by Shelly Bell
I turned to Hutch, who smirked at me in the most infuriating way. “Do you know how hard I work? How long I’ve been looking forward to this night?”
“Probably as much as me, which is why we should both enjoy it. I’ll let you have the first shift.”
“First shift?”
“In the seat.”
“I’d rather stand.”
“I’ll sit on your lap,” a pretty blonde chirped next to him. I should have encouraged that, but instead I just watched him. He watched me. We both ignored her.
He had a scar that traveled from his ear to his chin, jaggedly marking his right cheek. It should have created a sense of danger with his brooding looks and built body, but it didn’t. Instead, the mark made him more vulnerable…boyish in a way. He turned his head first, blocking my view. I shouldn’t have stared.
All the seats filled up. The house lights dimmed. I took a deep breath and turned away from him.
“There’s an opening band, and the concert’s going to be a long one. Those shoes don’t look comfortable. I doubt you can stand the whole time.” His voice, deep with hints of gravel, gave birth to a flock of butterflies in my belly. I shook my head, trying to remember who I was and why I was supposed to dislike him. Reasoning began to blur.
I swung around and fixed my eyes on his. “I assure you I can stand the whole time. I’m a dancer.”
He leaned back against the seat, crossing his arms behind his head. “Go for it. As far as I’m concerned this is a really nice view.” It took a second to sink in that he was talking about my ass. I wouldn’t give him the benefit of a response. I would wait it out, keeping my dignity in the process.
Twenty minutes later, my dignity had diminished, as did my capacity to stand for hours. I should have known better than to try out new heels. Then again, I thought I’d be sitting. The shoes were shrink-wrapping themselves around my tendons. It didn’t help that a few people had yelled for me to sit down or get out of the way. The usher was wrong. No one was standing but me.
“Will you fucking sit down already?” A man, a few rows back, yelled.
“Shut the hell up,” I heard Hutch say.
“Or what?”
“Or I’ll make sure your jaw won’t move right for weeks and you won’t have a choice,” he threatened.
I swallowed, not wanting to be the cause of a fight, but when I looked back, the yeller was staring at Hutch, who now stood. The yeller’s face had transformed from pissed off to freaked out in an instant. I couldn’t blame him. Hutch’s frame radiated strength with the perfect combination of tall, powerful, muscular and sleek. I turned before he could see me fan myself.
He stood only an inch away from me. If I stepped back, I could lean against his chest. Who the hell was I right now? I wondered for a second what kind of magic he possessed to put me under this spell.
“Please take the seat,” he said in a much softer voice, barely above a whisper. The warmth of electricity connected all the cells in my body for one brief instance.
“Then they’ll yell at you to sit, and you’re taller than me.”
“Then sit on my lap. Is it really such a horrible thing?”
Was it? It sounded very appealing right now. My back went ramrod straight as I felt the hard press of his hand against my spine. I nodded, and he moved me back with him. He sat first and reached out his hand for mine. He smelled fresh and crisp and manly.
As the opening band played, I sat as far from his body as I could without falling. To his credit, he didn’t try anything.
“Do you go to school here?” I asked in the interlude between sets, an awkward attempt at conversation. After all, that was the polite thing to do when sitting in someone’s lap.
“Yes.”
“Are you a senior?”
“A freshman.”
I gaped at him. He was young, but definitely older than eighteen. Plus he had that wise-beyond-his-years look in his dark brown eyes. “How old are you?”
“Twenty-four,” he said.
“Isn’t that kind of old to be a freshman?”
I thought the comment might cause a snarky reaction, but he released that wickedly boyish smile instead. “My mother always said ‘It’s never too late to start something as long as you intend to finish it.’”
“That’s good advice.”
My mom had an expression too: Sometimes you find trouble, and sometimes you find troubled. It takes a smart woman to know the difference. Clearly, in James Hutchinson I had found both.
“The best.” We stared at each other for a while. It should have been uncomfortable, and it was, but it wasn’t at the same time.
