Worth the Fall (23 page)

He took the last step down to the sidewalk and glanced at my shoes.
 

“How comfortable are those?”

“Very.”
 

“So, if I said we were going to walk down to the waterfront and back tonight, you’d be okay?”

“Actually, yes. They’re Franco Sarto.”

“Whatever that means.” He motioned for me to turn back the way I’d come and fell in next to me.

I glanced at my apartment as we went by realizing he hadn’t pushed to pick me up even though it was the right direction. He’d understood it was important to me and didn’t push.

“Thank you.” I didn’t even know I was going to say it until it was out of my mouth.

“For what?”

I studied the cracks in the sidewalk, making sure my heel didn’t get caught in one…or my gaze in his. “For getting me out of the house tonight.”

“Mmm-hm.”

I was just going to pretend he believed me.

“Where are we going?” I asked, since it obviously wasn’t the waterfront which was the opposite direction.

“It’s a surprise.”

I was about to tell him I didn’t like surprises, but then realized I wasn’t sure that was true. I didn’t like surprises at work. I certainly didn’t like surprise breakups that left me homeless. But maybe normal surprises were okay.

“Okay.”

“Really?” Now
he
sounded surprised.

“I think so.”

I walked on, considering I had so much to learn about myself. It was an almost frightening idea. It was like being a freshman in college all over again, but everyone else already had asked themselves these simple little questions.

I was a freshman at life.

Two blocks past my apartment, Max turned down a side street and crossed us out of our neighborhood toward one of the colleges. The beautiful oak trees stopped lining the road and the quaint lights turned into normal streetlights. After another two blocks, he motioned toward a building with a sign in Spanish.

“We’re here.” He pulled open the door for me, and heat and spices and music rushed over me like he’d opened a portal to another world. “I hope you like to salsa.”

Salsa? I had a sick, sad feeling he wasn’t talking about chips.

Inside the door, the bouncer stamped Max’s hand and asked to see my ID. I pulled it out of the tiny wallet I’d stuck in my back pocket and waited while he stamped a blue star on my hand.

Max glanced over the heads of the girls standing in our way before he took my hand and pulled me through the crowd to the far end of the room. The music was quieter in the corner, but he still needed to speak up to be heard.
 

As we neared, a short man with two earrings in each ear spotted us and opened his arms as if he was going to hug Max. He came forward, his gaze dropping to where Max’s hand was wrapped around mine.
 

“Maximo! You’re here to dance with your lady.”

His lady?

“Jorgie, this is my friend, Kasey.” He beat me to the punch. “We’re just here for the music tonight.”

“No, no, no. You must dance. Everyone who comes in must enjoy the music on the floor. I will get you special song played later. Something easy to move to, si? Your lady has hips to move I see, no?”

Max glanced down at my hips, his lips quirked up on one side. Luckily he realized there was no right answer to that question.

“Just to listen. Julian Delgado is playing tonight, right?”

“Si, si. You never sit when they play. You’ll be out there.” Jorgie winked at me and headed toward the bar, pointing one of the waitresses our way.

“What would you like to drink?”

“You don’t—”

“I know. I don’t have to buy. But, here’s the deal. Tonight is on me. If you want to do something some other time, I’ll let you take me out. But there’s a difference between being independent and being a pain in the ass to be around. Now,” he threw his arm around the back of my chair and leaned in, “stop being the difficult person to be around. What do you want to drink?”

I knew what he was saying. I hated that person, the one who made everything difficult. I guess finding the line between independence and pest was going to be harder than I thought. I was already trying to figure out where I’d want to take Max out when I realized he’d just tricked me into another night out. Maybe I’d treat him to an afternoon volunteering at a homeless shelter.

Of course, he probably already did that.

“Quit over-thinking, Tuesday. It’s just a drink.”

“Right.” I glanced around at the atmosphere and the dancers and the light-wood bar on the far side of the room. “Sangria. This seems like a Sangria night.”

“Is this another test or do you like Sangria?”

“I’ve had it before.” Once. In undergrad. In Mexico. I’m sure it was totally going to be the same.
 

Max waved the waitress over and ordered a Corona and Sangria before leaning back in.

“Latón de Delgado is a favorite. You’re going to love them.” He grinned, that darn dimple peeking out. “They have lots of flavor.”

I don’t think I’d ever heard a band with flavor. It made me think of those scratch and sniff stickers from when I was a kid. Was there such a thing as listen and lick?

Okay, that just sounded gross.
 

On the stage, a group of men in black suits began setting up. Up front, a couple led a group of about fifteen people in what looked like a basic lesson. I watched, wondering if I should be up there learning. Was this something I’d enjoy? Had I been missing out on this?

“Do you want to go take the class?”
 

I turned my head, expecting Max to be over in his chair, but somehow he’d moved closer. Right next to me. I’d already been rethinking the dance lesson when I remembered I was completely uncoordinated and Max had already seen that in action…and my nearly naked butt in the process.

I glanced back toward where guys led the women across their bodies and into what looked like a very smooth turn. I imagined myself trying to walk past a guy that closely without falling over his foot, raising my arm past his face without breaking his nose, and walking under his arm without sticking my face in his armpit. “Um, maybe…not.”

“Come on, Tuesday.” He leaned in further, speaking right into my ear. “You’re not afraid, are you? I won’t let you do anything embarrassing.”

I was trying to decide if that was better or worse than taking the lesson alone. Before I could come up with a snappy comeback—which with my luck would have happened next week—the music switched off and a man on the stage tapped the mic.

