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I’m in a bit of a haze, unable to process what just happened. No man has ever followed me into a bathroom at a club before. It’s terrifying. Juliana takes charge of the situation, finding a bouncer and telling him where to find the man. Then she drags me out of there and walks me toward her car a few blocks away.
“I’m driving you home,” she tells me, not leaving any room for debate. “That should not have happened. What a disgusting creep! Are you okay?”
I nod, unable to speak. I think I’m okay. I’m trying very hard to focus on my breathing and not freak out. I somehow manage to give her my address and focus on my breathing as she drives me to my apartment. She goes on and on about how men feel they’re entitled to women’s bodies, and how that’s the one thing she doesn’t like about clubs. I make agreeable sounds, only half-listening.
When we finally pull up to my building, I thank her for the night, despite how badly it ended.
“And, this is going to sound really weird, but can you please not tell anyone that happened?” I ask. Because I know if she tells her husband, he might mention it to James. And he’s the last person I want to know about this.
CHAPTERSIXTEEN
“Hey, James,” Melissa calls, pulling my attention away from the set piece.
In the last few days, my little gang of boys has made good headway on the backdrops, and the art classes have chipped in, adding their own little touches. I find that I’m a little disappointed at how close we are to being completely done. I’ll still do some mentoring at the center, but I’ll have less of an excuse to just stop by. Then, I’ll either have to admit that I have feelings for Melissa, which is absolutely not going to happen, or I’ll have to stop seeing her so much. That last option doesn’t sound any better.
I look up to see her watching me, a bemused look in her eye. Hell, I’ll admit it, I’m proud of the set. We’ve worked hard on it over the last two weeks, and I’ve never worked on anything like this before. It’s actually been fun to try something new. I didn’t even know I was capable of creating something this beautiful.
“Hey,” I call back to her, feeling nervous suddenly.
I can’t place the feeling and decide not to try. When it comes to Melissa, everything I’m used to has been turned on its head. If I take the time to psychoanalyze it, I’ll just talk myself into running away. I don’t really want that either.
“I’m showing the boys how to do lifts today, and I was wondering if you’d be able to help,” she tells me confidently.
I know there are other men here who could probably help, but she didn’t ask any of them. She asked me. And damn if my hands aren’t itching to touch her again, even if it’s for totally professional reasons. I nod and follow her through the halls to the dance room.
The kids file in, some of the boys are those I’ve worked with on the set. They give me high-fives and ask me if I’m a dance teacher too. I laugh at the absurdity of it. I dance like a drunk chicken, but I don’t tell them that.
Instead, I follow Melissa’s lead as she tells the kids about the proper way to do lifts. My palms are sweaty and I wish we’d had time to practice this before I demonstrated it to the class. Melissa asks me to stand behind her, a prop in her class. She grabs my hands and puts them on her hips, and I feel an electric spark pass through me. This isn’t the time or the place, so I shove it aside and try to focus on what she’s saying.
She has the kids pair up, and tells them to follow our lead. She gives the boys a very stern warning about where they put their hands, and I can’t help but laugh. I’ve put my hands all over her body, and I’ve been dying to try again, to see if the first time was just a fluke. But for now, I focus on setting a good example for the boys, showing them that I’m also sternly watching where they put their hands.
She comes back to stand in front of me, and she positions my hands again. She whispers back to me quick instructions about how to support her, and I know that there’s nothing I’ll intentionally do to let her fall. She’s light as a feather, but that’s not what makes it easy for me to agree.
“Now,” she says, her instructor voice on full display. “You’re going to watch Mr. Marrow and I do this. You’re just going to watch, okay?”
The kids all nod back in agreement.
“Then, I’m going to walk around and make sure you’re all doing it correctly,” she goes on. “Otherwise, we’re keeping our hands to ourselves, right?”
“Yes, Ms. Melissa,” the kids say in unison, perfectly trained and obedient.
It’s honestly amazing. I can’t get the boys to stop making fart jokes, but she has them standing at attention, focused on her and unwilling to do a single thing she doesn’t explicitly instruct them. She has such a way of commanding the room, of getting people to listen to her and respect her. She’s a natural at this.
She grips my forearms and counts to three, her body springing into the air as if gravity didn’t exist. Except, of course, that I’m the one keeping her up. I hold her there for several seconds, and wait for her cue to put her back down. When she gives it, I gently place her back on the floor, where she lands gracefully and does a quick bow. The kids all clap, and anxiously await their turns to try the same thing.
They’re all a little clunky at first, a little stiff. It’s clear some of the girls don’t trust their partners nearly as much as Melissa trusted me, but the boys really do try to be on their best behavior and keep the young ladies from injury.
I stay and watch, ready to step in if Melissa needs me, and helping to keep the boys focused on the task at hand. This is definitely not the situation for a poorly given fart joke, and I know from being around Charlie how fragile young girls can be at this age. All too soon, though, the class comes to an end and I no longer have a reason to stay.
When Juliana walks into to the room with Charlie, though, I kind of wish I had left earlier. She stops short at the door when she sees me, shock on her face. She looks between Melissa and me and raises one sharp eyebrow. Charlie, oblivious to any of it, goes to sit on the floor and change her shoes, and I give her a fist-bump, trying to escape Juliana’s questioning stare.
Fuck my life. She’s going to text Hex about this the second she leaves the room, I just know it. I tell Melissa I’m going to go and she thanks me profusely for all of my help, gaining me another sharp look from Juliana. This is bad, this is really, really bad.
Seer’s already been dropping hints about me spending a lot of time here. When I’ve gotten the chance to see him between my volunteering and his work with the Houston Kings, he eyes me with a knowing glint in his eye. He hasn’t said anything directly about it, but I can tell that he knows I have a reason for all the time I’m spending here.
This is going to be the nail in my coffin, the thing that makes them all start questioning my intentions. Next thing I know, they’re going to be planning a bachelor party and badgering me about setting a date. No, that absolutely can’t happen. That’s not what this is, and I’m not ever going to join their stupid marriage club. I quickly leave the room, intent on never returning.
I’ve let this go too far. Hell, seeing Melissa after I slept with her was taking it too far. I should have done what I usually do. Completely ghosted her and moved on to the next. I haven’t even been to a bar since I met her, instead opting to drink at the clubhouse. It’s been nearly two weeks since we slept together and I haven’t even so much as looked at another woman. This isn’t who I am, and I’m not about to change my entire personality for a woman… Right? No. This has gone far enough.
