The Cheat Sheet
Bree relents with a smile of her own and shakes her head. “Fine, it’s a little funny.”
I’m not willing to let our moment end quite yet. And if these girls are going to help me out, I’m not going to turn up my nose at the gesture. I stretch out my hand toward Bree. “C’mere, let’s dance.”
Her brows twitch together and she eyes my hand like it’s moldy. “What?” She lets out a nervous, breathy laugh and looks around like she’s expecting to find hidden cameras. “In here? No way. That’s silly.”
I take her hand and tug her up to me. Get over here, woman. She doesn’t fight it. Instead, she snaps into my arms, and I pull her up close—one hand on her low back, the other holding her hand beside me, palm to palm, chest to chest. She blinks a few times and tentatively slides her free hand up onto my shoulder.
“You’re being weird,” she says, even though her thumb is brushing a tender movement up and down the base of my neck.
“Yeah. Really weird.” I put a little more pressure on her back and sway us side to side. Being this close, I’m steeped in her shampoo, and thanks to the way her leotard dips in the back, I can feel the soft, velvety texture of her skin against my hand. She is heaven in my arms. Nothing exists outside these walls for me.
“Nathan, why are you here right now? I have a class I need to be teac
hing.” She says this while snuggling a little closer. A strong revelation is growing as I see her words and her actions are in direct conflict with each other. Which one is fake?
“I wanted to ask you if you’re free tomorrow night.”
“You could have done that over text,” she says, fishing for more of an answer.
“I could have.”
She casts her eyes down briefly, like she doesn’t want me to see her expression, her soft grin, and the side of her face skims across my chest. “Yeah, I’m free.”
“Great. Pro Sports Magazine is having their big ten-year birthday bash. It’s a red carpet event, and I was hoping you’d go with me.” In the past, Bree has always said no to attending any career-related event with me. She always tells me to take a date instead. Friends don’t go with friends to fancy events like that.
She keeps her gaze low. “Well, I guess I sort of have to go, right? As your official-fake-girlfriend.”
“No. If you don’t want to go, I’ll plan something else a little more low-key for one of our contract-mandated outings.”
“Oh,” she says, and I hear a little disappointment in her voice. I think she wants me to tell her she has to come with me. She wants me to take the choice away from her, but I need to see if she’s willing to come with me on her own or not.
“So what do you think?” I ask, stopping our swaying so she’ll look up at me. I dance my thumb in a circle against the skin of her back.
“Okay,” she says, her lashes lifting. “I’ll go with you. But I don’t have anything to wear.”
My heart rams into my sternum. I want to wrap my arms all the way around her and squeeze. Instead, I settle for a subtle press of my fingers. “Leave it up to me, and be home by five tomorrow.”
“I’m nervous about what that means.”
I reach back and open the door, reluctant to let her out of my arms but knowing she needs to return to her class of hellions. As I step away, I try to check one more item off my cheat sheet.
Looking at her over my shoulder, I smile and wink. “You should be.”
She’s frozen for a second and I think, Derek, you magnificent devil, it worked. But then her eyes widen and she bursts out laughing. “Did you just WINK at me?!”
Okay, so apparently winking goes into the non-sexy category for Bree. She roasts me all the way out the door, and I will murder Derek at practice tomorrow.
It’s a little after five and I’m rushing up the sticky stairs of my apartment building, out of breath and maybe wheezing a little bit. Probably the effects of living in a moldy apartment for too long.
When I make it to my floor, I stop and frown at the sight in front of me. Dylan is sitting on the floor surrounded by what looks like enough luggage for a week-long cruise. Five suitcases stand around him along with a pile of garment bags draped over top. How did he get all of these up here? I look behind me wondering if there’s a secret elevator everyone’s been keeping from me. But when I see that his chest is heaving just as much as mine, I realize he hauled all this up himself. Poor thing.
“Dylan?” I ask, stepping closer, wondering if I’m going to have to resuscitate him.
His head shoots up and he smiles wide despite his labored breathing. “Hi Dimples! You’re late!”
“I’m sorry,” I say, still in a daze at seeing him here. I guess this is what Nathan meant by Leave it up to me. “Traffic was nuts today. Here, let me help you up. Also, I don’t want to alarm you, but there’s a good chance you caught an STD sitting on that floor.”
He shrieks and jumps up without my help. “Am I going to have to burn these clothes?”