“And last but not least, Pennsylvania’s own Patrick O’Leary and Anita Goodman!”
The applause drowned out Patrick’s laughter, the sound of her own heart pounding in her ears, and this was it, this was the moment.
Electricity sparked off of her skin as she placed her hand in the crook of his elbow, and he led her out onto the dance floor. She stretched her arms wide, and then he turned her out into a spin and a bow. 2-3-4-and-1. 2-3-4-and-1. Across the dance floor, her gaze found his, and the cha-cha beat pulsed through the ballroom, traveling through her feet to her hips, her arms, her hair. This was what she loved and who she was and who she wanted to be with, and it was glorious.
Show time.
Chapter Forty-One
“I blame the nail polish.”
Patrick laughed, and Anita swatted at his arm playfully. He couldn’t keep the stupid grin from his face. There was nothing better than this, their post-comp ritual, sitting beside her with his long legs crossed on the floor. After the awards ceremony, they had found an empty ballroom for their celebration. They were both barefoot and had changed out of their costumes into roomy sweats. In front of them was a veritable feast of sandwiches, fruit salad, and brownies. He had made extra sure to request brownies. Chocolate healed most of her wounds.
“Why?” Patrick leaned forward and winced, repositioned himself. He sifted through the sandwiches until he chose a turkey hoagie loaded with lettuce, tomato, red wine vinaigrette, and oregano. It was his third sandwich. “We came in third. After everything, number three isn’t bad. My jive kicks were decidedly lackluster.”
Anita patted him on the arm reassuringly. “They weren’t that bad.”
Patrick grimaced. “I’m just grateful we hadn’t choreographed any more challenging poses in the Paso. I had a chance to catch my breath.”
“At least we beat Mikhail.”
A wide, wicked grin spread across Patrick’s face to match the one on Anita’s. Revenge definitely helped ease the ache. As did the ibuprofen he had taken twenty minutes before the comp. “I’ll never forget the way his partner refused to hold his hand during the awards ceremony. What a fake smile. And why did he still choose to wear the shirt open to his navel? You could see all the bruises he didn’t hide.”
Anita bumped him on the shoulder. “I’m so glad to see you’re taking the high road here.”
He didn’t need the high road. He was here, alive, with her.
“At least I finally get to eat,” Patrick said at last, partially to his sandwich and the half-eaten bag of crinkle cut chips. “If Kim had really wanted to keep me alive as her love slave, shouldn’t she have bought me lunch first?”
Anita stilled beside him. He shouldn’t have said anything.
John Flaherty had arrived at the ballroom shortly after the awards ceremony for the professional contestants, bearing the smorgasbord and news of how everything had transpired.
“I can’t believe she killed Nikita. And Melanie Templeton’s husband. I don’t understand why she would do that.”
Patrick shrugged, mouth full of sandwich. “Maybe he was trying to tell Kim to back off of Melanie, and she didn’t like that.”
Anita shivered. “I’m grateful the worst thing she did to me was break my window. Although that poor bird…”
“Have you forgotten that she poisoned you?” Patrick’s eyes arched.
Anita grimaced. “I blocked it out. Some things are better left forgotten.”
They ate in companionable silence for a few moments. There was a slight smudge of mayo on the corner of her lip. He desperately wished he could lick it off.
But nope. All of that, and her feelings for him clearly hadn’t changed.
“You sure you don’t want to go to the after-party?” Patrick asked. “We always had fun.”
Anita stuck out her tongue. “And be accosted by everyone wanting the latest gossip? Please. I’d rather just hang out with you.”
His heart leapt. He leaned over and wiped the mayo from her cheek with the pad of his thumb. Her skin was as soft and delicate as he remembered. At least he could take that with him to Fiji.
He would take the memory of her smile with him right now, too. It would be like aloe on his sunburn.
Though now she was looking at him like he was insane. Which he might be.
“Me too. In the end, I’m glad she was kind of bad at being a criminal psychopath.”
