“Would you like to sit down, Lydia?”
The question had been posed in the least threatening manner she could imagine.And the woman asking was the very definition of kindly. Her gray hair hung in a fat plait over one shoulder. She had sandals and socks on her feet. Her cardigan was covered in knitted bees.
Yet, still, Lydia couldn’t quite go over there.
The thought of that lie kept her rooted to the spot.
“I just thought maybe I could stay here and listen this first time,” she said.
“Of course you can. But wouldn’t it be nicer to sit down to do it?”
“Sitting down kind of seems like it comes with a talking price tag.”
“I can assure you it doesn’t.”
That got her feet moving. It also helped her sit in one of the plastic chairs, even though she suspected it wasn’t true. They were all still looking at her—so expectantly she could feel it, digging away at her insides. If they kept it up, they were probably going to pop out some important organ.
But they all carried on anyway.
Well, all except for one guy.
She didn’t notice him right away, even though he was directly across from the seat she’d chosen in the circle. It happened slowly, like the prickling awareness of someone following you.
Onlywithout the actual following part.
Every time she glanced at him, he was busy staring at someone else. He focussed on people who never spoke and people who did; on the broken plié bar and the whistling window. Hell, even when he gazed in her direction he seemed to be seeing something just to the right of her head.
Though that was probably down to the kind of person he seemed to be.
She’d never seen anyone so self-contained in all her days. It was like he was surrounded by invisible armed guards. Curious stares and questionssimply bounced off him, as if they were barely there at all. And when the group leader finally said it was his turn to share, his answering smile was a wonder.He allowed it a quarter of warmth and a half of sincerity, and the rest was all control.
Though what he was controlling, she couldn’t say.
His story was completely unremarkable. It was the same one most of the other people had shared: an unfulfilling job he had just quit, feeling aimless about the direction his life was going in, wondering if he was ever going to realize his potential. Just a series of genericissues that no one would have cared about—if it were not for the way he was.
And oh, the sound of his voice.
Nobodywas prepared for his voice.
He seemed like the kind of guy to talk in a really macho, terse sort of manner. Everything about him suggested it, from the armed guards, to the heavy-duty leather jacket, to his face. He had a jaw like a sheer granite drop. His nose was busted to fuck. Yet, when he spoke, it was almost a sigh. She thought of a summer breeze stirring through long grass,so faint people had to strain to hear it.
Hell, peopledidstrain to hear it.
Two girls wereleaning so far forward she wanted to put out a hand to stop them toppling off their chairs. One of them was getting so close to himshe could have licked him without much effort, and for one hair-raising second Lydia wondered if she might. The side of his face was very tempting—mostly smooth and tawny, with just the barest hint of that good sort of stubble.
Like iron filings beneath the skin, her mind supplied, in a way that made her feel kind of weird. Her stomach tightened, for reasons she couldn’t place. Suddenly, she was perspiring, and not in her usualI fucking hate therapykind of manner.
This was different, much different.
Though she didn’t get much time to figure it out. Suddenly Gray Plait was telling everyone to stand. Even worse: she was telling everyone tofind a partner.And though Lydia wanted to obey, doing so was way easier said than done. She glanced around quickly, searching for likely candidates.
But almost everyone in the room was staring at her way too eagerly.
In fact, two girls were actually whispering and pointing.
She couldn’t pick the whispering pointers.
So where did that leave her?
