Mad Boys (Blue Ivy Prep, #2)(102)

“Feels weird,” I admitted.

“Agreed.” Then she waited until we passed through one of the buildings before resuming the thread. “I actually like having a friend more.”

“Than a brother?” Curiosity shuttled through me.

“Maybe.”

The smile took any kind of insult out of it and just increased my desire to know more. “What about a stepbrother?”

“Seems hit or miss to me, so I’ll definitely go with friend there.”

I could live with that. The manor was lit up when we got there. The ice theme outside took advantage of the snow. They’d added ice sculptures of horses, birds, and even one of a prince and a princess.

KC burst out laughing when we got there, then she and Aubrey insisted on posing with each sculpture. I was happy to take the pictures of her, but she insisted we join. By the time we made it inside, she was shivering a little. I checked her coat, then pulled her deeper into the building away from the entrance.

Fire wasn’t hard to find in here. Between the red cast lights, the throbbing beat of music, and the faux “fires” set everywhere, it was like dancing in an outer circle of hell. Not that I knew much about the dancing, but KC didn’t hesitate to pull me out there.

The throbbing beat of the music was familiar. KC moved so fluidly, I wasn’t sure I could keep up. Then she caught my hands, and where she guided, I went. The next couple of hours flew by with us pausing to get drinks, or once when the girls needed to go to the bathroom.

I followed them as far as the door and waited for them just outside. Forrest had drinks for us when we got back. Leaning against me, KC sipped her water and watched the dancers with her eyes half closed. When the music shifted to a slower, sweeter note, Forrest and Aubrey drifted back out to dance.

“You want to go back out there?” I offered, but KC tilted her head back and shook her head.

“Tireder than I thought,” she admitted. “Sometimes, I can just get out of my head with the right music and the dancing…kind of reminds me of being on stage without all the pressure.” She made a face, then shook her head a little. “Yeah, I know, poor little KC…”

“No,” I said slowly. “Music makes more sense to me than people.”

“Sometimes,” she said. “It’s just—easier to be when the music is playing. Dancing is an escape. So is running, and this year has been crap for that.”

“Do you want to run more?”

“Yeah,” she answered slowly, her eyes going distant. “I need to burn the energy. I’m so used to a tour schedule, and we were always on the go, two sets every night, sometimes three. To go from that to nothing is a bit jarring. Even with homework thrown in.”

I’d never thought of it that way. Not at all. “I’ve never done a tour,” I admitted. “Mom has. She goes on tour with Gibs all the time.”

The minute I brought him up, I regretted it because her expression shuttered a little. Talking to KC had gotten easier and easier. Then I bring up someone she doesn’t want to talk about.

Part of me wanted to ask more questions. Find out why she was so mad at him…

The rest of me wanted to leave her alone. She’d had enough grief this year.

“What Aubrey said about your stalker…” The shift in subject wasn’t subtle, but I swore she almost looked relieved for it.

“The problem with being a celebrity,” she said as she lifted the water for another drink, “is everyone thinks they know you better than they do. Stalkers fall into the same category, but most of them are harmless.”

“You got hurt.” That wasn’t harmless at all.

“We also don’t know if it was a stalker,” she countered, the distance appearing in her eyes again. “That—I don’t know what it was. I wish I did. I wish I knew where my guitar is.”

“I wish you did, too. The other one will be fixed soon, right?” Maybe I could find her an acoustic guitar. I had a pretty good allowance and I barely ever touched it.

“It will be… but it’s not the same.” The music changed and she turned to face me. “You still want to dance?”

“With you?” Because I didn’t care about anyone else. The shift of her stance pulled her away from me and I was already missing her.

Water finished, she held out her hand. “Yes, with me. Slow dancing can be fun…but it means more touching.”

Heat flushed my face this time. “You noticed I didn’t know how to dance.”

“You dance really well, Hot Shot,” she said with a wider smile.

Embarrassed, but pleased, I put my hand in hers and let her pull me out onto the dance floor. The slower music was different, I didn’t recognize the artist and I really wasn’t listening to the words, not with KC pressed up against me and her arms around my neck.

“You can put your hands on my hips,” she said. The satin or silk or whatever the fabric was made out of, was soft under my hands. I kept the touch light, but there was no escaping how close we were.

The soft feathering of her breath against my chin distracted me almost as much as the press of her to my chest. Everything about KC was soft, and warm. She lifted her head and held my gaze all the way through the song, and when it segued to another slow one, she rested her head beneath my chin.