He peered at her. “No?”
Her fingers dropped down, sliding past her nose, then her lips, in a slow reveal. “You can’t quit. We need to dance the next round.”
For a moment, his hopes had soared, then they death-spiraled again. “Because you need your five grand.”
“No. I mean, yes, I do, but that’s not why.” She sat forward. Winced. “Oh, I’m so tired I don’t even know if this is making sense, but I want you to dance. I want us to dance. It’s just… I don’t trust myself to dance and not develop feelings for my partner again.”
“Again?” He held his breath. Surely “again” meant she felt something for him?
“Okay, I’m just going to say this and hope it makes sense. I’m sure my meds are messing with my brain and I don’t know if it will sound right, but bear with me, okay?”
He nodded, unwilling to say anything that might stem the honesty pouring from her.
“When I was dancing ballet in Europe, I had a partner called Mark, and I fell hard for him. But then when I tried to say something he shut me down, and basically called me fat.”
His chest heated. “You’re not fat. You’re perfect.” With just enough curves to steal his breath, mess with his senses and intrude into his dreams.
She was shaking her head. “I… I developed an eating disorder because of him.”
His breath hitched. He slipped his fingers between hers.
“It was really hard to break free from. It didn’t ever get so bad that I needed hospitalization, but I did need therapy. And ultimately I left the professional ballet world because it wasn’t healthy for me. I wanted to run a dance school where people came from all walks of life, who could feel good about themselves, regardless of what their body shape was like. I came back from Europe because of that, and, um, some other things, and got back into ballroom, which I’d always loved, and I’d kept in touch with Coco since we first met in our early dance days, and anyway…” She shook her head.
He squeezed her fingers, gently.
“And anyway, it shows how easy I’ve found it to depend on a guy for how I see myself. And I like you, Luc.” She peeked up, met his gaze in one scared yet sacred moment. “I feel like I could really like you. And that frightens me, because I can’t go down that road again. And you keep being so nice and kind to me, that I don’t know how to shut that off and make this just work and not make it personal.”
“Are you saying…?” He swallowed. “Are you saying that you like me more than as a friend?”
Her forehead wrinkled as she lifted her long white throat to the ceiling. “I could.”
Only could?
Her shoulders slumped. “I actually already do.”
Her eyes might be red-rimmed, her nose sure was, but she’d never looked more beautiful than now. “I feel the same way,” he confessed.
Her gaze caught his in another of those soul-tugging moments. Then she sighed. “And I shouldn’t, because I don’t want to have these emotions, especially when there’s all this speculation around us. I don’t know how to manage this.”
“I know what you mean.”
Her lips lifted in a half-smile. “So what do we do?”
He knew what he’d like to do. But he’d promised God—and Callie—that he wouldn’t. So he’d play this cool. And, actually… “We pray. Ask God for wisdom and direction. If we make it to the final, that’s another two weeks away? Three?”
She nodded. “Three.”
“So this is a job. We’re friends, and if we keep things cool, then when we reach the end, we see if we still feel this way. That way we’re not breaking any rules. We’ll just be compartmentalizing, like what I have to do on game days.”
“Are you saying the next three weeks are like game days?” Her smile flashed. “I like your confidence.”
He nodded. He was pretty sure he wouldn’t make it to the final, but miracles happened. As did pity votes. “Then when it’s over, we explore this. If you still want to.”
She pointed a finger at him. “Don’t go thinking this is an excuse to bomb the next round.”
“Don’t you go thinking that either.”
She laughed, his favorite sound.
Then she grew serious. “So, uh, what are we going to tell people when they ask?”
“Simple. That we’re friends, and we enjoy each other’s company, and like hanging out together. And if people want to draw their own conclusions, well, we can’t help that, can we?”
“My friend Poppy said we should do something like that, get people wondering, so they vote to keep you, so they can see you in the romantic or sexy dances.”
His mouth dried. “There are, um, sexy dances?”
“Some of the Latin dances are a little sexy, yes. But nothing you need to worry about. Or your mom.”
“Look, I’m just going to put this out there, that if you need to do some sexy choreography, I’m probably going to be okay with that.”
Her lips half-curved. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
“So that’s not this week?”
She shook her head. “This week is the waltz. It’s quite romantic, so brace yourself for that.”
“But not wussy?”
