Falling Hard

by Shelly Bell

  The basket popped open.

  Out came the kind of girl that can only spell trouble for a guy like me. You know how you think you’re hearing normally, but then your ears pop, and you realize you hadn’t been? Well that’s what happened to me, except with my eyes.

  The girl twisted her body like a snake, but that was the only thing reptilian about her. She untied the long sparkly pink scarf around her waist and wrapped it around the guy, pulling him closer to her. He grasped her waist, picking her up in one swift move. A shimmering light blue, body-hugging tank top and purple pants, similar to his but much tighter and shorter, showed off her exceptional body. You’d think all those competing colors would wash out her natural beauty, but they didn’t.

  Her shiny black hair, twisted into several long braids contrasted with her pale skin. She swung her hips and tapped her feet as if her body naturally moved that way. I borrowed a pair of binoculars from the couple behind me. She wasn’t tight skin over bones. She was curvy, voluptuous with full hips, round breasts and a plump ass…the way a woman should be.

  They performed a high octane, energy-filled dance. The kind of thing I wouldn’t find remotely interesting, except that I did. I didn’t understand the words to the music, but the story they told required no translation. A charming girl who refused to be charmed despite the pathetic guy’s lame attempts. I should heed the warning.

  I struggled with an odd balance of jealousy, awe, and fear when he picked her up, held her high into the air, and swung her legs across his shoulders. He held her with an intimacy that made me feel like a voyeur intruding on their private moment.

  You drop her, Aladdin Pants, and I’ll kick your ass.

  She was fearless, though, her body wrapping around him in effortless grace. I could only imagine the years of practice to perfect that kind of deceit. When he put her down, she fell to her knees. I almost stood, worried she’d hurt herself, but it was all part of the act. She rotated the stage in a perfect circle in that position until she bounced back up on her feet. God, her knees had to be sore as hell. That kind of stamina was nothing short of…stimulating. Yeah, my dirty mind just went there.

  Blake’s elbow connected to my arm. “Glad something got your attention. So you interested in the guy?”

  “Shut up, Van Snooty, I’m not gay.”

  Someone else shushed us.

  I gave her a standing ovation…or at least one part of my anatomy did.

  “You ready to bail?” Blake asked, gathering his coat.

  “I think I’m going to stick around for a while.”

  I wouldn’t give up a minute of looking at her. I had glanced at the program out of boredom when we first got here. Time well spent. Lilly Franklin was also the finale.

  I had to wait through a fucking intermission and five more routines to see her again. No doubt she needed the rest after the first dance.

  The latter half of the program consisted of individual performances. The auditorium was almost empty after the intermission, allowing me to snatch a seat in the front row. I wondered what it was about her that made me stay. I’m no romantic. Hell, as long as I was being honest, I didn’t mind admitting I was compiling masturbation material for the lonely nights that awaited me.

  She was just a pretty girl who could dance. That was all. I repeated my mantra until she appeared on the stage again. She wore a blue silk robe that stopped above the knees. She padded to the microphone her chest heaving. Are you nervous, Lilly?

  “Thank you all for coming tonight.” She placed her hand above her eyes and scanned the audience. “Especially those of you who stayed. This is my final performance, and I choreographed it myself. I’m grateful for all the opportunities I’ve received at the Modern Dance Program here at Hayvenwood. I need to give special credit to Colton Keyes. His song, Finding My Way Home, has always been very special to me.” She graced us with a coy smile.

  “Sometimes you hear a song, and you think it’s written for you.” She swallowed, the microphone magnifying it to a gulp. I didn’t think she’d meant to say something so personal. A pink blush spread across her chest, confirming my suspicions. “Anyway, that’s the reason I chose it for my final act. I’d be remiss if I didn’t mention Colton Keyes coming to this very stage next week. Thank you.”

  She walked back into the shadows. I blinked, wondering if I’d heard her right. Was she actually going to dance to my little brother’s song? And not just any song, but the one I helped him write, in a weird way.

