Page 122 of The Cheerleader

Liz stops and laughs. “You do it. Go ask him.” She says it like a dare, a friendly dare, but a definite dare nonetheless. And there’s something about challenges that I can’t resist. And she knows it, or I never would have ended up a cheerleader.

“Why do you want me to dance with him when you have such a crush on him?”

She shrugs. “Safer that way. Go ask him. I double dare you.” She grins like she means it and hell, if she’s that scared of being turned away, then I should. Defiance and need make a dangerous combination, riling me up.

“I will.” A bubble of cocktail-fueled false bravado buoys me.

“This is so fun.” Liz pulls me back onto the dance floor and gathers all the members of the squad in that she can find and tells them what I’m about to do. Our group buzzes and grows while Liz practically pushes me in Bryan’s direction with her laughing smile of encouragement. Or is it mockery?

Either way, her fear-fueled dare feels a lot like junior high when the girls and boys were afraid of each other. Am I afraid of Bryan?

I finish my drink, gulping down the remaining ice water like it’s whiskey for courage.

Carol hoots. “You’re really doing this?”

I nod.

I get pats on the back as I head back in Bryan’s direction. He’s watching the band, thank god, and doesn’t seem to notice my cheering section.

When I press through the crowd and emerge a few feet away, he looks straight at me as if he were expecting me. I can hear the silent what took you so long inside his head. He’s way too confident. Way more confident than I am.

But that makes no sense. I should be confident. I’ve always been confident, haven’t I? Before I got to UConn.

“You look lonely,” I say. Shit. That’s not exactly a flirty thing to say, not the way I said it with too much emotion.

“How could I be…” He pauses, looking me over like he sees right through me—I don’t mean that he’s undressing me with his eyes, though he may be; I mean like he’s seeing down to my soul, knows my intentions and how I feel. He makes me feel vulnerable and exposed.

And for some reason, instead of running and hiding, he makes me want to flaunt my nakedness and reveal everything to him because I feel free and so protected and safe with him.

“You mean because you’re surrounded by all these people?”

“No. Because you’re here.” His eyes lock onto mine.

My heart shoots up my throat like a rocket and lodges there, thudding wildly. His words grip me so hard I want to cry, want to laugh and shout and sing. But I’m too scared to do any of those things.

“Dance with me.”

“I don’t dance.” He looks away, killing the moment and all the feelings that came with it, like I’m crashing from a high. But he’s still Bryan, and I know all the pain and loneliness is still there inside him, where he purposely keeps it shut away.

He’s holding a plastic cup half filled with some kind of drink and takes a sip.

The buzzing in my veins doesn’t let me give up this easily. “How about a slow dance? Just one. I’ll let you pick the song.”

“Since when are you a glutton for punishment?”

“I’m taking that as a rhetorical question.”

He shrugs, but he holds my eyes, staring at me like he has all kinds of thoughts and feelings simmering inside.

I know he does, and so do I, and I feel like I’m about to boil over.

“You have an audience.” He nudges his chin in the direction of our friends, most of the cheerleaders and a half dozen football players, plus Vinnie and a couple of his rugby teammates. “You make a bet?”

My eyes widen in surprise. “How did you know?” I give a small laugh. The whiskey sour in my system helps prevent me from caring that he knows I needed prodding to talk to him.

“How much is the bet for?”

“What?” I furrow my brow. “Oh, we didn’t say. I guess it was more of a challenge than a bet.”