Player(37)

She took a breath and straightened her spine, lifting her little chin to meet my gaze.

“So, what do you say? Will you teach me?”

I knew what to say. I knew what to do. I knew right from wrong and black from white and good from evil.

I just didn’t care.

I stepped into her, cupped her face in my hands, eliciting a gasp of surprise from her plump lips. “Let’s just start with kissing. I don’t want to have to tell you I told you so.” She parted her lips as if to argue. But I didn’t want to hear it. “And school is in session starting right now.”

Her mouth was hot and soft, her surprise lasting only a millisecond before she submitted. Her arms wound around my neck, her body stretched long on her tiptoes. She was sweeter than I remembered, and I tasted her deeply, determined not to forget a single detail.

The twenty-four hours since we’d kissed had been shades of gray, and I was seeing in Technicolor.

Whistles and laughter erupted around us, and we broke the kiss to look around, remembering we were in the middle of the club. We executed a perfect bow-curtsie, and the second she was upright, I tugged her hand, bringing her into me. I grabbed her free hand and pushed her away, kicking us into the song, spinning her until she couldn’t stop laughing.

And I shouldn’t have felt like I’d just made all the right moves, not when I’d unwittingly hammered the last nail into my coffin.



Val

He said yes!

It was my only thought, and it had the enthusiasm of a cheerleader celebrating a winning touchdown with a back handspring that spanned the full hundred yards.

Kissing. Kissing and touching and Sam. Naked. Naked Sam. Kissing me.

I squealed when he twirled me faster, so fast, I almost lost my footing. Everything had sped up, my heart and his, the energy between us effervescent, cracking and bubbling against my skin with anticipation. But no matter how fast he spun me, no matter how I faltered, he was always there, steady and strong, his hands waiting to catch me, fitting to me, moving me and molding me and putting me exactly where he wanted me.

Which was exactly why he was so perfect for the job.

My bar very clearly needed raising.

The crowd around us began to part, to stop and form a circle around a couple. They were incredible. She was a little rocket, a tiny thing that her partner tossed around like she was nothing. The tricks. I couldn’t get over the tricks. There were times I didn’t know where she’d even end up, and wherever I figured would be wrong. Instead of landing on her feet, she’d slide under his legs. Instead of flipping over his back, she’d land on his shoulders.

We were all stopped and clapping and cheering and whooping, our faces open and smiling and awestruck.

“Goddamn, they’re amazing!” I laughed the words to Sam, who smiled down at me like he was watching me experience Disneyland for the first time. “I wish I could do that!”

“You can,” he said.

I laughed so openly, it made him frown. “That’s funny, Sam.”

“Don’t do that, Val. You can trick, easy.”

My smile fell. “No, you don’t do that. That girl weighs ninety pounds. There’s no way you could flip me like that, not unless your superpower is manipulating the laws of physics.”

Sam folded his arms and turned to face me. Everything about him was stern. “I can flip you.”

“Stop it. Can we just dance again?” I asked, resigned and regretting bringing it up.

“Sure, if you let me show you how to flip.”

I huffed. “Please…I don’t want to embarrass myself. Can’t you see that?”

His jaw flexed, but his eyes were soft. “I guarantee you can flip. If I’m wrong, if you’re embarrassed, I’ll let you call in a favor of choice. Anything you want, anytime you want it.”

Several naked physical acts crossed my mind, and I looked him over, the strict sincerity in his face disarming me.

He offered his hand. “Trust me, Val.”

I took a breath and slipped my hand into his palm, knowing at least if I regretted trying, I’d get naked favors out of it. “I trust you.”

At that, he smiled. He towed me to the edge of the dance floor where there was more room.

“All right. Here’s how it goes.”

We were face-to-face, and he took my hands in front of me and pulled, turning me under his arm. The twist put us in a sweetheart hold, his arms around my waist, my back to his front.

“Now,” he said as he unwound me without releasing my hands, “when I let your hand go, leave it here on my arm, and hang on. I’m gonna grab you here.” He hooked his left hand under my left knee, and his other arm locked my waist in the hook of his elbow—his bicep around my stomach, his forearm in the small of my back, and his hand gripping my waist on the other side.

That arm was the fulcrum I was going to spin around.

He was going to spin me. Around his arm. Over his shoulder.

Fear shot through me like lightning. “Sam, I don’t—”

He stayed me with a squeeze of his hand and a gleam in his eye. “I’m not going to let you get hurt.”

I swallowed and took a breath, but I couldn’t speak. So I nodded and hung on to his bicep.

“Okay,” he continued, “when we get here, you’ve got to kick off. Jump as hard as you can with me hanging on to you like this.”