I completely disagree. I was 100 percent affected by him leading me around the other night. In fact, I’m feeling a little bit of that right now.
“Is there an employee handbook at your job that provides these perfect answers?”
“Relax your shoulders.” Fletch pulls me in close, his hand pressing between my shoulder blades, forcing my back straighter. “And no, my answer didn’t come from a work handbook, it came from my grandmother, and also Grandpa Scott.”
I look at him, one eyebrow lifting. I’m waiting for him to explain further.
“Allowing me to lead, it’s a gift,” he says, his voice low and sexy. “Respecting that gift means respecting my partner. She is the reason the dance is happening; she is the reason I have someone in my arms. I never forget who’s really leading.”
His breath tickles my ear. We’ve fallen into a new pattern—a waltz or maybe a rumba—that involves being completely pressed together, and I stop the jolt my stomach takes, the flipping and flopping, the goose bumps…it’s exhilarating.
Fletch steps forward, and I step back in time with him. “For most women,” he continues, “handing over control in a dance is empowering. Whatever pleasure they gain from it is one they sought out and took for themselves. It has nothing to do with the partner. The partner is interchangeable.”
As much as I’d love to fall into a trance right now, this speech is too much bullshit for me to be able to do that. “So, all those women yelling out “Scott, Scott, Scott” every Saturday night…have you let them know this yet? That the partner is interchangeable or whatever?”
“When you dance with someone, you get a thrill out of it, you get turned on, and then you give him all the credit, well where does that leave you?”
I shake my head.
“Powerless,” Fletch answers. “Your pleasure, your success, your sexiness, are not only uncredited to you, but also reliant on a specific person that you can’t control. It’s perfect grounds for codependency, self-esteem issues…”
I stop dancing and scrub my hands over my face. It’s like I’ve stepped into an alternate reality. I can’t decide if I should call bullshit or reprimand myself because maybe I’ve been the closed-minded judgmental one, assuming what all the screaming women were after last Saturday night.
God, I’m confused.
I drop my hands and stare at this strange creature in front of me. “So, you never get turned-on when you’re getting down and dirty with someone? You don’t have certain partners that do it for you more than others?”
“The laws of attraction…some people draw you in more than others. Why that is and what we’re all attracted to is getting into some complicated psychology and brain chemistry theories.”
“I want inside your head, for like five minutes,” I say. “Just to take a peek around and make sure these are all your thoughts.”
“Come here.” He tugs my hand, pulling me in front of him. “I’m gonna show you something.”
He’s behind me, his front against my back. “Close your eyes.”
I lean against Fletch, and he drapes an arm around my waist. I’m expecting a dance move to come, but instead, his free hand glides slowly up my thigh and over my stomach. I sigh and then clamp my lips shut, not wanting to give away any more signals. Light as a whisper, his breath tickles my neck, lips brushing my skin so perfectly. A shiver races down my spine.
“What are you doing, Fletch?” I mumble. “Is this a Juniper Falls samba or something?”
Those amazing fingers glide down my arm and then lace through mine. He lifts my hand and slides it over my midsection, creating more goose bumps. My head falls back against his shoulder, my eyelids relaxing on their own. God, this feels amazing. Best study session ever.
“Okay,” I concede, when Fletch moves our linked hands over my boobs. “You can have my panties. You’ve earned them.”
“But I’m not doing anything.”
“Bullshit.” I think if he just moved our hands a little lower… “I have a new goal for myself.”
“What’s that?” Fletch says.
“To figure out how to dance with you and have you get this turned on.”
He rests our linked hands on the waistband of my shorts. The muscles in my stomach quiver with anticipation. “Why does it matter? So long as you’re turned on.”
“Because it’ll make me feel powerful,” I say. “Getting you all hot and bothered.”
He laughs against my skin. “Fair enough.”
I feel like I’m on the verge of insanity. I can’t think clearly. I want to do a whole bunch of things I’ve never done before.
