“Where are we going?” she hisses.
I aim for the center of the room, ignoring her question. “Do you hear that?”
“Matthews.”
I hear the warning, but I’m not backing down. I want it. This one thing.
I’ve not seen it, but I imagine this woman could drop my ass to the ground, possibly in a hundred different ways, but I don’t care. Some things are worth the danger.
“Are you out of your mind? We are not. . . ”
I sense her panic, but I’m dead serious.
I spin, stopping in the middle of the room where couples are dancing all around us. It’s not a slow song, but it’s Bruno Mars. Her favorite.
I lean in a little. “I don’t want to talk anymore. Not about football, how great my dad was, or anything else. So, I’m going to put my arm around you now.”
I give her a moment. Her wide eyes flick between mine so fast, then at all the people around us having fun.
“And lucky for you, I can dance.” I smile, trying to reassure her.
She doesn’t move. She might not even be breathing, and I need that to stop.
“Ok?”
Her chest moves in and out a little more quickly. “This isn’t a good idea. I can’t—”
“I think it’s the best idea I’ve had in a long time, and they happen to be playing your favorite guy.”
I move into her carefully, giving her enough time to know what I’m doing, but not so long that she has a chance to second-guess it.
I slip my arm around her, and she lets me, her toes bumping mine. Her arms hang loose as if she doesn’t know what to do with them, but then one hand moves to my shoulder, and the other falls into my open palm.
I keep it simple, swaying us back and forth. “Is this ok?”
“Do I have a choice?” Her eyes are everywhere but on me.
“Always, but I like to dance. I’m pretty good, actually.”
After a few moments, her stiff posture eases a bit. She tosses me a look of complete boredom that makes me grin, but her following my lead tells me she doesn’t completely hate it.
“Rylee?”
There’s the hint of smartass I was waiting for.
I breathe in relief. “I didn’t want to blow your cover.”
Her shoulders stand down a little further, so I take another risk.
“Tell me what you see.”
Her body tenses again, and I see the request surprise her.
I want to know what goes on inside her head. I’m pretty sure she’s on high alert ninety-nine percent of the time, and I want her to trust me enough to tell me what that’s like.
She doesn’t answer right away, her heels still shifting slowly back and forth between my feet.
“I see, hear, and feel. . .everything.” Her gaze travels to our hands locked together, and I’d give anything to know what she feels.
