Only In Dreams (Stubborn Love Series) (11 page)

We pause at the edge of the dance floor, waiting for the song to end. “What are we doing?” I whisper.

“Wait for it,” he instructs me.

I watch as other couples begin to gather around the edges. The room falls silent, and the crowd emerges onto the floor. Christian steps out onto the wooden arena and, with a flick of his wrist, he pushes me away from his body and then pulls me back in, my back pressed up against his chest.

A lump forms in my throat, and I swallow hard, surprised by the suddenness of his moves. A shiver runs down my spine as I feel his strong arms wrap around my waist, his hot breath on my cheek.

“I don’t know if this is such a good idea,” I moan, secretly not wanting him to stop.

“Just have fun with it,” he whispers in my ear, and I feel my knees buckle for an instant.

I hear the woman at the microphone give a loud scream, trying to pull everyone’s attention in. She proceeds to announce the dance style and exactly how everything is going to work, but she is speaking so fast I barely understand what she says.

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” I protest, starting to feel anxious about my foreign surroundings.

“You’ll be fine, just watch what everyone else does and go with the flow.” His advice does not bring me any comfort.

Before I can think, the music begins, and we are off. Christian escorts me from one side of the dance floor to the other. In one second my backside is pressed up against him, and in the next I spin around and am handed off to the next man.

I feel my head begin to swirl and my heart pound as I jump across the floor. Christian is right; I only step on a couple sets of toes before I fall into the rhythm of the movements. It is invigorating. I haven’t felt so alive since ... well, for as long as I can remember. Each gentleman I dance with seems more chivalrous than the last, with Christian occasionally working back into my partner rotation.

When the song finally comes to an end, I find myself panting, but better than that, laughing. Laughing so hard it hurts.

“Are you having fun?” Christian asks, his arms wrapped around me for support.

“Are you kidding?” I gasp between breaths. “That was a fucking blast.”

“I told you,” he exclaims. “Now what, you want to ride the mechanical bull?”

I burst out laughing, shaking my head. “No, I think I’ll stick to dancing.” Just as the words leave my lips the next song comes on—a slow song. I sigh, the pure joy of the moment shifting to awkwardness.

Christian doesn’t miss a beat. His hands link behind my lower back as he pulls me in close. Instinctively, I lift my arms and wrap them around his neck. We begin swaying mindlessly to the music. I’m careful not to look into his eyes, but standing so closely, it is difficult.

“I’m really glad to see you having so much fun,” he says.

I blush. Why am I blushing? Damn it. “Thanks for getting me out of the house.”

One of my hands slips from behind his neck, and instead grips his arm. I can feel his fingers playing with the waistband of my jeans, flicking the fabric back and forth. Even though I don’t want to, I find myself looking up into his eyes, searching for some idea of what he might be thinking.

He’s already staring down at me, and in an instant, our eyes lock. I don’t notice when we stop swaying; we’re just standing on the dance floor, looking at each other.

“Are you all right?” he whispers.

I lick my lips, swallow, and nod my head yes. He presses himself against me, and I feel him trailing his fingertips across the top of my panties. I know I should push him away, but I can’t.

“Are you sure?” he asks again. I know what he’s actually asking me. He wants permission to go further. Why aren’t I pushing him away? The pull between us is growing stronger with the intensity in his eyes.

I close my eyes and force myself to turn around; I need to walk away from him before I lose all control. Before I can take a step, I feel his arms wrap around me from behind and pull me back in, his hot breath blowing into my ear as he speaks deeply, “The song’s not over.”

His lips graze my ear, but rather than move them away, he lets them linger, touching my flesh ever so slightly. I can feel a stirring from within my body, and it’s alarming, to say the least.

“I’m so glad you decided to come for a visit,” he says, our bodies backed up against one another, once again swaying to the twang of the love song.

“Is it hot in here?” I ask, desperate to change the subject. “I think it’s hot in here. We should get out of here.”

I can feel his lips shift into a smile against the tip of me ear. The song finally slows and then falls into complete silence. His arms are still around me as I wait for him to move first. He doesn’t.

Lifting my hands, I break his grasp and rush off the dance floor. I can hear him calling after me, but I don’t stop. I walk as fast I can, straight out the front door, gasping for air, swallowing as much of the freshness as I can.

“Paige!” Christian yells as he emerges from the door behind me. “Will you stop? What is going on with you?”

I can feel myself trembling. I turn around and stare at him, my eyes full and wet, and lifting a finger, I point at the door and ask, “What in the hell was that?”

He doesn’t look away; he’s watching me, and I feel my chest begin to constrict again. He walks forward, moving in close. “What do you want it to be?”

I shake my head. “I can’t do this,” I protest, wiping a tear from my eye before it falls, my voice cracking.

He steps back, looking toward his truck, then down the other direction of the road. “Do you want to go for a walk?”

“What?” I ask, confusion consuming me.

“Clearly we both need a breather. Let’s take a walk, and I promise I’ll keep my hands in my pockets.” I know he’s joking, but in the back of my mind I’m thinking that might be a good idea.

I want to be back in the safety of my little room at Emmie’s, but in this exact moment, the thought of getting back in the small, close quarters of the pickup truck’s cab does not seem wise. “Walk where?”

He thinks for a second. “Actually, I have a really great treat for you.”

Looking at him, I force a smile and nod in agreement.

“We have a little bit of a wait, but about a half-mile down this road is Congress Avenue Bridge. At sunset, a ton of people gather on the bridge to watch the bats fly out,” he explains.

“Bats?” I ask cautiously.

“Trust me, it’s breathtaking. I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of seeing that whirlwind of creatures flying up into the orange sky.

We walk to that bridge, and we watch those bats. Thankfully what happened on the dance floor doesn’t come up again.

