Dance for Me Page 8

  We laugh, but the closer we get to the parking lot, the more I consider her suggestion. My relationship with Ransom aside, it would be an excellent opportunity, and she’s right. Thanks to stripping, I don’t have any issue with showing my body to strangers. That ship’s sailed. It could be a chance to get a good final grade with unforeseen benefits.

  Tucking the article in my pocket, I promise myself I will think more about it later. “So, who’s up for drinks tonight?”

  TWELVE

  Music hums from the two-story colonial as Annie and I make our way up the sidewalk. People spill from the open door onto the large porch and into the front yard. After pulling a short shift after class, I’m ready to party.

  Our usual fare is to meet up with friends at a bar, get shitfaced, and sing bad karaoke, but tonight is different. Brody and his Greek brothers are elevating a few lucky pledges to full members of the fraternity, and it’s a cause for celebration. So, here we are.

  The moment we cross the threshold, I’m questioning the wisdom of being here. Half the student body seems to have crammed itself into what is probably a normally large space. Total chaos appears to be the theme they’ve gone with. Random panties and bras hang from lampshades and chandeliers. A girl crouches in the corner, emptying her stomach into a potted plant. There’s a guy walking around with a trash bag, his attempt to keep some kind of order feeble at best—he must be a pledge.

  Someone shouts, and then everyone erupts into excited cheers. Annie and I try to make ourselves small as the crowd parts down the middle and a group of guys wearing togas race by, blasting each other with water balloons.

  The place is a zoo. Annie and I share a look. “I’m going to get something to drink.”

  “Jason said he was here. I’m going to go see if I can find him.”

  “Okay. I have my phone on. Text me if you need me.” That’s our plan. Whenever we find ourselves in a scene like this, we keep our phones on. If one of us gets into trouble, or just needs to check in, we’re only a text or call away.

  Annie’s expression is strained as she walks away. I watch her go until the crowd swallows her, and then I head for the kitchen. It’s located at the back of the house, and when I get there, I let out a low, appreciative whistle.

  Someone meant business.

  The kitchen is fully stocked. There’s a baby pool set up in the middle of the floor and it’s packed full of ice and a variety of bottles and cans. There’s also a keg, and beyond that, a collection of mixers.

  There’s a line for the keg, and there’re too many people collecting at the counter, so I grab the first thing that touches my fingers from the pool. It’s a cheap strawberry wine cooler, but I like strawberries and as long as it contains alcohol, then it’ll do the job.

  My first drink disappears fast and I collect another one before I start searching the house for Brody. I find him in the basement playing football on a large screen television with three other guys. There are girls everywhere, littering the floors and backs of the furniture. When they see me coming, a couple of them eye me with suspicion.

  I recognize their type immediately. They’re like buzzards, hovering on the outskirts, hoping a few scraps will be tossed their way. When I lean over the back of the couch and wrap my arms around Brody’s neck, I catch the eye of a girl standing across the room.

  She’s pretty, with blonde hair, light eyes, tall and skinny—the total opposite of me. Her glare would be piercing if I gave a damn, but I don’t. When Brody tilts his head back and realizes it’s me, his smile is so brilliant, everyone in the room vanishes.

  “J, you made it!”

  Jumping to his feet, he spins and grabs me around the waist. With both of his massive arms, he pulls me over the back of the couch. I scream in surprise, gripping his shoulders for dear life, but then he’s crushing me against his muscled chest, and I have to concentrate all my energy on breathing.

  “Did you get anything to drink?” he asks, pointing to a table littered with unopened beers. Apparently, the floor is where the empties go.

  “Dude, you just got sacked!”

  “You’re supposed to pause it, numbnuts!”

  I shake my head as Brody pulls me down onto his knee and grabs his controller. I can feel eyes on me, and I know it’s from the other girls. I focus on the television, laughing to myself. If any of them knew how unromantic my relationship is with Brody, they wouldn’t need to feel threatened. After I leave here tonight, there is no doubt in my mind that one of them will be occupying his bed.

