Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 83550 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 418(@200wpm)___ 334(@250wpm)___ 279(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83550 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 418(@200wpm)___ 334(@250wpm)___ 279(@300wpm)
“Try to talk her out of it?” he suggests, his smile widening.
“Yeah, I’m sure that’ll go over well. She’s not exactly the listening type.”
He leans back, studying me with those piercing gray eyes that seem to see more than I want them to. “Seems like you’ve been looking out for her a long time.”
The comment catches me off guard, and I blink. “Someone has to.”
His jaw tightens, and he nods in understanding, which somehow makes it worse. The last thing I need is his pity.
Even though it’s not a conscious decision, my muscles tense and I brace for the worst.
Instead, he surprises me.
“It’s a lot to carry,” he murmurs. “I hate that you’ve had to do it alone all these years.”
I don’t know what to say to that.
The sincerity filling his voice is almost too much for me to take.
I look down at my water bottle, twisting the cap back and forth. “It’s not like I had a choice in the matter.”
“You always have a choice,” he says, his voice firm. “Let someone help you for once.”
“There’s never been anyone else to lean on. I wouldn’t even know how.”
“Well,” he says, a teasing note creeping back into his tone, “maybe we should practice. I promise that it’s not as difficult as you think it is.”
My throat tightens, and I shake my head. “The last time I trusted someone to help, they walked away. It’s easier to handle everything by myself.”
“Life doesn’t have to be a battle you fight alone, Holland.” He searches my eyes. “Sometimes letting someone else take control can be a relief.”
“Sure, I’ll just give it all over to you.”
He grins. “Hmmm. I like the sound of that.”
I roll my eyes, but the corner of my mouth quirks up despite myself.
The room feels lighter now, the tension of the previous few hours easing. He gets up and moves to the bed before sitting beside me. His shoulder brushes against mine and his warmth seeps through the fabric of my shirt.
“Can I ask you something?” he says, his voice quieter now.
“Sure.”
“What’s it like?” He tilts his head. “Dancing.”
The sudden change in topic surprises me. “You mean at the club?”
He nods, his gaze steady. “Yeah. You seem so in control up there. Like nothing can touch you.”
I let out a short laugh and shake my head. “It’s all an act. A really good one.”
“That’s funny, because it doesn’t look like an act. It looks like you’re owning it. Like you’re unattainable.”
I chew my lower lip as my fingers twist in my lap. “Maybe that’s part of the reason why I do it. For those few minutes, I feel powerful. More in control than at any other time.” There’s a pause as I think about it. “But it’s not real.”
“It feels real,” he says, his tone steady. “At least, it looks real from the outside.”
I glance at him, and my defenses slip. “It’s all part of the illusion.”
He reaches out and brushes a strand of hair behind my ear. The touch is so gentle, so intimate, it makes my heart stutter.
“I like watching you up there. Everything around me fades away and it feels like you’re dancing just for me.”
My breath catches, and for a moment, I don’t know what to say. I find myself leaning into him instead, resting my head on his shoulder. His arm wraps around me, pulling me closer, and for the first time in a while, I feel like I don’t have to carry everything on my own.
“It’s the same for me,” I whisper, my voice barely audible. “I forget about everyone else.”
“Would you…” His voice trails off.
“What?”
“Would you dance for me?”
My pulse stutters, a wild, unsteady beat as I meet his gaze. “Here? Now?”
His eyes darken. “Yeah. For me.”
The room feels smaller suddenly, charged with electricity. This is different from the club. There aren’t any lights or a stage. There’s no way to put distance between us. It’s just his bedroom, the soft glow of a lamp, and two years of unfinished business hanging in the air.
It feels dangerous.
“I don’t have music.” But I’m already rising to my feet.
He reaches for his phone. “What do you want?”
“Something slow.” My voice comes out huskier than intended. “Something you can feel.”
He takes a moment to pick a song. It’s something with a deep bass line that vibrates through the floor. I close my eyes and let the rhythm sink into my bones. When I open them again, his gaze is locked on me. The intensity in it is enough to burn the house down.
I start moving, but not like I do at the club. It’s slower, more intimate. My hips sway to the beat as I run my fingers through my hair. There’s no costume to shed, just my T-shirt and leggings. The strangest part is that I feel more exposed than when I’m nearly naked on stage.