Lie (Betrothed 8)

But I was mesmerized by her performance anyway. Fascinated, I watched her spin so her skirt rose around her hips. I watched her leap and jump, always pointing her toes and creating perfect lines with her body. I watched her focused expression, watched her dominate the stage and outshine everyone else around her.

I rubbed my palms together slightly because it was hard for me to sit still, to absorb the poetic feelings she inspired inside me. Her performance affected me, made me feel something, made me want that same passion but in a different location.

I wanted this woman beneath me, dancing, concentrating, fighting. I wanted her fire, her disobedience, her sass. My jeans were a little snugger because I pictured exactly how it would be if we were together, our bodies covered in sweat, wrapped in mutual passion and hatred.

The music stopped suddenly, and she paused, becoming still on the stage. She faced the center of the auditorium, and by chance, she looked right at me. Her green eyes gave away her reaction, her surprise, and then her unease. But like the professional she was, she quickly adopted her stern expression and carried on.

As if she hadn’t seen me at all.

Another week passed, and I assumed she’d leave my thoughts after seeing her reaction during the performance. I didn’t show up at her car or try to visit backstage. I decided to leave because I shouldn’t have come in the first place.

But now I was back to where I started.

I wanted to see her.

She had performances several times a week, and those seemed to be the evenings that she went out with her friends. It wasn’t my finest moment, but I sat in my truck and watched her walk to her car from a safe distance. She was already in her dress and heels, so my assumption was correct.

I followed her.

After she walked into the bar with her girlfriends, I waited half an hour before I walked inside, to make it less obvious I’d followed her. She was too smart not to figure out I was stalking her, but there might be a seed of doubt, maybe a small chance she’d think it was a coincidence. We had run into each other before.

When I walked inside, she was already talking to someone. He was tall and on the lean side, handsome enough but not exactly eye candy, and certainly nowhere near her league. They enjoyed their drinks standing at a high-top table, exchanging a few laughs and smiles. I moved to the bar and got my drink before I watched them, waiting for my opportunity.

Just when I thought their interaction was going well, something good happened.

She slapped him across the face and shoved him in the chest.

Yes.

Everyone turned to look at the commotion, and I was about to take a sip from my glass when I realized something serious was about to happen. I watched the fire in her eyes, the resilience of an unconquerable woman. I wondered what he’d said to provoke her hostility.

He started to argue back, inaudibly, and she threw her drink in his face.

That was when he lost his cool and grabbed her by the wrist. He raised his voice. “Bitch, knock it off.” It was obvious he was grabbing her hard by the indentation in her skin where his fingers squeezed. “Fucking whore.”

She socked him in the stomach. “What did you just call me?”

He bent over and heaved as he choked on air, and when he stood upright, he looked insanely pissed off.

I downed my glass and left it behind before I intervened. I suspected this wasn’t going to end well. While the guy would be stupid to assault a woman in public, men were usually dogs. I placed myself in front of her and faced him, using my body as a shield to protect the tiny woman behind me. “Time for you to leave.”

My intervention pissed him off more, but he didn’t do shit because he had absolutely no chance against me. He didn’t even try to talk shit to me or her. “Fuck this.” He slammed his glass on the table before he walked off, pushing past people who stared at his departure.

Her heated voice came from behind me. “You know, if I were a little taller and weighed a few more pounds, I would totally kick your ass.”

And just like that, she brought me back to life, reminded me why I was there in the first place. The corner of my mouth rose in a smile because it was a ridiculous comment for her to make, but she somehow made it cute. I turned around and faced her. “You mean, if you were a foot taller and weighed an additional 120 pounds?”

She did the quick math in her head. “You weigh 230 pounds?” she asked incredulously.