  The familiar rhythm started up. The robe was gone. She wore a lace camisole—what I’ve heard referred to as a baby doll dress. Her long jet-black hair was loose and flowing behind her with each graceful movement. Her body was muscular and feminine, lithe and toned.

  I mouthed the lyrics as she moved to them, giving the words a physical presence. I understood for the first time what people meant when they said “poetry in motion.” That’s what Lilly Franklin was…a poet, an artist, a creative in a conformist world.

  The man died, but the boy still lives.

  A Tin Man in disguise, ruled by bad decisions and lousy inhibitions

  Waiting for the sun to shine.

  If you’re going to send me something,

  Send me soap to wash away these sins,

  Send me a coat to keep me warm against the wind,

  Send me a boat so I can sail to a warmer place,

  Most of all, send me hope.

  I need a little more to make my way back home.

  She climbed onto this fake staircase leading to nowhere, the only prop on the stage. As she leapt backward into the air, my heart soared with her, beating with raw, pounding panic. Defying gravity, she landed on her feet with a flawless finish. This wasn’t a dance. I was watching pure physical emotion she shared with me…with all of us.

  “Man, I wouldn’t mind those long legs wrapped around me,” some frat boy next to me commented when she took her bow.

  I clapped so loud I almost missed it. I cut him a glare, trying to stifle my growl. “Have some respect.”

  He opened his mouth to say something else, probably something that would make my clenched fist spring to action. I moved a step closer to him, the nonverbal threat clear in my stance, which was at least a foot taller than his. He backed away. “Sorry, man, just appreciating beauty in its best form.”

  I grabbed a fistful of his shirt. “Appreciate it silently, asshole.” I pushed him back. He was smart enough to keep his mouth shut.

  I couldn’t blame him, though. Wasn’t he doing the exact same thing I was? We were both leering at her.

  Chapter 3

  Hutch

  I left that night. I thought about staying afterward and asking her to coffee, but the truth was I didn’t know how to talk to girls anymore, especially not a girl like her.

  I knew I was handsome…at least all the visible parts of me. I was lucky in that way. I’d had a ton of offers since arriving to school. I would credit my former Marine status that was like catnip for girls, but I didn’t advertise it. I’d always been successful when it came to females…or at least I was.

  I met Colton at Billy’s Blues and BBQ, a local joint that served the best wings on the planet. Judging from the number of plates he’d consumed, my brother agreed.

  “You gonna finish that, Tin Man?” he asked, eyeing my plate.

  “Hell yeah,” I said, pulling my plate closer. The kid could eat. “Why do you call me that? It’s kind of degrading.”

  Colton wiped his mouth with a napkin and managed to rub the sauce across his face. I flung a few wet naps in his direction. Man, I’d changed this kid’s diapers once. Now, even though he was eighteen, I still found myself cleaning up after him.

  “Guess.”

  “I require regular oil changes.”

  “Not even close, smartass.”

  “I don’t feel like playing this game with you.”

  “Good, cause I don’t plan on telling you. You can figure it out for yourself, dumbass.”

&
nbsp; We talked about Mom, school, and his tour. I didn’t say it as often as I should, but life had taught me you couldn’t take things for granted. “I’m proud of you, Colt.”

  He smiled his signature Colton Keyes grin that had all the girls dropping their panties. I wondered if Lilly had a crush on my brother. For the first time in my life, I felt jealous of him.

  “Want to tell me about the girl now?”

  “What girl?”

  My strained voice and Colton’s wide grin cut through all the bullshit like a machete.

  “Richie Rich told you?”

  “Yep. Blake’s cool, but you get a couple beers in him and he thinks he’s in confessional. Anyway, I almost didn’t believe him. My big bro drooling over a girl?”

  “I don’t drool.”

  “You haven’t shown interest in anyone since you got back. This is a good sign.”

  “In case you haven’t noticed, I was busy with therapy and surgery.”

  “But you’re done with that now.”