“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. We’re Latón de Delgado.” And with that, he nodded once and the music came on live and loud. The floor was packed before the first line ended.

I watched, fascinated while the waitress laid our drinks out on the table and chatted with Max. I glanced up in time to see her lean far enough over to make sure he could confirm the color of the bra she was wearing as she thanked him for the tip. Max smiled at her, no dimple, and turned back toward me.

I quirked an eyebrow at him and grinned as the color rushed up his neck. For once he had no stoic look. He just turned back toward the dancers. His free hand rested on the table, the lead finger tapping in time to the music, his shoulders occasionally doing a little side to side like he was out there leading some girl around the floor. You could tell he loved this. I’d hate for him to miss the fun because I didn’t dance.

“You can go dance.”
 

Max shifted to look at me, his brows pulled down in what I’d finally figured out was a question.

“Dance.” I pointed at the floor. “You can go dance if you want.”

He shook his head, and shifted back around. I went back to watching the couples, amazed at how well some of them moved together, as if they could read each other’s minds. Beside me, Max was all but dancing in his chair. Somehow, while being completely still, he was vibrating off energy to the music.

After two songs, the singer brought it back down and was speaking to the audience in Spanish.
 

“Do you want another drink?”

I glanced at my half-full Sangria. It wasn’t my thing, but I was enjoying the change.
 

“No thanks. I’m still good.”

I watched Max make his way to the bar. I watched other women watch Max make his way to the bar.
 

With a fresh eye, I studied him. He wasn’t as good-looking as a lot of guys in the room. He wasn’t pretty or handsome. He wasn’t really rugged. All those catch words people used to describe heroes didn’t fit him. He looked confident. He looked strong. His looks were classic without falling over into the category of a Kennedy or George Clooney. He was all clean lines and strong jaw and unreadable dark eyes.
 

But, when he moved…He moved like a man sure of his place in the world. A man who knew he could handle anything that came his way. And, unfortunately, he had the body to back it up. That lean, compact strength folded under those wide, powerful shoulders. No wonder we were all looking.
 

A woman pushed her way through the crowd to meet him at the bar, slowing her step to time it so she got there just in time. I watched as he smiled at her and she laid a hand on his arm. They chatted and she made a motion toward the dance floor.

It was about that time my fingernails were beginning to make little dents in my palms where my fists were clenched. I loosened them up, trying to shake my hands out without making it obvious.
 

Max wasn’t mine. I didn’t want him to be. Because, if he was mine then I was his. And, I wasn’t ready to belong to anyone again. Max couldn’t even handle letting me make my own dinner when I didn’t feel well. I doubted if we were dating that he’d be able to deal with boundaries.

Not that I was considering dating Max.

Also, Max seemed to think I was nuts, so even if I did want to date him I was pretty much out of luck since he didn’t seem like the kind of guy to go looking for a girl with the character trait of
crazy-pants.
So, it was totally a good thing that I wasn’t considering dating Max.
 

And everything would just be fine if that girl in the super short skirt would take her hand off his arm.

Max shook his head and pointed back toward the table, obviously telling the hot, short-skirted girl that he couldn’t go out on the floor and dance the sexy dance with her because he had to babysit the crazy pants at his table.

This was humiliating.

Max pulled his wallet out and paid for the drinks, grabbing them and giving the girl a smile as he headed back.

Well, this was going to be awkward.
 

Another song ended just as he dropped down into his chair.
 

“Are you having a good time?”
 

I was. I was totally having fun. I loved the music and was awed by the couples on the floor. The moves were gorgeous and sexy while still being fun and spontaneous. And, I liked being there with Max. It wasn’t lost on me that he was nodding off girls who glanced his way who he probably danced with all the time. That he’d blown off hot, flippy skirt girl at the bar. That he’d come back to sit with me.

“I am, but…” The guilt started to punch at me about him sitting with me all night. “Why don’t you dance? I mean, I can totally just hang out here and listen to the music for a bit while you get out there.”

“I didn’t come to dance.”

My gaze slipped back to him and I couldn’t help but feel the intensity of his focus.
 

I tried to see him outside of the light of Jason and his circle of fans. I studied him, studied the set of him and what I knew about him and tried to add it all up into something whole that I may have not seen—or ignored. How was I supposed to know? How could I judge if he was just another guy who was controlling and manipulative? Where was the line between controlling and being just a take-charge guy who wanted the best for me? Would a take charge guy know when to let me be in charge? Would it be a constant struggle? Would I ever—

“What?” Max asked interrupting my disturbing thought process.

“Nothing. I was just thinking.” I tried not to blush, tried not to look at him any differently than I had a moment ago.

But, Max being Max he could probably read my mind. Or at least guess what I was thinking, because, as the band took the stage again, he winked at me before dropping his arm across the back of my chair and turning back to the dance floor.

The music came back up as couples filled the floor. A petite woman wove through the crowd, waving at Max before she even got to us. Max stood, stooping to kiss her on the cheek, obvious affection between them, but no chemistry.

I was glad, because I’m not sure my nails would withstand another round of trying to split my palms open again. Not to mention that I was annoyed and confused enough.

Max introduced Eva and she started talking a mile a minute about learning salsa and meringue and how Max was one of the more patient guys who could actually dance and something about a cross body lead. It was clear she was hoping to get him out on the floor and was afraid to ask with me there, that she couldn’t figure out what was going between us.