AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“I don’t know. Am I?”
We lock gazes for a few more seconds before he finally breaks contact and quietly laughs as he looks down at his feet. I start toturn back toward the table as the waitress comes back with the check for Ivy to sign, but Cutter pauses me with a soft touch to my bicep. I was warm before, but now I’m burning.
“Dance with me.”
My eyes flit from his touch to his face, his mouth a resolute and gentle smile, crinkles formed at the sides of his eyes.
“Cutter, I don’t really dance. We’re about ready to go, so . . .” I glance to Ivy who gives me side eyes as she finishes signing her name on the bill.
I sigh and roll my head back to face him. He hasn’t budged, the only change is a sense of hope tugging at the corners of his eyes. His hand slips from my arm and he takes a step back, dropping his hands in his pockets as he shakes his head.
“I’m going to stand out there and dance with myself, like a fool, until you come out there and dance with me. If this means I lose my status as campus hot boy, I want you to know that’s on you, Laney Price.” He nods at me, the playfulness of his smirk making it hard for me not to smile back at him.
I let him make it all the way to the dancefloor, where he holds out both palms and tilts his head, silently calling me to him. I suck in my lips and fight with myself internally. If this weren’t at Patty’s in front of people, I’d be there in a heartbeat. But if I go, it’s going to become one more thing. A story aboutCaney-ship.A distraction.
Cutter drops his arms to his side and mouths, “Come on.” After a few more seconds, he folds his arms around himself and slowly starts to rock side-to-side, backed up by the catcalls and cheers of his teammates who are now overly invested in his attempt to get me out there.
“Go dance with him, you jackass,” Ivy says.
I turn my attention to her and she shrugs.
“There’s nothing wrong with actually liking someone, Laney. With actually liking Cutter McCreary. Hell, I really like him. Fucker grows on you.”
I shudder with a laugh and slide off my stool, turning my attention back to the hot hockey player dancing with himself to a song all about making love to a woman. The moment I begin moving toward him, his teammates erupt into cheers. The attention almost convinces me to turn and run out the door, but I don’t. I cross through the few high top tables between us and stop a foot away from him.
“Can I cut in?” I half expect him to turn me down to prove a point, but instead he drops the act and moves his hands to my hips, tugging me close.
I grab the center of his jersey with both hands and let my forehead fall to his chin. He kisses it and I glance up at him as he rocks us back and forth.
“Was that so hard?”
Whistles blare from behind him, the kind made with fingers in mouths, like how you call a dog or celebrate a Super Bowl. I glance around his bicep then pop my gaze back up to his.
“It was kinda hard for me, yeah,” I admit.
The tender smile that got me out here in the first place spreads, dimpling his cheeks, and he drops a hand from my waist to twist his body and signal to his friends to cut it out. A few of them wave him off, but within seconds, they’re back to playing pool and trying to hook up with someone of their own. The only onlookers left are the pair I overheard in the bathroom, and while they don’t look jealous exactly, they also don’t look like they want to become my friend.
Cutter reaches up to smooth a few stray hairs from my face and his thumb trails along my cheek. His eyes scan my face, and his mouth hangs open as if he’s trying to find the right words.
“Post-practice hair. Well, post-practice-nap-partial-shower hair.”
He chuckles at my self-assessment and tucks one more strand behind my ear before moving his hand back to my hip. I fold into him and link my hands behind his neck, resting my head on his shoulder.
“You know, I didn’t go to prom or homecoming or anything like that. This is nice.”
“Good. I’m glad you like it. And for the record, I would have taken you.” His head leans into mine, making our space more intimate.
“It’s not that I didn’t have boyfriends or opportunities, but I was usually traveling for volleyball. My mom really ran me all over the Northeast.” My chest burns at that out loud realization. For all her faults, which are plentiful, my mom always said yes. Every request I made to do a camp, to try out for a higher level, to go to an open gym in the city that required her to drive me and sit there while I played. She always said yes.
“Oh crap.” I bury my face in the crook of Cutter’s neck and he runs a hand up my back to my bare shoulder blade where he pauses to stroke my skin with his fingertips. It’s intoxicating and comforting all at once.
“What’s wrong?”
I shift to meet his eyes, but his hands remain on me, comforting me, drugging me.
“I really let my mom have it today. And while we don’t get along super well, I may have taken it too far today. I owe her . . .” I stop there because it hits me that an apology is not quite enough. I owe her for a lot of things. She did her best, and my dad leaving us the way he did really messed her up.
“Okay, so tomorrow, you make a phone call. It starts there.”