  I zone out as I watch the guys play. Brody wins every round, which he thanks me for with a kiss on the cheek every time. Apparently, I’m his good luck charm.

  “I call foul,” one of the guys that I recognize from a couple classes complains. He drops his controller on the floor and slumps into the chair, a lock of brown hair falling over his forehead. Immediately, his lap is filled by a pretty brunette flashing way too much cleavage.

  “For what?” Brody chuckles as he settles back against the cushions, taking me with him.

  “You had Lady Luck on your side; ergo, it wasn’t a fair match.”

  “He’s right. I call for a rematch!”

  “You can’t call for a rematch, Trent,” Brody says, his chest rumbling with laughter. “Should have come prepared.”

  “I thought this was supposed to be a friendly game,” Trent says. “Had I known how cutthroat you are, I would have brought along my own golden snatch.”

  Brody’s fist flies so fast and hard into Trent’s shoulder that I nearly topple off his lap. He catches me at the last possible second, and I glimpse the apology that flickers in his eyes before he’s focused on the guy behind me. “Watch your mouth.”

  “You’d better listen to the man,” football guy says with a cocky smirk. “Brody’ll rip your limbs off and beat you with them if you talk bad about his lady.”

  “Dude, I wasn’t,” Trent says, his eyes growing wide. Rubbing his arm, he sends Brody a pleading look. “I didn’t mean anything by it, man.”

  “Whatever. Just watch your mouth,” he growls. Tapping my thigh, I take his cue and stand. Brody’s right there beside me, his arm winding around my shoulders as he leads me back up the stairs. “I’ll catch up with you scumbags later.”

  Brody takes me on a loop through the first floor. After getting a fresh pair of drinks, I figure he’s going to take me outside for some air, but I find myself climbing the stairs instead.

  “Where are you taking me?” I ask as I step over a girl who’s passed out in the middle of the staircase. “Is she okay?”

  “She’s fine,” he mutters. He leads us past several closed doors, a few of which emit some questionable noises. Pushing one open, I hold my breath, unsure what I’ll find on the other side, only to see a dark, quiet room.

  He closes the door behind us, and it’s as if we’ve entered a whole new realm. The level of noise downstairs compared to the utter silence here makes it feel as though I’ve stuffed cotton in my ears.

  “Is this your room?” I ask, taking a look around. I’ve never seen it before—like I said, we’re just friends—and I take a moment to assess my surroundings. It’s small with light gray walls. There are a couple of school flags pinned to the wall over a simple pine dresser, clothes spilling out of the open drawers. A few pairs of shoes are piled up behind the door, and Brody kicks off the pair he is wearing adding them to the top.

  “Yep,” he says, and crashes face-first onto the unmade, full-sized bed.

  “It’s…tidy. For a guy.” Toeing off my own shoes, I climb onto the bed and stretch out beside him. Then, I jump back up. “I’m not sitting in your cum am I?”

  His shoulders shake with silent laughter and he rolls his head to the side to look up at me. “Relax, the sheets were washed earlier this week.” I give him a pointed look, because it’s been almost a full week, and I know how fast guys work. He rolls his eyes. “Come on, J. Even I don’t work that fast.”

  Following his re
commendation, I relax. “So, what are we doing in here?”

  “Escaping,” he says.

  “Why? You looked like you were having fun.”

  Folding his arms under his cheek, he stares blankly at my crossed legs. “I was, but it’s nicer up here. It’s quiet.”

  The music pounds through the floor, but after a few drinks, its rhythmic beat is almost soothing. “Are you drunk?”

  One side of his face creases, showing off a shallow dimple. “Maybe a little.” His expression smoothes out and he reaches out to lay his hand on my shin. “Thanks for coming tonight.”

  “Anything for you,” I say honestly, because it’s the truth. He and Annie are the only people in my life who’ve earned that distinction, and it’s because I know they feel the same about me.

  “Is that right?” His honey-brown eyes gleam wickedly as he pushes up onto all fours and prowls toward me.