“Haley?” he whispers. “This feels good, right?”
“Hmmm.”
“Open your eyes.”
When I do, the normally dim basement lighting is offending. I squint at the brightness. From the corner of my eye, I notice first that it’s not Fletch’s hand on my cheek, it’s my own. And it’s also my own fingers that are teasing the waistband of my shorts. Okay, so that’s a little surprising. I don’t even remember him releasing my hand. How did it decide to move on its own?
“See?” he says. “You can take full credit for all of that.”
If only that were true…
I laugh because he’s pretty cute, trying to give me lessons in touching myself. Thanks, Fletch. “I was imagining you doing it.”
“Yeah, but that’s all within your control. You can pick anyone.”
“Even Channing Tatum? I’ve got a thing for male strippers.” I spin around to face Fletch just in time to see him grin and then laugh. I’ve made him laugh. Not an easy feat. “So, who do you pick?”
“Easy,” he says. “Blake Lively.”
I roll my eyes. “She’s way too tall for you.”
When he flashes me another grin, I’m literally putting all my energy into not grabbing the front of his shirt, tossing him onto the couch, and…well, doing whatever may come next. Instead, I press my palms against his shirt and shove him back a foot or two. “Can we practice more cartwheel things or something that doesn’t involve you whispering in my ear, telling me I have sexy girl powers?”
He studies me for a long moment, making my face heat up for the first time since we came down to the basement.
“What about the pact? I thought we were pledging against denying ourselves things we want.”
I laugh really hard. “Okay, yeah, I’m gonna have to add an amendment or addendum or whatever it’s called. Kissing is one thing, but where my head was going, that’s not something you just do on a whim.” Fletch opens his mouth like he might protest, but I cut him off. “Maybe it’s something you do on a whim, but not me.” Except that one time, I did it on a whim. “There are consequences with sex that aren’t there with kissing,”
He lifts a hand. “Okay, that makes sense. I was just checking to make sure you weren’t subconsciously hoping for a nudge from me.”
“Of course I’m hoping for you to push me further,” I snap. “Cartwheel things. Now.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
–Fletcher–
I work hard at forcing all the built-up tension between Haley and me into flipping her around her basement—and not in the way I’ve imagined inside my head.
I feel like a phony. Well, sort of. I mean, in theory, I believe all the jargon I’ve spit at her about dancing and being powerful. But I don’t really think I’m part of that movement yet. The thing is, I need Haley to believe all this. She’s the one letting go, opening all these doors for herself. The last thing I’d ever want to do is take credit for that.
“Hey, Fletch?”
I shake out of my haze. “Yeah?”
“Let me show you what I’m working on.” She plops down on the couch, typing in a search on YouTube on her phone. She’s calm and at ease now. So unlike the riled-up state I put her in moments ago. I close my eyes briefly, hating the screwup. Correction: the state she put herself in. Although she did say they were my imaginary hands touching her??
?
“Fletch? Sit,” Haley orders.
God, I think she has more self-control than I do. I honestly didn’t think that was possible.
I take a deep breath and fall onto the couch beside her. She plays a video for cheerleaders wanting to prepare for UCF’s tryouts. I watch the stunts closely, studying each one. “Wow…that doesn’t look easy.”
She sighs. “I know. It’s, like, impossible to prepare when we don’t do any of this stuff here. I mean, we don’t have guys on the squad.”
Her face is turned toward me now. I don’t think I’ve ever wanted to kiss anyone so badly in my entire life. But unlike some of our other recent encounters, I don’t get that kiss-me vibe from Haley right now. She’s put a wall up on that activity. I settle for gliding my fingers over her cheeks inside my head. I take my time feeling every inch of skin on her face and neck, and then I lean in, taking the smallest taste of her lips, savoring it—
“Oh shit!” Haley jumps up after reading something on her phone. “I forgot about Andi!”
As if on cue, the doorbell chimes. “Andi?”
“Mike Steller’s little girl. I’m babysitting her tonight.” Haley is already heading for the stairs.
