“You –”
“But also, I don’t think I’m holding her against her will. Am I?”
I swallow and grab hold of the edge of the shelf tightly. “Why don’t I scream and you can find out if it’s against my will or not?”
It only makes him smirk. “Why don’t you? Let’s see if it reaches your brother and he comes to save you.” He flexes his fist by his side. “I’d love to give him a matching bruise for last Friday.”
My heart jumps. “You wouldn’t.”
“Wouldn’t I?”
“No. Because… Because you apologized to him that night,” I remind him, trying to tamp down shivers at the thought of him keeping that promise to me. “You kept your promise.”
“And that means what?”
“It means that maybe you’re not as bad as they say you are.”
“Yeah, no. I’m exactly as bad as they say I am.” He spreads his hands as if in a magnanimous gesture. “I’d be happy to show you if you like. All you have to do is scream.”
I study him for a long, careful moment before saying, “How did you even know that I was here?”
“I saw you dancing through the window,” he says.
“You did?” I ask, surprised.
“Uh-huh.” His eyes grow heated, and all my ire seems to be on the verge of melting. “You were spinning. So fast. And I stopped.”
“Why?”
He licks his lips and I’m reminded of how excited he looked that night when I danced for him.
When he called me a fairy.
God.
God.
He called me that, didn’t he?
I’ve been trying not to think about it. Not to think about his words, the words no one has ever said to me before.
Fairy.
“Because apparently when you spin, I stop. When you dance, I have to watch,” he says in a low, slightly rough voice.
And suddenly I feel the same way. As I did that night.
All hot and restless. My limbs buzzing.
“I sucked,” I say.
He frowns. “What?”
I’m not sure if I should tell him this. But I’m going to.
I don’t know why but I have to tell him the truth.
So swallowing, I whisper, “My routine. I can’t do it. I-I mean, I can. But I’m screwing it all up.”