THANKSGIVING IS ALMOST here, and though I’m looking forward to a break, what I’m looking forward to the most is seeing my sweet Henry. Christian even seems excited to officially meet him. I thought after what happened on the dance floor he would start acting weird, but he seems to be fine.

“Emmie, can I borrow the truck?” I call into the gallery. Silence. I add, “I need to pick Henry up from the airport.”

“Sure thing, hon, the keys are—”

“On the hook, I know.” Without a moment’s hesitation I slip the keys off the hook and am out the back door, patting my pockets to ensure I have my phone and wallet.

“Hey, where you headed all dolled up?” Christian yells from the courtyard, using the back of his arm to wipe away the sweat from his brow.

In my lifetime, I’ve seen Christian naked more times than I can possibly count. I have been in Texas for a month now, and have seen his muscles glistening with sweat but still, a lump always forms in my throat when I see him in such a state. I tell myself, it’s a natural reaction, it doesn’t mean anything. I mean, really, with those jeans he wears, it’s like his body’s begging to be noticed. He’s an attractive guy, but so is Henry. Why am I even thinking about this? Because of that damn night at the dance club, that’s why. I can’t quit thinking about his. His breath on my cheek, his lips on the tip of my ear. He’s acting like nothing happened, and I wonder how he does it.

I glance down at my outfit. I don’t think I would exactly call myself dolled up, but I do want to impress Henry when he sees me for the time in over a month. Based on Christian’s words, I am guessing I picked the right outfit.

The little summer dress is not one of my own creations. It’s a rarity for me to wear something I haven’t made. I can’t believe it’s November, and I’m wearing a summer dress. Of course I’ve paired it with the cutest cardigan with iron-on patches of blue birds near the top button and knee-high boots. I do look cute, and I know it. The green in the dress even makes my eyes pop.

“I’m picking up Henry from the airport,” I holler back, not wanting to linger while Christian is in his current super-hot, sweaty, sexy state.

“Oh yeah, I forgot that was today.”

“How could you forget? It’s all I’ve been talking about for the past couple days.” I laugh.

“All right, I confess. I didn’t forget. I just didn’t know what else to say,” he says with a smile.

I pause for a moment, wondering what that means. Is he trying to tell me something without actually saying it? I shake my head and continue walking; I need to quit reading into things.

“Something’s not right with you,” I reply, pulling open the door of the ancient truck and stepping up inside, the door creaking loudly as I do. I’d have loved to take the Prius, but I know they need to keep that in case they have to run somewhere with Olivia.

“That’s what you keep telling me. Have fun.”

“Oh, I plan on it!” I exclaim, pulling the door closed behind me. I watch Christian’s face contort. What the hell did that mean? Why did I say that? It sounds like I’m going to strip down in the airport parking lot and have my way with Henry. Of course, let’s be real. It has been a month since I’ve seen him. There’s a very good chance that this may happen. But still … to say that to Christian? I must seem like such a slut.

Just drive, I tell myself. The last thing I want to do is be late when Henry gets off that plane. I throw the truck in reverse, carefully maneuver around Christian’s truck, my thoughts briefly shifting to the fact that two of my friends now own trucks, and though their businesses require it of them, it still feels very odd. Pulling onto the old road behind the shops, which parallels Main Street, gravel sprays out behind the tires.

For the first ten minutes on he road I keep thinking about the comment I made to Christian. I need to quit thinking about it. I flip on the radio but am unable to get a station on the ancient device. Finally, I give up and play music on my phone, dropping it in the hollowed compartment next to the door handle.

Singing at the top of my lungs, I enjoy song after song—Adele crooning her woes, then R.E.M. groaning about the world coming to an end. My heart skips a beat and a lump forms in my throat when the next song comes on. “Only In Dreams” by Weezer. I glance down at the tattoo on my wrist, staring at the words, ‘I just might take the chance.’ The memories of that night come flooding back.

When Christian and I first split, I used to listen to this song over and over, crying myself to sleep. I soon figured out that not listening to it at all was best. I thought of his match to my tattoo on his wrist that read, ‘She’s in my bones.’ We were twenty and at a music festival. We were young, in love, with the rest of our lives ahead of us. At the time we thought there could never be another for either of us. After all, we’d been together since our mid-teen years. We’d seen it all. Together we endured the death of his parents, the destruction of my family life, and any hope of reconciliation with my mother. We were in a place where we trusted each other completely.

I was so naive. Weezer came on, the crowd was electric, and the energy swept us up. After the encore, we didn’t want the night to end. Our friends went out drinking, we knew that wasn’t a good thing for Christian. We walked around, under the stars, quoting the lyrics from our favorite songs to one another. I don’t remember whose idea it was first, but once the idea was out, there was no stopping either of us.

The tattoo guy told us it was a good idea that we were tattooing lyrics instead of names, because when we broke up, it wouldn’t be something that was hard to explain to your next partner. Christian proudly told him it didn’t matter because he was going to marry me one day. There would never be a need for such an explanation. He was naïve as well.

As the song comes to an end, I see the airport exit coming up on my right, and with a quick glance over my shoulder I swerve across two lanes, narrowly catching the exit. With a deep inhale, I tell myself to put Christian out of my mind. I love Henry, and Christian is just a friend, I think.

I weave my way through the lanes of traffic and make my way into the airport parking lot. Driving the truck is completely foreign to me; I might as well be driving a tanker. I park at the end of a row with empty spots all around me. I don’t trust myself to park next to another vehicle.

I jump from the truck, slam the creaky door, and head for the entrance. My heart begins to race. I’m about to see Henry; I’m so excited I can hardly stand it. I want to hold his hands in mine, kiss his tender lips, and feel him pull me close with his masculine grip. Damn it! Being away from the man you love for a month can really make a girl horny.