  “She was a cute girl who I’ll never see again. Besides, she has a crush on you, dickhead.” Figured, the one girl that stirred something in me, which I thought was long dead, was into my little brother.

  “How do you know?”

  “Her final dance number. She choreographed it to Finding My Way Home.”

  “She likes my song—our song. It doesn’t mean she’s hot for me.” He plucked his T-shirt. “Of course, I couldn’t blame her if she was.”

  “Shut the fuck up.”

  “Ahhh…so you do like her?”

  “It doesn’t matter. I’m really lacking in social graces these days.”

  “Let me help you.”

  “How can you help?”

  “I have some inside information, thanks to Blake’s little sister.”

  “His little sister?”

  “Yeah, we were talking at the bar last night.”

  “And?”

  “Lilly Franklin has a front row seat to my concert tonight.”

  My fingers gripped the edge of the table. “So you’re gonna give me the seat next to her?”

  The waitress interrupted us with a fresh plate of spicy wings. Colton dug right in. My patience was wearing thin, waiting for him to chew. He swallowed down his food and exasperated me further by picking up another wing. “Speak!”

  “All sold out, but I have a better idea,” he said, between licking his fingers.

  He leaned into the table, his voice lowering as if we were planning some kind of military coup. After he laid out his idea, I laughed, realizing it was more of a preschool prank.

  “That’s never going to work.”

  “Why not?”

  “Um…because I’m not twelve.”

  “No, but you are acting like a bitch baby all the same. Just trust me.”

  Just trust me, he’d said.

  Famous last words.

  Chapter 4

  Lilly

  I waited anxiously for the theatre doors to open. I couldn’t believe I was going to see Colton Keyes live. It had been a long time since I’d done something fun just for me, especially something of this magnitude.

  My life revolved around my chosen profession of dance so I didn’t have many friends, except my fellow dancers, and they were more like colleagues. It wasn’t that we weren’t friendly, but it was difficult to form those kinds of relationships when we were in constant competition with each other. It was a cutthroat occupation. We armed ourselves with barriers that made normal experiences impossible. Tonight was the exception, though. Not only would I see Colton Keyes perform, I’d have the best seat in the house.

  The heavy wood doors finally opened. I kept up with the stampede of people. It didn’t matter because this was a small venue with assigned seats. Colton Keyes was an Indie artist on the edge of fame, but not quite there yet. I felt privileged to see him in this intimate setting before his stardom skyrocketed.

  I headed straight for the front, checking my stub for the hundredth time, not believing it actually said A18. I ignored the ushers assisting people. I knew exactly where my seat was. After all, I’d performed at this very venue myself.

  Although I was familiar with the layout, I wasn’t used to being in the audience. I gasped, seeing how close the stage was to the front row. I’d hear every riff coming from Colton’s amped guitar, inhale every note of his raspy voice as it drifted in my direction, and even see the sweat as it rolled down his handsome face. I tried to avoid crushing on guys, but I’d made an exception for Colton when I’d heard his songs.

  I walked past the rows of empty velvet seats, counting them down in anticipation until I reached mine. I would have jumped into it, except for one problem.

  It was occupied.

  “I believe you’re in my seat,” I said to the man with a Tiger’s baseball cap pulled low over his face.

  He straightened up and slipped the cap off. He wore a black crewneck sweater, dark blue jeans, and a pair of Converse on his huge feet. Even in the dim light of the auditorium, I could make out his thick dirty-blond hair, dark brown eyes, broad shoulders, and a smile that stretched from smolder to sinful in two seconds flat.

  “I don’t think so, sweetheart.”

  “I’m not your sweetheart, and yes, you are in my seat.” I shoved my ticket stub in his face.

  He glanced at it, reached into his back pocket for his wallet, and pulled out his own ticket. “Look yourself.”

  I stared at the cardboard replica he’d given me, trying to make sense of it. Technology had passed the theatre dept. We had old-fashion perforated paper tickets.

