The Bad Boy Bargain (Suttonville Sentinels #1)(51)

“I’d do anything for you,” he said, hating the tiny tremor in his voice. Some knight he was, terrified of a damsel in distress. “Anything.”

She peered up at him, her expression shy. “Can you dance in the musical?”

He laughed. “I could, but I’m not sure the cast would like that.”

“Josh can’t lift me. He says I’m too heavy.” Tears welled up over her eyelashes again. “NYU rejected me. Do you think that’s why? That I’m too heavy? Or too tall? Or is it my voice? My dancing?”

“Faith, it’s none of those things. I’ve seen you dance, and now I’ve heard you sing.” He reached for her arms, gripping them tightly. “It’s like professional sports—sometimes the break comes because of luck. You are a great singer, a beautiful dancer, and you sure as hell aren’t too heavy.” He shook his head in disgust. “This Josh needs to do some weight training if he can’t lift you, especially if you’re doing half the work by jumping first.”

She nodded, blinking back tears, but looked too choked up to say anything.

Not good enough.

He released her arms and moved five steps back. “Is that lift we tried the other night the hardest one?”

She shook her head. “There’s a more difficult one.”

“Tell me what to do.”

Her eyes flew open wide. “You want to dance with me? Wait. What about the other day? You pushed me away, Kyle. Why are you here?”

The words were on the tip of his tongue: I’m scared. I want to be with you but I don’t know how. I’m not good enough for you. I’m a liar, even to myself.

He sighed. “You need me.”

The answer wasn’t adequate, he knew that, and her frustrated expression confirmed his fears. She squared her shoulders, though. “This one requires more work on your part.”

Relieved she’d stopped crying, he flexed his biceps. “I think I can handle it.”

Her face went scarlet, and she gave him a quick smile. “I’m telling you—we need you on this stage.”

He grinned. “Not gonna happen. Now, about this lift.”

“It’s called a fish lift,” she said. “The easier version is to dip me in the hold, which is what Josh is supposed to do. The harder way is to lift me over your head.” She glanced at the wooden floor. “We’ll stick to the dip.”

Showing off and lifting her over his head sounded like a good idea, but giving her a concussion if he dropped her didn’t. “Fair enough.”

“Okay, so I’m going to turn in to you. When I do, bend your knees a little and get an arm around my waist. When my back leg comes up…” She bit her bottom lip. “Um, grab my thigh. About midway up.”

“Your thigh. Fine.” This was sounding better and better. “Anything else?”

“Once you have me off the floor, I’ll hold my pose. You dip my head and do a turn, then bend your knees and I’ll step out of the hold.”

He clapped his hands. “Okay, Gladwell. Bring it on.”

She rolled her eyes, but her smile was back, and that was all that mattered. “One, two, three.”

She spun toward him on her toes, and he grabbed her waist. Her back leg came up, just like she described, and he caught it, trying to ignore the lean strength of the thigh muscle in his hand. Her free leg bent so that her foot touched her opposite knee, and she held her arms out, graceful and sure.

“Dip!” she commanded.

He tilted her head down, turned in a circle, then let her go. “Piece of cake.”

She beamed. “Not too many guys can do that lift. That’s part of why I’m still here.” She grimaced. “I’m working on new choreography to take the lifts out.”

She went to the edge of the stage and sat, dangling her legs into the orchestra pit. Kyle joined her. “That’s too bad.”

“It is, but at least I was able to try it with someone.” She reached for his hand. “Thank you.”

“What about NYU?” he asked, not daring to move his hand, afraid she’d let go.

She stared out into the dark auditorium. “I’ll go in-state somewhere. North Texas has a great vocal department. Maybe I’ll try their program instead.”

Faith sounded—and looked—so tired. Kyle scooted closer and put an arm around her shoulders. “And maybe in a year, you can try to go to NYU again. Or find an agent and make your own way.”

“Maybe.” She turned her head, and their faces were only inches apart. “You always know how to make me feel better.”

“I try.”

“You do, and that’s why this doesn’t make sense. Why did you push me away? You avoided the question earlier.”

Now it was his turn to stare out at the auditorium. He knew his palm was getting sweaty in hers, and an alarm in his head shouted, Get out! Get out! “I don’t think I’m…good boyfriend material.”

“That’s a cop-out.” She reached out and turned his face back to hers. “And I can prove it.”

Before he could say anything—or blink—she pressed her lips against his.





Chapter Thirty-Three


Faith