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“I want you to admit that you’re scared. That you’re worried about what people will think. That you know how to do this, but you’re so convinced you don’t, you give up trying.” He turns and skates toward the exit.
“It’s only day two. Give me a break,” I call back.
“We don’t have time, Pepper. We don’t have time for you to adjust into this. If we’re going to pretend you’ve been here all along, you need to fucking act like you belong.”
I swallow.
“You gotta make this look real, Pepper.”
“Why do you care so much?”
He blinks away then seems to recover. “Because you’re not the only one faking it. If you’re caught, I’m caught. And you’re not bringing me down with you.”
I flinch. The rock in my chest crippling my ability to breathe. My throat burns with the threat of tears. He doesn’t mean that. He can’t be that cruel.
You idiot, of course he means it. He’s famous. Successful. You don’t even have an identity.
I sniffle and mentally shake off the sting. Digging up the New Yorker in me.
He’s right. I wasn’t focusing before.
I need to right now. And I know just how to do it.
When I was nine, my mother sent me to a local lady’s dance class. She held it in her basement until she had enough money to open a studio. She was a woman with spunk, drive, dedication. I remember her clearly. Hippie, dark hair, always spinning and singing.
She did this unreal super-spin where she’d find her focus, stretch her hands out, get in position and spin, letting her legs carry her effortlessly to her destination.
How do you see where you’re going if you’re always spinning? I’d asked.
Draw your line. Never look down. Lift your chin for the audience before you take off and draw it with your nose, lifting just until you find your point. Drawing your line first is the only way to stay in it. No one has to know you’re doing it. It’s all in your head. When you close your eyes, you’ll see this line. You’ll follow it. But don’t doubt it—or you will stray.
Lifting my chin, I follow her guidance. I stop when my eyes lock with Chase’s.
Pulling the scarf off my neck, I wrap it around my eyes and tie a knot to secure it.
“Pepper,” he starts.
“Don’t. Move,” I call back.
I have my line. I see it clearly. Like the blue in his eyes that stayed with me long after I turned around that first night. I push off. Except, I’m not spinning. I’m striding. Following the line that’s vivid behind my blindfold. I glide smoothly. I glide...flawlessly. And I keep going until I reach him. The end of my line.
I keep my blindfold on when I search for his face, feeling for it with my hands. I find his cheeks and sweep my thumbs over his lips.
There.
I lift my head while bringing his down to mine and kiss him deeply. I don’t move my mouth. He doesn’t either. But I hold our kiss and deliberately melt into him.
He wraps one arm around me, pulling me closer. A moan releases from his throat as he loosens the knot from the fabric around my eyes and slides it off.
Breaking the kiss, I pull back, blinking. “I can pretend just fine.” I glance down to his crotch—noticing the bulge in his sweatpants. “Proof.”
13
We don’t talk much on the drive back. But Chase doesn’t seem disappointed being caught off guard. He seems… silently impressed.
And I’m—a mess.
Because I kissed myself into a giant blur. His soft lips. The fiery gaze sizzling into my soul when he pulled off the scarf. The tingles and flutters I felt earlier only amplified.
