Page 38 of The Do-Over Girl

“We’re all set. Seems like there’s more than enough volunteers.”

“All the events from now until we reach our fund’s goal will be all hands on deck,” Nikki says. She glances at the clock. “I’ve got to dash.”

“Hold on. I’ll come with you.” I give my leftover supplies to one of the girls working with me. Walking with Nikki—which means very fast—too fast for my heels, we exit the gym and head for her car.

“It’s a good thing you’re wearing sneakers,” I say.

“You want a ride?”

“No, it’s a short walk to the inn. I need to change—what does a chaperone wear to a school dance anyway?”

“For you? Something sexy yet comfortable enough to move fast—and not so shiny that you look like a student.”

“Got it. I’ll dress and then help Mrs. Pike bring her baked goods back to the school. We’ll set up the refreshments outside the gym doors near where they’re taking tickets.”

Nikki nods, distracted as she studies her clipboard.

“Everything okay?”

She looks up at me. “Better than okay. Things are terrific now that we have the roster for the game and the date. This thing is growing like a volcano, ready to spout. It’s almost scary.”

“What do you mean, scary?” I scoff, giving a half laugh.

“I mean, it’s all going well. So well, I can’t trust it. Like something’s bound to go wrong, right?”

I pat her back. “Don’t worry, Nikki. This is going to work out exactly as planned. We’re going to more than meet our goal. No wrong turns here.”

She smiles and gives me a hug.

“When you tell me it’s going to work out, I almost believe it.”

We laugh, and then I rush back to the inn to dress. The night somehow feels special. Even if I am only a chaperone, I’m looking forward to it like it’s a night out instead of a job.

* * *

Mostly stayingon the dance floor's perimeter, I watch the kids having fun, listening to them laugh and flirt. I’m enjoying the heck out of chaperoning and laughing at my younger self, who felt sorry for the teachers who were supposedly stuck chaperoning.

“What’s that big smile all about?” His voice penetrates right to my heart—and then travels without missing a beat down to my core in a sizzling wave.

“I guess I was wondering when you were going to strike.” My smile doesn’t diminish, and I don’t even care if he interprets my comment as flirtatious because I feel good and unbothered by him tonight. I feel like my old self, the one buried under the baggage and heart-ache that I allowed to accumulate all these years, starting with the pressure and expectations my mom put on me, unknowingly, to be that perfect girl, to become the strong, independent woman whether each success made me feel like an imposter or not.

Maybe the heartache imposed by Nash and Brad was nothing compared to what I’ve been doing to myself all these years, trying to prove my worthiness to a mother who’s long gone.

“Consider yourself stricken. Let’s dance.” That he’s not asking as he sweeps me into the dancing crowd of teens isn’t lost on me, but I go with the flow because, why not?

I should be asking myself that question more instead of letting my fear of doing the wrong thing, the foolish thing, make my decisions.

You’re only a fool if you believe you’re a fool. My mother said those words to me once upon a time, and as I remember them, my smile widens.

“You’re in a mood. The kind of mood that might tempt a man if you’re not careful.”

“You expect me to be careful?”

“As always.” He cocks his head and studies me. “Except,” he leans closer, his breath hitting my ear, teasing the fine hairs at my temple, and giving me a delicious shudder. “At certain times. When we were making love with total abandon, and you let everything go, let all your passions rise… Lord, that was a sight—and I mean the kind that I still think about. Still dream about, Lollipop.” His voice vibrates in my ear, and it takes some effort to remember that no matter what kind of crazy mood I’m in, it would be totally inappropriate to jump him while I’m in the middle of the dance floor, chaperoning a school dance.

As it is, I let out a deep sigh that might sound like a needy groan. Saving me from myself, the song ends, and the DJ stops to talk to the kids, and of course, he takes the opportunity to promote himself.

I notice Mia and Dylan in the crowd nearby, holding hands. I elbow Nash and nod in their direction. “Those two are turning into a couple, aren’t they?”