I follow behind her. “I should probably go, anyway. I have a lesson soon.”
She groans and then glares at me. “You had to remind me, didn’t you?”
“I didn’t realize you were trying to forget.” My stomach twists with more confusion. “Sorry.”
“Don’t apologize,” she snaps. “I hate when you do that. It’s not you.”
“Why not? I apologize for all kinds of things.”
“Okay, clarification needed.” She rests a hand on the front door, preparing to open it. “It’s not like you to apologize for how you choose to spend your free time. You’re only doing that for my benefit, because I have some weaknesses in this area.”
Okay then. Guess someone is working on her self-awareness. “I think what you mean to say is that we know each other well enough that I don’t have to be polite for your benefit.”
She flings the door open, plasters a grin on her face, and greets Mike Steller. The Otters’ former starting goalie who became a bit of a town outcast when he walked right out of the ice rink during the first home game of last season. To be a father, apparently, though it wasn’t public information at that time. Mike saunters in, a baby car seat dangling from one hand, a diaper bag from the other.
Then Haley turns to me. “Yes, what you just said. Exactly. But I’m still pissed that you brought it up again, and I’m totally ready for you to go so we can not talk about it anymore.” She flashes me her cheerleader grin. “How’s that for honesty?”
My cheeks warm; even my ears heat up. “Civics project,” I tell Mike. “Hard to agree on ideas sometimes.”
“Mike,” Haley says, “do you know—”
“Fletcher Scott,” Mike says, giving me a nod. He looks like he wants to shake my hand, but his hands are full. “How’s it going? How’s summer practice?”
He sounds so genuine, I’m too shocked to say much. “Um…good. It’s pretty good.”
I can’t exactly leave Haley all pissed, so I stand by the door while Mike gives her some instructions on sleeping and feeding before taking off. She lifts the baby out of the seat and holds her at arm’s length. “Look at you, getting so big. How much do you weigh now? Fourteen, maybe fifteen pounds?” She ignores me and keeps up the baby voice. “We’re going to have so much fun tonight, Andi. We’ll go for a walk to the park, you’ll watch me eat left over pot roast, maybe I’ll paint your toenails again.”
Haley shifts the baby to one arm and opens the front door. “Don’t you have somewhere to be? Unless you want to stick around and change a diaper?”
I glance at the formula can in the bag. It’s the regular kind. Made from cow’s milk. The second I go near that baby, she’ll probably barf that up all over me. I shake my head. “Can’t. Babies and me…we’re not compatible.”
Haley nods like I’ve said something wise. “Well, then Andi here is reason number one not to have sex on a whim, right?”
I pinch the bridge of my nose. Is she saying that as a warning for my lesson today, or is she giving me reasons for her earlier reluctance? Whichever it is, something has gone wrong. Really fast. “Haley…?” I say slowly, grappling for words. “Are we okay?”
She closes her eyes and pats the baby on the back. “Look, Fletch, your speech about taking what I want and running with it was lovely. But I’m not like you. And right now, I feel extremely powerless, and I don’t know what the hell to do about it.”
I’m momentarily stunned to silence. Clearly, I don’t know what the hell I’m doing anymore, either. “Maybe we should—”
“Just go, please.” She looks at me in a way that says she means it. “Mike has way too much pride to ask for free help unless he’s completely desperate, so I don’t get much time to hang out with Andi, and I’d like to enjoy it.”
And there it is. That weight Haley mentioned the other night. It’s sitting on my chest, heavy as a truck. I take a second to assess my breathing, make sure I’m not having an asthma attack. Then I finally manage to whisper the word “okay” before walking out the door and jogging to my car.
I’m definitely in need of an outside opinion.
…
“Clearly, he shouldn’t do this lesson,” Angel says to Ricky after I’ve spilled my most recent drama to both of them.