  I stiffen because I’m not stupid. Brody loves me, and not always in a friendly way. He usually hides it well, but I’ve caught glimpses of it in the rare moments that he let his guard down. It’s even more apparent when he’s been drinking, like tonight. I’ve never brought it up to him because it will change everything. But it means I always have my eye out looking for warning signs.

  This is a warning sign if ever I’ve seen one.

  “What are you up to?” I ask with a tight smile, attempting to play off the anxiety that’s beginning to build. Please don’t make this awkward. The last thing I want to do is hurt him.

  “How long have we known each other?” he asks, now hovering over me.

  I have to tilt my head back to look into his eyes. Whatever he’s thinking, I can’t read him. “I don’t know. A few years. Why?”

  He stares me down, his brown eyes holding mine and I end up holding my breath for so long I grow lightheaded. I don’t know what he planned to say, but I see in his eyes the moment he decides to go in another direction. His full lips inch up into a crooked grin. “Because you’ve never given me a massage.”

  I bounce as he shifts his weight and drops down on the bed beside me. “Rub me, woman,” he says into the pillow.

  Finally, my lungs inflate, and I feel a huge weight lifted. I know that’s not what he was going to say, but I’m so glad he did. Less complication, that’s what I need in my life right now.

  Throwing my leg over his hips, I straddle him. “Hard, or soft?”

  There’s a pause, and I can almost hear the wheels turning in his head as he tries to decide how to answer the question. His voice thick, he says, “Any way you want it.”

  THIRTEEN

  “The man is in love with you.”

  Annie is the voice of reason. Always has been. But that doesn’t mean I have to like what she says. I hate when she’s right. “I know, but I can’t be what he wants me to be.”

  “Why not? You’ve known each other for, like, ever. Longer than we’ve been friends. Isn’t there some kind of unwritten rule about this sort of thing? If you’re friends with someone of the opposite sex for more than five years, you have to get married?”

  I wrinkle my nose as I chase a grape tomato around my plate. First thing I did after rolling out of bed this morning was call Annie and asked her to join me for lunch to catch up on last night’s party. I intended to find out about the status between her and Jason, but the conversation ended up being focused on me and my love life instead.

  I shake my head, unsure how I got myself into this.

  “I don’t think that exists,” I tell her.

  “Well¸ then, it should. You two would make a cute couple.”

  I don’t bother to respond. Cute couple or not, I just don’t look at Brody that way. Maybe if we hadn’t been friends first, but we were and we are and I just can’t see risking it all for a chance that it could turn into something more. I have few enough people in my life as it is.

  “What about this other guy, the one you’re seeing. Did you talk to him yet?”

  “No,” I admit, “but I think it’s run its course.”

  The looks she gives me is full of apologies. “That sucks, hun. You mentioned that it was complicated between you two. Like a forbidden thing? Does that mean you still have to see him around?”

  “Every day.” And it doesn’t suck as much as I thought it would. I may not get to be as close to Ransom as I want to, but he hasn’t been completely cut from my life. I’m not sure if it would have been better to have a clean break, but this arrangement feels manageable. It’s better than nothing, anyway.

  “Gah, I can’t even imagine. Isn’t that hard? I mean, do you ever feel like you’re going to lose your mind if you can’t touch him?”

  All the time. “Not really. We weren’t in love or anything.” I might have been in love.

  I really wish she’d drop the subject, but I can tell by the flashes of excitement in her eyes that Annie is just getting started.

  “Okay, you know I have to ask,” she says, holding her hands up in front of her in a stop motion. “Do I know him?”

  I pack what’s left of my salad into my mouth to bide me some time to think. Revealing my relationship with Ransom could be a bad idea. But then again, our relationship is past tense. How dangerous could it be? Plus, this is Annie we’re talking about here. Being my best friend, she’s bound by the laws of friendship to take my secrets to the grave.

  I hesitate. “Um… kind of, yeah.”

