Dear God.
She takes my hand, and leads me over to a basketball court that sits between my apartment building and the one next to it.
“Tonight, I got to see you play. So I figure it’s only fair you get to see me dance.”
She’s uncharacteristically shy, and I’m beginning to realize just how much I like every version of her—from daredevil to demure.
“That sounds . . . perfect.”
“Now, there’s still a part or two that I’m not as solid on as I’d like to be, but I think you’ll get the idea.” She hands me her phone with a song pulled up. “Press play when I tell you?”
I nod.
She has on these weird black sneakers with no sole in the arch that I guess are some kind of dance shoe. She pulls off the red Rusk T-shirt, leaving her in a tight gray tank top and black stretchy pants. She walks to the center of the court and takes a deep breath. She nods her head at me, and I press play.
The music starts soft, and with her hand stretched straight up, she spins a few times, her movements smooth and graceful. She lands, feet apart, her head tipped back, and she is stunning. Then the music changes, picks up, and her body lurches backward like she’s taken a punch to the stomach. She reaches out, running forward, and she leaps into the air. Somehow, she manages to look like she’s straining to fly while some imaginary thing holds her back.
She lands, crumpling, and the emotion in her face and body is so strong, so raw that I have to resist the urge to go to her. But then she lifts herself up. The entire dance oscillates that way between soft and hard. Her body spins and moves beautifully, and then it turns to hard angles, bent limbs, desperate jumps. At one point she throws herself down on the ground, rolls a few times until she lands on her back, and then she arches up, supported by her shoulders and her toes, and I swear it looks like she’s just had her soul ripped out. The music seems to bleed out of her, matching perfectly with her movements. On and on the song goes, and she beats herself down and down. But as the song comes to a close, she gets up one final time. Her legs shake, then straighten, and she lifts her head up to the sky, and even just standing there, her body tells a story.
The song ends, and I stand staring at her, absolutely dumbfounded.
“Well?”
I blink, light-headed, and I don’t know if I remembered to breathe at all the entire time she was dancing.
“You are incredible.”
She smiles and dips her head, and I know she’s doing that thing she does where she’s trying to look smaller, look less, so that people will pass on. But there’s no f**king way I’m letting this go.
“I’m serious, Dallas. That was . . . You did that? You came up with it all?”
She nods. “The night that Dad and I had a fight, and I found out you were on the football team.”
Now it’s my turn to feel like something’s been ripped out of me. There was so much pain in that piece. I hate that I had any hand in it.
“I’m sorry,” I say.
“What?” She crosses to me. “What could you possibly have to be sorry about?”
“I made you feel that . . . that ache.”
She smiles. “Only because I was stubborn enough to think I couldn’t have you.”
“You have me. Completely.”
She lifts up on her toes and kisses me, and she’s the sweetest damn thing I’ve ever tasted.
She says, “You were so good tonight.” I exhale, dropping my shoulders. “Stop that. You were. It’s all anyone is talking about. You did everything you were supposed to do. Our defense just wasn’t as strong as theirs.”
She shivers, and I grab her Rusk T-shirt off the ground. “Let’s get you inside.”
I hand her T-shirt back to her, but she doesn’t put it on. So I wrap my arm around her shoulder to keep her warm until we get to my place.
I lay my keys on the table just inside the door, and we both slip off our shoes. I stretch my neck back and forth, knowing I’m going to be sore tomorrow. I take a step toward the couch, but she grabs my hand.
“You’re tired.”
I nod. And step toward the couch again for just that reason, but she pulls me straight ahead instead, back toward the bedroom. My heart rolls over in my chest, and my blood pumps a little faster, and I am suddenly not as tired as I thought.
She’s stayed the night twice since this started, but both times we fell asleep on the couch after a movie. We never talked about whether or not she was going to stay, it just happened.
The door to my bedroom is open just a crack and she pushes it a little farther with two fingers. It’s dark, but she makes no move to turn on the light. The light from the hallway is enough to cast a glow on the bed, and she steps up beside it.
“I’m not ready to have sex,” she says quickly. “I mean . . . I want to, but I also don’t, so for now, can we just sleep together in the normal sense?”
I work to keep my expression clear of any disappointment. I want her to be ready, but I also can’t deny that seeing her beside my bed makes my whole body buzz with want.
“Of course. I’ll take you in my bed however I can have you.”
I can see the blush burn across her cheeks even in the dim light. She places a hand on my shoulder and says, “Sit down.”
I do as she asks, and she steps between my open knees. She fingers the sleeve of my T-shirt and adds, “Take this off?”
I reach back and grab the fabric behind my neck, pulling it over my head. I feel the light touch of her fingers helping to pull it off the rest of the way. Instead of letting my hands drop, I rest them on her hips and pull her a little closer.