Ricky waves a hand, shutting up Angel. “I have no reason to believe anything but dancing happens in those lessons.” She covers her ears for a second, showing how much she’d like to be left in the dark. Angel rolls her eyes. Ricky turns her attention back to me. “You know how much I love your dad and Gramps, right?”
I nod and reach for my shoes below the backroom couch. I’ve got fifteen minutes before my private shows up.
“And I adore everything they’ve tried to teach you. And look at you. Your grams made you strong and confident and observant. You listen to people,” Ricky says. “Women at the club all adore you.”
“But…?” I prompt, knowing her compliment sandwich habit.
“But.” She nods. “This girl has spilled how she feels about you, and then you’ve gone and told her that she’s wrong. That what she’s feeling isn’t real.”
“Women do want to feel powerful,” Angel says, “but we also want to be heard and have our feelings taken seriously.”
I sink back into the couch, the weight on my chest growing heavier. “So, you do think Haley’s into me? Like for real?”
“Why is that so hard to believe?” Ricky asks me. “You have women after you every weekend.”
I shift uncomfortably on the couch. “Yeah, but they just want the guy dancing with them, not the other versions of me. The confidence, the leadership, being in the moment…that’s what they’re into.”
“But not Haley,” Angel says. “She’s different.”
“Pretty sure she’s into that version of me, too,” I retort, though I know it’s not completely true. She might be attracted to that me, but she doesn’t seem to trust him as much as the guy who confided in her outside the club and on the roof of the barn last Saturday night. “God, this is so confusing. What am I supposed to do? Give her space so she doesn’t get the wrong idea? Apologize even though she said not to?”
They both exchange looks, and then Ricky says, “I think you should suggest that she hook up with someone else, have a little fling of her own, dissolve some of that tension.”
My stomach drops. My heart picks up speed, my hands clenching the couch cushion below me.
Angel and Ricky are both silent, watching me. Then a grin spreads across Angel’s face. She points a finger at me. “I knew it! You hate that idea, don’t you?”
Yes. Very much. “I d-don’t…” I stutter. “I don’t know.”
Ricky’s eyebrows shoot up. “Well, I bet you do know a little about how she felt, thinking about you in my practice
room…” There’s a narrow-eyed warning to go with that statement. Clearly Ricky wants me to focus on teaching dance during the private lesson. I had planned on doing that anyway.
“The point is,” Angel says, bringing us all back on topic. “You’re trying to simplify something that isn’t simple.”
“Here’s a completely insane idea.” Ricky flips her long, slightly graying hair over one shoulder and rests her chin in her hand. “You could ask her out.”
I look between the two of them. “Um, no. There’s no way I’m gonna be the guy who went on a date with Haley Stevenson.”
“Better than the guy who screwed around with Haley Stevenson and didn’t even ask her out,” Angel says.
I shake my head. “It’s not like that…I mean, we’re not going to—”
“Tell anyone?” Angel suggests. “Yeah right. In that tiny town of yours, this is gonna spread like wildfire.”
Exactly what I’ve been afraid of all along.
Ricky stands up and smooths some of my disheveled hair. “Time to join the grown-ups, Baby.”
I make a big show of messing up my hair again, but I don’t have any words of protest. Even I admitted to myself the other night that I didn’t feel like a grown-up. Maybe I’m not acting like one, either.
“I know what we should do,” Angel says, perking up. “I’ll do the lesson with you. Will that help?”
I toss her a grateful look. I’m not gonna ask Haley-fucking-Stevenson, Princess of Juniper Falls, on a date, but that doesn’t mean my brain isn’t working on overdrive right now. I’m not in a good state to handle an overenthusiastic student. If that’s even what I’m going to get.
The girl who shows up for instruction in Argentine Tango is one I recognize from Saturday Latin Nights. She’s pretty, not at all shy, and clearly disappointed by Angel’s presence. But once we really get into the lesson, she’s working hard, sweating, and even listening to pointers from my partner. I force Angel to take half the cash for the lesson, and then I make a joke about her needing to buy two sizes of diapers soon.