A while later—I have no idea how long—I hear a familiar voice. “You stole my spot.”
I sit up quickly, adjusting my dress, and Fletcher hops up onto the table beside me. I look him over and slide back, putting more distance between us.
“You found your shirt,” I say. “And cleaned out your pockets…”
“Two really big hockey players made fun of my vest.” His words are casual, but his face reveals some concern.
“Jamie and Leo won’t tell anyone,” I reassure him. “I know they won’t.”
He’s got a nearly empty water bottle in one hand and an unopened one in the other. He hands it to me and waits for me to take a drink.
“So…” I have a million questions for him and no idea how to start. “Where did you learn to dance like that? Is it ballroom or what?”
“My grandmother,” Fletch says, and as if sensing that tonight especially I need more from him, he goes on. “When I switched to homeschooling in third grade, she decided I would take dance lessons from her every day. Said it would make me more confident.” He shakes his head and laughs. “I never thought dancing would do any good with schoolyard bullies, but I didn’t mind learning. As long as I didn’t have to practice with Braden around.”
I pick at the buckle on my shoe. “It’s like you have this whole different life here. Is that why you don’t tell anyone?”
“Maybe. But it’s also just Juniper Falls, you know?”
“No, I don’t know.”
He hesitates, then with a sigh explains. “Our town lives for gossip, and that’s all fun and games if you’re not the center of that gossip. My family prefers to stay out of the town’s daily news, only…”
“Only what?”
“Only that didn’t happen,” he says, a hint of anger in his voice. “My grandmother nearly got deported years ago after a bunch of people in Juniper Falls started gossiping about her legal status and questions surrounding it.”
“Her legal status?” And yeah, I’m on the edge of my seat now.
“She came here from South America with her dance troupe for a tour when she was a teenager. Against her family’s wishes. And then she decided to stay,” Fletch says. “Even after she married my grandpa, people talked about whether it was real or just a hoax to win her legal status. And then my mom…”
His voice trails off. He can’t do it. Even after everything I’ve done to prove myself trustworthy, he can’t open up. We stare at each other for a long moment. Something in my expression must have offered him enough confidence in me, because to my surprise, he finishes what he started to say. “My mom got pregnant with me in high school. I mean, she was eighteen. But still in high school.”
I work hard not to laugh. “Seriously? Our town is no stranger to pregnant teens, never has been from what I’ve heard.”
“Yeah, I know that.” Fletch nods like he’d expected me to say this. “But my dad is twenty years older.”
The hint of a smile falls from my face. No wonder he made a point of mentioning that she was legal age. “I guess that’s different.”
Fletcher studies me. “You didn’t know?”
I shake my head. “It’s old news now.”
Other than the texting between my mom and me from the hospital after I drove Fletch, my parents haven’t been around for us to have a conversation where Fletch’s name gets dropped in. But I know exactly how it would go. I can even hear my mother’s voice inside my head, “Fletcher Scott? Haven’t heard that name in a while. You know there was quite the scandal surrounding that boy’s birth back in the day. Grandma must have lit a hundred candles at mass for her family.”
Then my dad’s voice follows Mom’s. “Everyone had it out for Scott, said it was criminal, going after a high-school girl. And you know his mother was an illegal…”
“And just when things had calmed down for their families, someone goes and tries to kill that poor little boy,” imaginary Mom adds. “But with all those allergies, it’s a wonder he even made it that long in school.”
I close my eyes, guilt punching me in the gut. Guilt for a conversation that doesn’t even exist. But it could easily exist. I know this for sure, because similar conversations happen nightly in my house. And I’m always right there, taking it all in. Now I get that saying about gossip. That even letting yourself hear it is toxic. Look what it’s done to Fletcher’s life…he doesn’t trust anyone in Juniper Falls. This explains so much. The weight of accepting responsibility for the wrongs done to Fletch’s family on behalf of my entire town is a bit too much, and I have to change the subject before I end up hating myself and where I come from.
“What’s with the panties in the pockets?”
