Page 19 of Dance for Me
I sidle up to her on the treadmill next door and lean closer to her when she doesn’t acknowledge my arrival.
“Hello there, Sunshine. You started without me today.”
She doesn’t even look at me, just scowls at the open air and stops her treadmill. Grabbing her bag and walking off to the back before I even have a chance to start my machine.
Aww, our first fight.
I stand there a moment, grinning like an idiot and wondering how far I can push her.
I hop down from the machine, leaving my bag at its foot, and saunter over to where she is wrapping her wrists and donning her gloves.
“Are we skipping cardio today?” I ask her, stepping up behind the suspended punching bag to face her. She glowers at me, but still doesn’t say a word as she steps up to face the enemy.
The punching bag. Not me, of course.
She adores me.
She leans forward with an arm extended for the first swing into the bag. I shift to the side, barely fast enough to avoid getting clipped by her right hook in the process.
Okay, somaybea little bit of her anger is at me.
“Is everything okay on this bright and chipper morning?” I tease her, both of us knowing I’m baiting her.
“Yes,” she huffs out between swings as I shift to stand behind her.
“Are you sure about that? You seem a little worked up about something,” I reply, stepping slightly closer to where she comes back to center before striking out again. I can’t even hide the smile in my tone. I don’t want to. I like having the upper hand with Harper, and I like watching her squirm.
“I realized something after Ms. Harlin’s request,” I start as Harper hits the bag with a little more force. “You never told me what you thought of my interview,” I tease, leaning down to brush my words across the shell of her ear as she straightens up. “And after last night, you have me questioning my skills.”
I can see her body react to my closeness, a shiver that runs from her head down her spandex-covered body. She’s in a black cropped tank top today, thin straps that look like they would be easy to slide down. Black leggings that pull together between the perfect cheeks of her ass, giving me the perfect outline of my desire, like I haven’t spent countless hours daydreaming about what it would feel like to hold that ass in the palm of my hands.
“It was fine,” she rushes out.
I reach out a hand and wrap it around her hip, stopping her next advance on the punching bag.
“You seem awful breathless for someone who thought it wasjust fine. What’s wrong, Sunshine? Saving your praise?”
She lifts one of her gloved hands up in the air, waving it back and forth as she tilts her head back to look at me. “It’s because of this, not you.”
“Of course it is,” I nod. When she lowers her gloved hand, I reach out and take it, my other palm still resting on her hip, as I step closer, my front brushing against her back.
I slowly undo the strap of her glove, tugging it from herhand and letting it fall to the mat under us. I reach across her and do the same to the other glove, watching it fall to rest with its partner.
“What are you doing?” she pants, but makes no move to pick up the gloves.
“I want you to answer me again, and this time, tell me the truth.”
“I don’t know what you mean,” she lies, breath catching on the last word as I take her hand with me to cage it against her other hip, a twin to where I already hold her.
“Do you think I can’tsatisfy, love?” I ask again, ignoring her faux ignorance. This time when she starts to answer me, I pull her body flush against mine, her backside tightly pressed against my front. “Were you trying to convince Ms. Harlin or yourself?”
A small gasp escapes her lips as she feels all of me against her, curling my upper body to lean my head down so my lips brush her ear.
The tension permeating the air between us has been a constant third wheel since the moment we met. The last month of getting to know her has been about building a foundation, not becomingfriends. There have been moments of laughter, camaraderie, intimacy, and compassion, but I think it’s time we shatter the illusion of friends. The word tasting bitter, even speaking it only to myself.
“Both,” she’s still breathless as she answers me, but now her chest pulses with each short inhale.
“Tell me not to do the bachelorette party,” I whisper into her ear. There is no one here to see or witness us in this moment, but this question is also a confession. One I don’t think she is ready to give me.
