I raise my brows and his expression stirs my soul to burning point.
‘Consider that an IOU,’ he promises, so my temperature spikes even further.
‘Dress okay?’ I check, as I step back to grab my clutch off the foot of the bed. I only brought one thing with me that’s neither casual nor work clothes—this is my ‘go anywhere, do anything’ black jersey dress. Strapless, fitted, stretchy and easy to throw in a suitcase without worrying about crinkling, it works for almost any occasion. I’ve teamed it with a pair of chunky gold earringsI bought at a gift shop in Goodnight, and some strappy black heels.
‘Better than okay.’ He nods his approval, holding out his hand. ‘Let’s go, Bay Jay.’
But I only hold his hand for a second before removing mine. ‘We should go back to being careful,’ I remind him. ‘You’re probably pretty well known around these parts.’
For a second, his easygoing expression slips and the same impatience is echoed in his features that I feel, but he replaces his smile almost instantly. ‘Yeah, you’re right. Can’t have everyone thinkin’ you wrote such nice things about me because we were sleeping together.’
‘Exactly,’ I say, over the racing of my heart.
He steps back and gestures for me to precede him out of the room, but as I walk by him his hand grazes my hip and a tremor runs the length of my spine.
The whole drive through Phoenix, we talk about nothing. Small talk, but easy and comfortable, like we’ve gotten past any kind of pretence. We fit together like we were designed for that.
He pulls the car into a street parking spot then comes around to open my door, his hand brushing my ass when I step out of the car. We walk side by side for a couple of blocks, and then I see where we are and freeze. The building is a pale-brown brick modernistic behemoth, all jagged angles and square roof, with a garden of cactus and desert plants. If I was in any doubt of the significance of this theatre, the huge billboard out front would enlighten me.
Swan Lakeperformedby the Southern Districts Ballet Company.
All the warmth drains from my body like a water tank with a big fat leak. I turn to face him, note the trepidation on his features, but can’t feel anything other than an icy sort of anger.
‘Beau, what are we doing here?’
‘Don’t be mad,’ he says, employing a tone of voice he might use to calm a wild horse.
But Iammad. Spitting, hopping mad. The kind of mad you can only feel when you’re shit scared, being made to confront something that horrifies you.
‘I’m not doing this,’ I say, turning around and starting to walk back toward his car.
‘Bailey, wait.’ And to hell with getting seen, he wraps his hand around mine and pulls me to a stop. ‘Just hear me out. If you want to leave, we can. Just—let me say something.’
I close my eyes but hold my ground, angled in the direction of his car, almost like I can magic us away from this.
‘You had to turn your back on your dream.’ His voice is earnest and low. ‘And I’m sorry about that. But it seems to me that you’re cutting yourself off from one of the things you love most in the world, and I hate seeing it.’
‘So?’ I demand, because I’m not an idiot and I know he’s right. I’ve all but said the same thing to him.
‘So, what if I can help you find your way back to it?’
‘You can’t.’
He moves to stand in front of me, his beautiful eyes boring into mine, making me feel things I really don’t want to feel. ‘You think?’
I shake my head quickly. ‘You have no idea what this would do to me. To sit there and watch them—to see them.’ I’m finding it hard to catch my breath.
‘Bailey, I know. I know what it will be like. But I’m asking you to try, for me. I’m asking you to take a chance on the fact I’m right.’ He puts his hands on my hips, squeezes me there. ‘We can leave anytime. I just want you to try this.’
I stare at him, studying the intensity in his features, and shake my head, slowly. ‘But why?’
‘Because I think you miss it with all your heart. I think you deserve to be able to watch a ballet, and come back to appreciating it, even when you can’t ever dance professionally again.’ He hesitates. ‘I want to think of you having this in your life.’
My heart stammers.
‘Just like I know you want me to keep bull riding in mine, even when I don’t ride pro anymore. Like with that reporter job.’
It’s weird to have someone understand all the crevices of your soul so well, to understand you so easily and intimately. ‘Yeah,’ I say, carefully.