  “Give me mine back,” I said, holding out my palm. He placed it against my flattened hand, caressing my wrist in the process. I almost dropped it, surprised by the contact.

  I compared the two slips side-by-side only to find no differences—same date, same venue, same time, same seat number. What?

  “Is there a problem here, miss?” an usher asked, aiming his flashlight over the tickets in my hand.

  “There seems to be.” I handed him the stubs. Mr. Seat Stealer’s grin widened. I gave him a steely look in return. Did he think I would give up my seat because he was the blond version of Channing Tatum a la Magic Mike? Yeah yeah, I’d watched it...for my career. I appreciated good dancing in every form.

  “How strange. I’ll be right back,” the usher said, disappearing with our ticket stubs.

  “I have a simple solution,” Seat Stealer offered.

  “What’s that?”

  He patted his left knee. “You can sit on my lap.”

  “Is that your idea of a come on?” I placed my damp hands on my hip. Why were they damp?

  Even though I was the one standing, he seemed to exude more power than me with his long legs kicked out in front of him casually. Obviously, he spent a great deal of time working on his body.

  “No ma’am, it’s my idea of a solution.”

  Did he just call me ma’am? It didn’t fit with his confident, cocky smile and the fact he’d called me “sweetheart” a moment ago.

  “This is my seat. You could just be a gentleman and let me sit in it.”

  “But I wouldn’t get to have you in my lap then.”

  I jabbed my finger into the air in his general direction. “Let’s get something straight. I will never sit in your lap. This place could be on fire, that seat made of ice and I still wouldn’t share it with you.”

  My pulse raced with anger. How dare this jerk screw up my carefully made plans?

  He chuckled, sitting higher in the chair. “You have an interesting way of putting things.”

  “I’ve followed Colton’s career you know.”

  “Me, too,” he replied. I wasn’t expecting that. Colton had some rocking songs, but he had more love ballads. It wasn’t something I expected Mr. Seat Stealer to say.

  “I waited in line at the student union for three hours to get this ticket.”

  “My ticket was given to me, but you better believe I went th
rough a lot to be here, too.”

  “I love Colton Keyes,” I said in desperation.

  It was just a brief second, but his fingers tightened against the armrest. “So do I.”

  I sighed, irritated by this conversation and the stubborn boy who stood, or rather sat, between my seat and me. Luckily, the usher came back. He’d straighten this out for sure, except the small man had a deep frown on his face. “I’m sorry, miss. We aren’t sure how this happened, but it appears we printed two identical tickets.”

  I crossed my arms. “Get him another seat then.”

  “I’m afraid this is a sold-out show.”

  “This looking any better to you, sweetheart?” Mr. Seat Stealer asked, patting his leg.

  Damn him! “I’d rather sit on the floor.”

  “I’m afraid that’s against fire code, miss,” the usher said as if I was serious.

  Ushers…the most unhelpful people.

  “How do you intend to resolve this, sir?”

  The usher looked over at Mr. Seat Stealer and back at me. For a ridiculous moment, I thought he was going to make the same suggestion. “I am not sitting in a stranger’s lap!” I screamed, drawing curious glances.

  “Well, I think it might be uncomfortable if I sat in your lap,” Seat Stealer replied. “By the way, I’m James Hutchinson. Everyone calls me Hutch. Now, at least, we’ve fixed that.”

  “Fixed what?”

  “I’m not a stranger anymore.”

  I bit my lower lip, trying to keep calm. This was supposed to be my one time to let loose and enjoy myself. This man was going to make it impossible. “Hi, I’m Lilly Franklin. Everyone calls me Lilly, and until you relinquish that seat, I’ll be referring to you as Seat Stealer.”

  “Although I admire your modern day usage of the word ‘relinquish,’ I’m afraid I can’t do that.”

  “No need to get upset, miss,” the usher said, reminding me he was still there. “I’ve spoken to my manager. You can share the seat, alternating. Most people stand during the shows anyway.” The small man scurried away before I could release all my fury.