He gives me a weary look, his cheeks heating up. “It’s a long story.”
“I’m all ears.” I lean back on my elbows, forgetting that he probably has to go back in there. It’s not anywhere near midnight yet.
“I’ll give you the short version.” He runs a hand through his hair. “It wasn’t legal for anyone to get too intimate with me. So, it became this thing…handing over their panties so I could see how turned on—”
I slap a hand over his mouth and close my eyes briefly. “Okay, I get it.”
Fletch takes my hand from his mouth and holds on to it. His eyes search mine. “Want to come back inside? Dance with me again?”
“Yes,” I say immediately and then shake my head. “No. I mean no.”
“No?” He pauses like he’s waiting for me to explain. I totally would if I could figure it out. “What’s wrong, Haley?”
“You.” I pull my hand away from him. “You and your stupid hands and stupid mouth. And your stupid abs.”
He leans closer, the corner of his mouth popping up into a sexy half smile. “You liked dancing with me. Admit it.”
“Yes! I liked it. It was fun. So fun.” I jump down from the table and move farther away from Fletch. “And then it turned into this big deal inside my head. And you…you can slide up behind anyone in the room and look like I feel right now.”
His jaw tightens, and I exhale before retracting some of my words. “I’m not judging you, Fletch. I wish I could be more like you. That’s all I’m saying.”
His eyes lock with mine again. “You should kiss me.”
“What?” I fold my arms over my chest. “No way. Besides, we already know how that will go.”
“I think you can do it now,” he says. “You danced with panty pushers—that’s what we call them backstage, by the way—and you were totally hot. Totally in the moment. I think you’re ready for this. No strings attached. Just a kiss.”
A grin spreads across my face. “I was totally hot? Really?”
He nods. “Way, way hot.”
I walk a couple of steps in his direction, my pulse pounding. “Hotter than your flexible partner?”
“Without a doubt.”
I press my sweaty palms against my dress, drying them discreetly. “You were hot, too.”
“Really?” he asks, less confident than I’ve seen him all night.
I nod. “I totally get the panty thing.”
Fletch arches a dark eyebrow. “Yeah?”
“Yeah, but I’m keeping mine.” I take a deep breath and stand right between his legs, my hands resting on his thighs again.
“You only have a little farther to go.” He whispers the words right against my lips, and they’re magnetic, pulling me in.
I close my eyes and try to be here and now. Not five years in the future. Not naming our future children or plotting career plans for us. But then I freeze up again. “Should I use tongue, or maybe it should be really quick?”
“Do whatever you feel like doing,” he says.
Okay, but what if he does whatever he feels like doing, and I’m left trying to keep up or match skills?
“Don’t move okay?” I order. “Keep your hands on the table.”
His fingers curl around the edge of the picnic table, showing his willingness to do this my
way. I count to three inside my head, sixth-grade spin-the-bottle flashbacks playing on repeat. Then I lean in and touch my lips to his. A millisecond later, I’m pulling back again. There. I did it.
Fletch’s eyes are still open, and when I stare into them again, a fire builds inside me and the invisible brick wall falls down around us. I reach out and grip his face, pulling our lips together again and muffling the really sexy noise that escapes from the back of his throat. With even less inhibition, I slide my hands down his neck, enjoying the feel of his skin beneath my fingertips. His fingers brush my elbows, forgetting my earlier command, but then he quickly returns to gripping the table. I pull away again to tell him he doesn’t have to keep holding the table, but then I look from his face to his now-white knuckles, and a surge of power zaps through me. I kind of like calling the shots. My fingers find their way to the back of his hair. and I bring our lips together again. A groan escapes Fletch’s mouth, and his lips part, allowing our tongues to mingle.
Fletch slides farther back on the table, and I follow him. His hands attempt to lift several times, and then he re-grips the table. Finally, with both of us breathing heavily, our pulses racing, I tell him he can touch me.
