Ten Below Zero(37)

“I don’t have a story,” I protested.

“Tell me who you were 20 years ago.”

“Uh, a baby.” I said it like it was the most obvious answer in the world.

“Who did you love?”

“I don’t remember.”

“Do you remember loving anyone?”

I thought for a minute. “No.” It sounded more tragic than it actually was.

“You were a foster kid from the moment you were born,” he added. He’d done his research.

“Yes. Until I was eighteen.”

“And then you were attacked and became who you are now.”

“Are these questions?” I asked.

Everett shrugged and sipped his water. The suit he was wearing was a beautiful blue-gray, fitted well. He wore a white collared shirt and no tie, with the top of the shirt unbuttoned just a bit. I watched his hands hold his glass, watched the way his knuckles bent, the way his finger tapped on the glass. I could watch his hands forever. I swallowed more water, emptying my glass.

“Dance with me.”

My head lifted up suddenly. “What?” my voice was small, weak.

He stood up and reached a hand down to me. “Dance,” he said. “With me.”

I shook my head furiously. “No. I can’t dance.” The music that was playing was slow and barely heard over the din of conversation. There was no one on the dance floor.

“Parker.” His voice was patient, as if he knew I would bend to his will. “Did you forget the rules already?”

I shook my head. “There was nothing about dancing.”

“I asked you to try new things. That was a rule. I’m not drinking. I want you to try.”

I shook my head. “Dancing isn’t new. It’s just foreign.” It was another language, another body language my body was uncomfortable with.

“Everyone’s staring at us, Parker,” he whispered, leaning down to my ear. “You dance with me now or I drop to one knee and make you really uncomfortable.”

With that I stood up abruptly, not bothering to take his hand, and walked out to the dance floor. “You are such an *,” I said between my teeth as he placed a hand on my hip and held onto my hand with his other. I placed a hand on his shoulder and looked up at him from beneath my lashes. I was uncomfortable. Not just by the fact that I was dancing, but that we were the only ones out here on the wood floor, the click of my heels calling attention to our presence. We swayed together, back and forth for several minutes before I started losing my cool.

“Everett,” I started, nerves penetrating my voice.

“Shhh,” he murmured.

“Everett,” I said again, looking into his eyes. “Everyone is watching me.”

The hand on my waist slid to my back, pulling me closer. Only inches separated us. “I’m watching you, Parker.”

I tried to look around, but he was all I saw.

“Just me and you, Parker. You see me, I see you. Who cares about anyone else?”

It was hard to care about anything other than his body against mine, his lips inches from mine. He pulled the hand holding mine closer to our bodies, making the dance more intimate. He brought his cheek to lay against mine, to lay next to the scar, and I breathed relief. His lips were at my ear.

“Your hair smells good.”

I couldn’t help it, I rubbed my face against his a little, relishing in the bite of his facial hair. “Soap.”

I felt his answering smile against my cheek. We swayed through one, two, three songs. I wasn’t sure. My eyes had closed somewhere halfway into the first song and I forgot about being insecure. I forgot about everything, but the way Everett’s legs moved against mine, the way his finger rubbed against my lower back. I was feeling the most delicious ache. Enjoying the way we existed on this tiny dance floor, but knowing I wanted to continue exploring our sexual attraction to one another.

I heard Everett whisper something against my ear, but didn’t quite catch the words. “Hmm?” I asked, lost in the feel of his arms around me.

“Food’s ready.”

“Oh.” I pulled back, breaking the spell I’d been under. Everett looked at me with an eyebrow raised but I ducked around him and walked back to the table. I slid into my chair and immediately started eating, not bothering to look up at Everett.

After a few minutes he asked, “Are you even chewing?”

I stopped mid-chew and looked up at him. I slowly chewed the rest of the bite and swallowed. “Yes. But I’m hungry.” I was defensive. Embarrassed.

“Nothing wrong with that, but you’re shoveling food in so fast that I think you’re trying to avoid conversation.”

It was true. The more food I shoved in my mouth, the less chance I had to engage in any conversation with Everett. He made me feel so many things, uncomfortable things. But at the same time, I was oddly drawn to feeling how he made me feel. It was confusing and scary and also exhilarating.

So I didn’t acknowledge what he said. Instead, I took another bite and slowly chewed, sipping my water and keeping my eyes trained to my plate.

“Red or blue?” he asked. I looked at him, confusion in my eyes. “If you had to choose a color, red or blue?”

“Choose a color for what?”

“Don’t make this complicated. Just say the first thing you think.”