my silliness.

  I slid into the driver’s seat and tossed my purse next to me. Once Hart saw I was safe in my car, he gave me a smile and a wave before pulling away. As I watched his car leave the parking lot, I knew I didn’t want to wait until tomorrow or next weekend to see him. Shoving my hand in my purse, I grabbed my cellphone.

  Dead.

  It never crossed my mind last night to ask Hart if he had a charger I could have used. I grabbed the extra one from the glove compartment and plugged in my phone. The screen came to life with a ton of missed calls and texts, mostly from Will.

  Will: What are you doing?

  I’m sorry for the way things were left between us.

  What time are you coming tomorrow?

  Where are you?

  I’m starving.

  You promised to help me, Bryson.

  I didn’t even bother listening to the ten-plus voicemails he left. I looked toward the rehab center. Will was only a few yards away and it would be easy to head to his room as usual. But I knew if I did the happiness I was currently experiencing would disappear. I wasn’t ready to say goodbye to it just like I wasn’t ready to say goodbye to Hart.

  Me: Sorry. Got sick during the night. Stomach bug. Don’t think it’s a good idea to come today. Don’t want to get you or anyone else sick. Will update you tomorrow.

  I hit the send button and buckled up for the guilt trip. Almost immediately, Will responded.

  Will: I guess I’ll just twiddle my thumbs and listen to my stomach growl. Sorry you’re sick.

  I refused to let his pouting spoil my great mood. I thought about my fun exchange with Hart in the kitchen this morning. Warmth radiated throughout my body. Glancing in the mirror, I discovered a smile had crept across my lips, my cheeks appeared rosier, and my eyes had a twinkle in them I’d not seen before. God, I missed him already.

  I picked up my phone, dialed Sophie, and prayed she was still in town.

  “Hey, chick! What’s up?” The sound of her voice made my smile widen.

  “Hey!”

  “Wow, you sound inebriated.”

  “Shut up.” I scolded. “I’m just having a great day.”

  “Oh do tell.”

  “Later. Are you in town?”

  “I am.”

  “Any plans for the day?”

  “Nope. I’m free as a bird.”

  “How about lunch?”

  “Sounds delicious.”

  “Great. Meet me at home in forty-five minutes?”

  “See ya then. Oh, Bryson.”

  “Yeah?”

  “You will divulge the cause of your audible happiness . . . no?”

  “See you in forty-five.”

  I pressed the end button, disconnecting the call. As I drove home my mind worked overtime figuring out how to talk Sophie into taking part in my plan.

  Once home, I hit the front door running and didn’t stop until I was in my bedroom. There was no time for a shower. I figured that was okay since I took one right after the spew fest last night. My necklace and earrings were already in my hand and heading toward the top of the dresser when I entered the room. Flopping on the bed, I simultaneously slid off my boots and socks, and pulled my sweater over my head. I ran to the dresser, shoving my jeans and underwear down along the way. Bras and panties flew from the top drawer as I rummaged around for the perfect combo.

  After seeing his place it was obvious Hart was a big fan of the basic colors, so the black push-up bra with matching lace boy shorts was a no-brainer. Not that he was going to see my underwear. Just knowing I was wearing his favorite color gave me a thrill and a little extra umph in my step. I slipped my arms through the straps and hooked the bra. Heading toward the closet, I hopped and stumbled as I stepped into my panties.

  The frenzy of activity continued in the closet as I pulled on my black skinny jeans along with a plain black short-sleeve shirt. I topped off the look with my long gray cashmere sweater jacket and black leather short boots. On my way to the bathroom I glanced at the clock. I had just enough time to do makeup and hair before Sophie came knocking.

  I attempted a subtle smoky-eye effect with light mascara. Dusty rose blush and pale pink lip gloss was the last bit in the makeup routine. As I picked up the silver teardrop earrings, I noticed my wedding ring. For the past ten years it had been a part of me and I hadn’t thought about removing it. Staring down at the princess-cut diamond and band, I hesitated.

  Each step away from my marriage was filled with mixed emotions. I was positive I didn’t love Will or want to be with him. But I also hadn’t been able to picture my life without him in it. Except during the time I spent with Hart, I felt married. It was hard to disengage when I was going through the motions—being by Will’s side every day at the rehab, doing Will’s laundry, and cooking for Will. My life stilled revolved around being Will’s wife. The ring was another outward lie that Will and I were the perfect happy couple.

  Several weeks ago I had every intention of following through with the promise I made to Will. It seemed simple and doable at the time. Now it felt like the promise was wrapped tight around my neck, strangling any effort to move forward. Taking in a deep breath, I slid the ring off my finger and placed it beside the sink. It was a small step but at least it was in the right direction.

  Before I had the chance to reconsider, I heard the dulcet tones of Sophie coming from downstairs. I loosened my ponytail and ran the brush through my hair several times, deciding to leave it down. I grabbed the bottle of mouthwash, chugged a mouthful,
swished, and spit. I checked my makeup in the mirror one last time. No lip gloss on the teeth. And I was good to go.

  When I got downstairs, Sophie was sitting at the kitchen counter and had helped herself to a glass of wine.

  With the glass hovering at her lips, she said, “You’re the designated driver.”

  “No problem.”

  “Well, look at you, sexy lady. Damn. You didn’t have to get all done up for little ‘ol me. What’s the deal?”

  “No deal. Why does there always have to be a deal? It’s nice dressing nice. It makes me feel . . .”

  “Nice?” she said with a hint of snark in her tone. “How about Angel Fish for lunch? I could really go for their fried green tomato burger.”

  I double-checked directions and the time of the game. “I have a new place in mind.”

  “What place?”

  “It’s a surprise.” I looked up at her. “We need to go or we’ll be late.”

  “Late? Do we have a reservation?” She threw back the rest of her wine like it was a shot of tequila.

  “Um . . . kind of.” Slipping my purse on my shoulder, I quickly headed toward the front door. “I’ll meet you in the car.”

  “Creeps, slow down! I’m coming!”

  The click of Sophie’s heels echoed in the entryway as she followed me out the door.

  I took a left on Calhoun, the first right onto Saint Phillips Street, and pulled into the parking lot.

  “Bryson, what the hell are we doing here?”

  Trying to sound cheery and excited, I said, “Going to a basketball game.”

  Ignorance was bliss when it came to Sophie attending an athletic event. Her idea of being a sports fan was to see how many football, baseball, basketball, and hockey players she could get her hands on. In high school the only time I was able to get her to go to a game was if she was crushing on someone on either our team or the opposing one. If I had mentioned earlier about my plan to attend the basketball tournament she wouldn’t have gotten in the car. And I needed her by my side today.

  “I thought we were going to lunch.” The tone in her voice moved from confusion to annoyance. And if I knew my friend, pissed off, was just around the corner.

  I circled the crowded parking lot searching for a spot to land. “They have concessions inside.”