In no time at all, his arms are around my waist, lifting me up onto his lap. My dress gets hiked up, and my legs wrap around Fletch. He leans my head back and plants kisses up and down the front of my neck until I’m ready to go completely crazy.
“Jesus,” he mumbles. “You are so beautiful.”
My insides warm at those words, and then we’re kissing harder, more intensely, the stars twinkling above us. Then something twists inside me, a weight pressing against my chest. I slow down my movements and eventually we pull apart.
I squeeze my eyes shut, willing away the feelings. All the feelings that aren’t supposed to be here.
Be gone. You’re wrong. Go away.
Fletch rests his hands on my cheeks. “Haley?”
I shake my head, refusing to open my eyes.
“You’re not supposed to cry.” Concern leaks into his voice.
I didn’t even know I was crying, but the evidence is clear when I feel his thumbs brush under my eyes, wetness beneath them. “I’m sorry. I told you, I suck at this.”
“It’s just a kiss, Haley.”
I nod and then open my eyes. Any remaining anger fades when I see all the worry on Fletcher’s face. He’s just as confused as I am. He doesn’t want to hurt me. He wants to be honest. I get it. It’s other things that I don’t get.
“You don’t feel this…?” I hesitate, grappling for the best words. “This weight on your chest.” I rest a hand over my heart. “Like you’ve just screwed up something or lost something you cared about.”
“No.” He slides a hand into my hair, working his fingers all the way through it. “I feel light, actually.”
My forehead wrinkles as I study his face. How could we kiss like that—equal passion—and have completely different feelings? “Maybe it’s the blood draining from your head to…lower regions.”
He laughs. “That’s possible.” In one swift movement, Fletch stands with me still on his lap and turns around to give me my seat on the table again. He sits down on the bench and brings me to the edge so he can keep his arms around my back. “I have to go back inside soon. I only get a thirty-minute break.”
“Yeah, okay.” The weight presses harder on my chest, imagining all the girls he could dance with or kiss like he kissed me. What is wrong with me? I give his shoulders a shove and force a smile. “Go, before you get in trouble.”
“Come with me,” he says. “Please.”
“I’ll probably cry again.” I meant that sarcastically, but it’s totally possible.
“You won’t cry.” Fletch stands and leans in, his mouth hovering near mine. “But you will look hot and sexy and probably feel hot and sexy, which is never a bad thing.”
I’m smiling now. I mean, how can I not be? I reach up and touch Fletch’s cheek. “I like you like this.”
“Like what? Hot and sexy?” he guesses.
“Not an asshole.” I get brave and pull his mouth to mine again.
Fletch responds by parting my lips and lifting me up off the picnic table. He continues kissing me, my feet dangling a couple of inches off the ground, his mouth working mine like he’s got all the time in the world, like he’s not on the tail end of a thirty-minute break. I pull away before my panties become completely ruined. He’s way too good at kissing for me to come out of this alive.
“For someone who was afraid to touch me,” I say, “you really seem to like picking me up.”
Fletch grins and places my feet on the ground. “You’re easy to lift. And my partner is pregnant, so I don’t get to throw her around as much.”
My mouth falls open in shock. “You got your partner pregnant?” Oh my God, this is so Dirty Dancing.
Fletch rolls his eyes. “Her fiancé did. And she hasn’t actually told me yet, but the signs are all there. I know they want two kids. She’s already got one.”
“So, you and her aren’t like…?” I turn away and look at the building.
“Uh-uh,” Fletch says.
I glance sideways at him. “But you looked so…convincing.”
“It’s an act.” He takes my hand and pulls me in close like he did on the dance floor. “We make up stories, and we get really into the characters.”
“Just like So You Think You Can Dance,” I say, already feeling my stomach flip over again from being in Fletch’s arms. The realization behind his answer hits me hard, and I sink back into that weighty feeling. “So, it’s probably like that with me, too.”
“Haley,” he warns. “Stop doing that. I’m good at convincing other people it’s real when it isn’t. And you’re good at convincing yourself it’s real.”
