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“It's not. I shouldn't have said what í did. I shouldn't have touched your leg like that. It was just that you made me mad.”
“I didn't mean to—make you mad. You can be sort of scary.”
His head shot up and for the first time all evening, he looked pleased. “I can?”
She couldn't help smiling. “You don't have to act so proud of yourself. You're not that scary.”
He smiled, too, and it made his face so beautiful her mouth went dry.
They looked at each other like that for a while, and then she remembered about Billy T and what Dallie had seen and what he must expect of her. Her brief happiness faded. She walked over to the first row of bleachers and sat down. “I know what you think, but it's not true. I—I couldn't help what Billy T was doing to me.”
He looked àt her as if she'd grown horns. “I know that. Did you think I really thought you liked what he was doing?”
Her words came out in a rush. “But you made it seem like it was so easy to get him to stop. You say a few words to Mama and it's all over. But it wasn't easy for me. I was afraid. He kept hurting me, and I was afraid he'd hurt Mama like that before he sent her away. He said nobody'd believe me if I told, that Mama would hate me.”
Dallie walked over and sat down next to her. She could see where the leather was scuffed on the toes of his loafers and he'd tried to polish over the marks. She wondered if he hated being poor as much as she did, if poverty gave him the same sense of helplessness.
Dallie cleared his throat. “Why'd you say that about me pinning the flower on you? About grabbing a feel? Do you think that's the way I am because of how I was talking the other day in front of Hank and Ritchie?”
“Not exactly.”
“Then why?”
“I figured maybe—that after what you saw with Billy T, maybe you'd expect me to... you know, to maybe—have sex with you tonight.”
Dallie's head shot up and he looked indignant. “Then why'd you say you'd go out with me? If you thought that was all I wanted from you, why the hell did you say you'd go out with me?”
“I guess because someplace inside me, I hoped I was wrong.”
He stood up and glared at her. “Yeah? Well, you sure were wrong. You sure as hell were wrong! I don't know what's wrong with you. You're the prettiest girl at Wynette High. And you're smart. Don't you know I've liked you since the first day in English class?”
“How was I supposed to know that when you scowled every time you looked at me?”
He couldn't quite meet her eyes. “You just should have known, that's all.”
They didn't say anything more. They left the bu
ilding and walked back across the parking lot to the stadium. A big cheer went up from the bleachers and the loudspeaker announced, “First down. Wynette.”
Dallie topk her hand and tucked it, along with his own, into the pocket of his navy blazer.
“Are you mad at me for being late?”
Holly Grace spun around toward the door of the gym. For a fraction of a moment she felt disoriented as she gazed at the twenty-seven-year-old Dallie leaning against the center post, looking bigger and more solid, so much more handsome than the sullen seventeen-year-old kid she'd fallen in love with. She recovered quickly.
“Of course I'm mad. As a matter of fact, I just told Bobby Fritchie I'd go out with him tonight for surf and turf instead of waiting around for you.” She pulled her purse off her shoulder and let it dangle from her fingers. “Did you find out anything about that little British girl?”
“Nobody's seen her. I don't think she's still in Wynette. Miss Sybil gave her the money I left, so she should be on her way back to London by now.”
Holly Grace could see he was still worried. “I think you care more about her than you're letting on. Although to tell you the truth—other than the fact that she's knockout gorgeous—I don't see exactly why.”
“She's different, is all. I'll tell you one thing. I never in all my life got involved with a woman so different from me. Opposites may attract in the beginning, but they don't stick together too well.”
She looked at him, a brief sadness in her eyes. “Sometimes people who are the same don't do too good a job of it, either.”
He walked over to her, moving in that slow, sexy way that used to melt her bones. He pulled her into his arms to dance, humming “You've Lost That Lovin' Feelin'” into her ear. Even with improvised music, their bodies moved together perfectly, as if they'd been dancing with each other for a million years. “Damn, you're tall when you wear those shoes,” he complained:
“Kinda makes you nervous, doesn't it? Having to look at me straight on.”
