I peeked up at him. “What’s in your head that’s so distracting?”
He moved slowly and purposefully against me. He could dance; I could tell in the way he spun us around. He’d probably been waltzing in London society balls since he was a kid. All other complications aside, this guy was from a completely different world than me. The chasm between us was unfathomable.
He stared down at me a beat before he answered. “You.”
I had no idea what to say to that, so I resorted to my usual trick. Deflection.
“Because no one else would make you get into a fight when you’d just arrived at a party, right? Is this me breaking your rules and embarrassing the family? Does it count if I get you to do it for me? Your dad would hate that?—”
“Selena,” Brody cut in softly.
“Hmm?”
“Shut the fuck up and just dance with me.”
My mouth fell open in outrage, but he didn’t give me a chance to respond. He tugged me closer, guided my head onto his shoulder, and moved us. The motion was relaxing, rhythmic, almost hypnotic.
“People can see us,” I said.
Brody’s arms tightened around me.
“I don’t give a fuck. Let them see. Just lay your goddamn head for once, and just be.”
The instruction was so precise, and so reasonable, I did just that. I lay my head on the shoulder of this man who I felt safe with, and let him lead me.
Brody
Selena ranbeside me in silence as we made our way through the early dawn streets. The neighborhood was still, fog from the marine layer low on lawns, shrouding the imposing metal gates bordering every property. We came to a split in the road and both turned toward Main Street, though it was another couple of miles away. Our route took us downhill, so the run back was the hard part.
As we got closer to the center of town, there were a few more signs of life, but not as many as you’d see in a city. Hade Harbor was pretty sleepy, after all. Only one storefront was lit up among the parade of shops lining the end of Main Street.
I knew what it was by the smell in the air. A loud growl sounded, and I looked at Selena.
She tutted. “Hungry, are you?”
“That was you, heathen.”
“You can’t prove it,” she tossed at me, then put her head down and ran in the direction of the bakery.
I fucking loved how strong she was. Her endurance was something else, considering she hadn’t been training for over a year. It was impressive.Shewas impressive.
Last night, when that fucking loser, Nick, had hurled those shitty words at her, she had barely flinched. She’d held her head high, her spine straight. She had the bearing of a warrior queen, and it was magnetic. As was her body. Running behind her had all kinds of benefits that I was dedicated to enjoying.
She reached the bakery before me, slapping a hand against the outside wall just to drive home who had won.
She wandered inside without waiting for me. I joined her at the pastry case once I’d caught up.
“I’m going to have a chocolate croissant and a salted caramel éclair,” she announced. “You?” She stuck her hand down the top of her zip-up layer, dug around in her sports bra, and pulled some cash out. “My treat.”
I attempted not to be jealous over a fucking piece of paper and looked at the case.
“All of this is ridiculously unhealthy,” I muttered, eyeing the buttery, sweet concoctions.
“Yeah, but it’s worth the calories. This is the best patisserie in town, and it’s French. Everyone knows French people never get fat.”
“Great logic there,” I muttered. “I’ll just have a black coffee.”
“Seriously? We just burned a million calories,” she said and turned to the girl behind the counter to order. “He’s British, he doesn’t know good food,” she apologized for me.
