Chase had to rescue me from creepy Benedict—Freddie warned me about him
Now Chase has to experience my sweaty palms while he leads me to the dance floor
Rock. Hide. Now.
But yes, of course, it had to be him because this is me we’re talking about here.
Oh, why, oh why, oh why?!
Never mind. I don’t ask that question anymore. I carry on, and right now that feels an awful lot like being touched by my crush. Er, my former crush. Crush past tense. Crushed.
I feel crushed by the weight of embarrassment.
Forget it. Who am I trying to fool? I’m lit up like a big yellow Christmas tree because I’m dancing with Chase Collins, whom I’ve never been able to forget about, even though I desperately want to.
To be clear, I’d much rather be home with Ted Lasso and some biscuits, and was about to make my escape when I realized I’d forgotten my purse on the dinner table and had to go back into the party.
Could that moment have been more embarrassing?
Probably, but this right now, with the expectant gazes of everyone except Mr. Collins on us as we approach the dance floor wins the prize for awkwardness.
Thankfully, Benedict is nowhere in sight. When he greeted me, my pulse raced toward a red light flashing in warning.Stop. Do not proceed.It still pounds hard, but is given the green light as Chase does a fancy little number of spinning me onto the dance floor and into his arms.
Every move he makes is of precision and intention, like he’s done this a million times before. If only confidence were contagious.
A frightful little, “Oooh,” escapes my lips as he clutches me close. But the music is loud, so likely no one heard me as I careened out of control across the highly polished parquet floor.
Whereas I feel awkward and silly, he moves with a kind of sureness that makes me think I’m in good hands. But sheesh, mine are sweaty as he dramatically dips me back.
I didn’t expect we were going to put on a performance. I have a dreadful feeling that this is just the opening act!
Chase lifts me toward him, arms flexing, as though I’d experienced a full-on Regency-era swoon. As he draws me upright, the momentum of the sudden movement causes my hand to hit my hairline, where one of my rings catches.
So here I am, frozen in a half-swoon pose. Marlow is probably chronicling it online for the Hinnifin Hall alumni group.
Chase’s light blue eyes sparkle as he looks down at me with concern or amusement, I cannot tell. Probably both.
“Just to be clear, I am not swooning.”
However, it’s hard not to notice his strong arm under me, making me feel feather-light and floaty. The same arm that repeatedly bumped into me during dinner. The one that sent delightful shivers through me despite my better sensibilities.
But you know what they say about sense and sensibility.
“Don’t worry, I won’t let you fall,” Chase says.
“Be careful, I almost took down the valet on the way in here, and I collided with a server, which was why my dress was wet.”
“I gotcha, Pippa.”
“Could youunget my ring from my hair? It’s stuck and I can’t move my hand without pulling it.” The last thing I need is for it to rip out, leaving me with a bald patch.