“But we’re not working together,” I point out. “We’ve been flirting since I nearly tumbled off your barn roof. It’s not all acting. So, what is it?”
“Attraction.” Fletch slides a hand up my back and into my hair. “Curiosity.” He dips me back again and kisses my neck. “Hormones.”
“But isn’t that how most relationships start?”
“Maybe, if you let it,” Fletch agrees. He stands up straighter and presses a hand between my shoulder blades, forcing my spine to straighten. “You’ve got a decent frame.”
“And you don’t?”
“Have a decent frame?” Fletch says, though I can tell by his face that he knows what I meant. “My frame is excellent. My grandmother made me practice with a back brace and weights on my shoulders.”
I shake my head. “I meant you don’t let relationships begin.”
“No, I don’t,” Fletch says firmly.
I don’t press him for more details—he’s already spilled a lot tonight—but I know, beneath that answer is a story. Maybe Fletch and I have more in common than I realized.
Chapter Twenty-Three
–Fletcher–
Okay, so I’m not being 100-percent truthful with Haley. I have let relationships begin before. I know what she means about a weight pressing on your chest. But I haven’t felt that since I was sixteen and fell hard for a twenty-year-old dancer—a mistake both Grandpa Scott and Dad warned me against. To say that I get what Cole feels like with Haley is an understatement. But after talking with her tonight, I think all the feelings I’ve been having make sense. Yes, that kiss was fucking amazing. But it’s just attraction and hormones and all those pre-relationship things. Stuff that I can shut down anytime I want.
I think Haley could, too, if she worked at it. I know what she’s going through, and I want to help her.
Before she can press me with any more questions, I bring her back inside. The music pumps hard through my veins, and soon I’m surging with energy. Hard to believe I was asleep on the couch earlier.
Just to prove to Haley that dancers can act, I grab Paco and pass Haley over to him. She’s startled at first, but I nod my encouragement, and she mu
st trust me or have decided not to trust herself tonight, because she lets my friend sweep her up and move her around the dance floor like putty. I turn my back to them and laugh to myself after Paco pulls her in close and shares one of his famous long looks. He’s got me beat in that area, too. And considering Leo is more his type than Haley, she’s bound to believe me about dancers being actors after this.
Angel’s claiming to be recovered, so Ricky puts us back on center stage, and we do a couple more routines. She doesn’t ask me to, but I leave out all the big lifts, and by the time we’re closing out with the last dance, I’m sure she’s guessed what I’ve guessed. But still, nobody says a word.
I head backstage to shower and change, and when I return to the main room, Jamie is in the corner flirting with some woman who might be thirty. Leo is at the bar, drinking what looks like a soda and having an animated conversation with Braden. Haley is seated beside him, but her head is resting on her arm, and from across the room, it looks like she might be sleeping.
I walk over to them and assess Haley: she’s definitely asleep. “Man, you guys must be really entertaining.”
Leo looks over at her, does a double take. “Oh shit.” He glances at Braden. “You didn’t serve her anything, did you?”
Braden practically glares at Leo. “Seriously? This girl is still ten to me.”
Leo snorts out a laugh. “Guess you didn’t see her and Fletch dancing?”
I hold up my hands. “She came here on her own.”
Jamie appears behind me—he must have decided against a hookup with the woman he’d been chatting up. “Think we should bring her to your place? How big is this tent?”
I assume he’s talking to Leo, but quickly realize he’s looking at my brother. “Who’s sleeping in a tent at our house?”
Jamie claps a hand on my shoulder. “Us, man.” Jamie scratches his head. “You’ve got two tents, right? Because Leo’s invitin’ his boy over, and you know, third wheel and all that…”
“We have four,” Braden answers. “And a barn.”
I step behind Jamie and attempt to silently converse with my brother, but it’s no good. He’s already invited them. What the hell is he thinking? I don’t do this sort of thing—mix work people and town people. Like, ever. And I could really use some downtime to process the fact that three people from my school now know where I work and what I do on Saturday nights.