He shrugs. “No. But you shouldn’t let it stop you from living in the moment. Now come on, do the jump.”
“What jump?”
“TheDirty Dancingjump.” He bends his knees, ever so slightly, impaired by his impossibly tight pants.
I look around at all the people around us, rushing to get to their destinations before the rain starts again. A few curious folks have stopped to take in the show, whispering among themselves. I hear one of them say, “They must be new buskers.”
“Come on. You can trust me,” Renner says, holding his arms out, steady.
Trust. That’s the one thing I’ve never had with Renner. But after the past few days, I think he might be the person I trust most.
So I do it. I run into him and he seamlessly lifts me above his head. I hold my arms out and it feels like I’m flying, weightless, filled with air. From up here, I feel powerful, strong, like I can do anything.
He holds me for a moment before his arms start to shake. “Um, Char?”
“Yeah?”
“I—I think my pants just split down the front.”
I laugh and crane my neck to see for myself, and my body shifts more dramatically than I meant it to, straight out of Renner’s arms.
Within a blink, I’m hurtling face forward into the concrete.
TWENTY-SEVEN
There’s a familiar dull ache behind my eyes. Something hard jams into my forehead, and my breath hitches, as if a boa constrictor has coiled itself around my chest.
My eyes snap open, body rigid and on high alert. I’m disoriented, like when you’re blindfolded in those pin-the-tail games and someone spins you around and around.
That’s how I feel as I take in a few facts:
1) I’m lying facedown.
2) My nose is squashed into a dusty wood plank floor. The gymnasium floor.
3) We’re no longer in a random alley in Fairfax. I am no longer in Renner’s arms.
How did we end up here? Did I have a concussion after Renner dropped me?
I rake my hand through my hair, expecting my fingers to snag on knotted, rain-drenched strands. But it’s dry and otherwise smooth.
Speaking of Renner ... I can smell his clean, lemony scent all around me, as though I’ve bathed in it. And that’s when a low groan vibrates against my chest.
Renner’s chin pokes my chest wall, right between my boobs.
“Yup. That’s gonna hurt tomorrow,” he croaks.
I’m unable to respond, mostly because I’m disoriented. Every muscle and joint in my body aches. I make a mental note to schedule a chiropractor appointment. That seems like an adult thing to do.
Renner gently sets his hands on either side of my waist and rolls me off him. And that’s when I get a good look at his face.
He’s clean shaven.
Boyishly familiar.
Gone are that broad jawline, the facial hair, the added crinkle lines around his eyes.
I scan the gym, my eye catching a glimpse of the tacky cardboard seaweed affixed to the wall.