  Her eyes grow even wider and she leans over the table, her hands coming down to grip my wrists. “Oh…my…God. Tell me!” she whispers. “Is it the English professor? Professor Hale? He’s so hot. I break into a sweat every time I go to his class.”

  TMI. I laugh uncomfortably because she’s closer to the truth than she realizes. “No, although, he is pretty sexy.” Professor Hale is only a couple years older than us and has dark brown hair, deep, soulful eyes, and a perpetual five o’clock shadow. Who wouldn’t love that combination?

  “Heck yeah, he is!” She grows quiet again, her gaze holding mine as if she’s trying to pluck the information out of my head. Then she starts rattling off the names of every guy we’ve ever run into, from Billy, the bartender at DJ’s, to some guy I went out on one date with two years ago. When she’s exhausted all her options, her look turns pleading.

  “Just tell me,” she hisses, desperate for information. “I swear on a stack of Holy Bibles I won’t tell a soul.” I sip my soda, making her tough it out a little longer. “If you’re not going to tell me, then please just shoot me and put me out of my misery.”

  I laugh, and then decide what’s the worst that could happen? Leaning in, I make sure to keep my voice low so no one overhears us. “It’s…Professor Scott.”

  “No!”

  “Yes.” I nod.

  “No way!”

  “Yes way.”

  She sits back, stunned for a few minutes, and now that the cat is out of the bag we let it marinate. Finally, she blinks a few times, takes a drink of her soda, and gives me a look that tells me I’m not going to like what she’s about to say. “I hope you know that you have to pose nude now.”

  ***

  Annie is relentless. She’s buzzing in my ear every chance she gets about signing up for the nude art program. I’ll admit that I’m intrigued by the concept, and even briefly considered it a possibility, but the more she pressures me, the less sure I become.

  What if I know someone there? The main reason I’ve been able to dance at all is because I’ve never run into anyone—save Ransom—that I know. The anonymity is crucial, which is the purpose of the type of lighting I’ve chosen. If it ever happens to chance that someone I do know is in the audience, at least I won’t know about it.

  Annie’s push to get me to do this just reinforces that fear. If I pose, then someone is going to recognize me, whether from before or after the class. And then what do I do?

  Yet, even though I’m resisting, I still don’t have the first clue what I’m going to do for my final project. To be honest, I
haven’t even given it any serious thought. I won’t lie. Having one ready to go fall into my lap is tempting.

  As the week progresses, I watch each of my classmates add their name to the list Ransom posted declaring their final project. Between classes and work and dealing with questions surrounding my love life, I’m so exhausted, I can’t think straight, and the pressure is beginning to set in.

  Which is why, when I find myself walking into Mrs. Jackson’s art lab Wednesday morning, I blame everything on Annie.

  I find Mrs. Jackson behind an easel working diligently. She’s not like the other teachers. Her red hair is a few shades too bright to be real, her clothes too eclectic to be conservative, and the tattoos decorating one arm too everything to truly fit in with the rest of the professors. But that’s probably the point. She’s declared herself a misfit, and I take an immediate liking to her.

  When she sees me come in, she sets down her paintbrush and wipes her hands off on a paper towel. “Are you here for the sculpting class?”

  “Um, no.” My smile is faint. I’m not used to feeling so nervous, especially when fully clothed. “I was wondering if the spot for the model is still open.”

  Her look turns questioning before a sudden smile spills across her face. “Oh, the nude model. Yes, yes, come on in.” She waves for me to follow her to her desk, where she hands me a clipboard and a pen. “You’re just in time. We only have a few slots left.”

  My hand trembles and I talk myself out of doing this a half-dozen times as I fill in my name at the bottom of the paper. This is such a bad idea. Why am I doing this? Oh, yeah. Annie. I’m blaming it all on Annie. “There are a lot of names on there,” I comment as I slide the clipboard back across her desk. Thankfully, I don’t recognize any of them.

  Her smile grows wider. “Yes, it’s a very popular program. Unfortunately, we had to cut back on participants this year.”

  “Why’s that?” I ask curiously as we begin slowly walking back toward the door.