“What’s your major?” I asked.
He shifted his right leg father out, tapping it nervously. It’s a good thing we had the front row or he’d be really cramped.
“English Lit.”
“Who’s your favorite author?”
“Dr. Seuss.”
I laughed, pressing my hand against his chest. The hard muscles beneath his shirt caused the casual laugh to sound strained.
“I’m serious. No one can beat Dr. Seuss. But after that, I’d say Charles Dickens.”
“Those are some interesting choices. I’m an admirer myself.”
“Of Dickens?”
“Seuss, actually.”
“Well then, besides our admiration for Colton Keyes, it sounds like we have something else in common.”
“I suppose we do.”
“Did you say you’re a dancer?”
“Yes, I just finished the dance program here.”
“What kind of dance?”
“Modern.” He seemed to be waiting for me to expand. “I like modern the best because it encompasses everything—ballet, hip hop, tap. Last week, I did a Bollywood-type number on this very stage.”
“No kidding.” His interest sounded genuine. “Tell me what inspired that.”
“My dad’s mother was born in India, and my mother was a dancer. It was sort of an ode to my parents.”
“They must be proud.”
We were dipping our toes into the deep end of what I thought would be a shallow conversation. I took a deep breath and nodded. “I’ve auditioned for a spot with an international company. If I get in, I’ll be dancing professionally in Europe.”
He looked away from me, staring at the floor. “I wish you the best of luck, Lilly.”
The way he said my name made me wish for a longer name with more syllables.
“It’s a long shot.”
“If it was easy, it wouldn’t be worth doing, right?”
“Right.”
I turned away when they announced Colton Keyes. “I’ve been a fan since I heard his first song.”
“Do you have a crush on him?” The question had a sharp edge to it.
I shrugged. “He’s cute.”
“I wouldn’t know,” he said dryly. I shifted, teetering close to falling off his lap.
Colton started in on a song right away. It was one of the few more animated songs on his list. The screaming girls beside us all rushed toward the stage. Everyone else stood. That is everyone but us. It felt almost surreal, as if we were surrounded by people and yet all alone. “Why don’t you lean back, Lilly?”
“I’m fine,” I said, even as I started leaning back.
“Hey, do you smell something burning?” he asked, sniffing.
I sniffed too. “No, why?”
“Because I believe you said you’d only sit on my lap if this chair was made of ice and the place was burning down.”
I laughed nervously, feeling torn between the unfamiliar feelings he was causing and the need to be closer to him. “That’s not quite right. I said I wouldn’t sit here even if that happened.”
“Got it.” After another song had passed, I felt him shift a bit.
“Am I too heavy for you?”
“You’re light as a feather, but you’re sitting so rigid that my spine is having sympathy pains for yours. You can’t be comfo
rtable like that.”
“I’m as comfortable as someone can be while being humiliated.” Hutch went stiff with my words, and in his face, I saw a gamut of expressions from disappointment to hurt. I immediately regretted what I’d said. The words had stumbled from my mouth without the consent of my head. I had never been a social person, hence the reason I was attending a concert alone, but I wasn’t hurtful either. It was a defense mechanism against whatever powerful magnetism he possessed.
“You can get up, Lilly.”
“Why? I want to sit.”
“And you should.”
“I’m fine, Hutch, really I am.”
He clasped my hips and moved me off the chair. “I’m not.”
I stood and turned to him. He was smiling but it was saddest smile I’d ever seen. My heart lurched at the sight. He leaned in close to my ear, his warm breath revitalizing all the butterflies. “I never meant to humiliate you. It seems I’ve forgotten my manners somewhere. I should go find them. It was a pleasure meeting you, and I sincerely apologize for my lack of honor.” He gestured to the seat. “The seat is yours. Good-bye, Lilly.”
I watched him take the steps toward the exit. “Hutch?” I called, but the music drowned me out.
The seat felt surprisingly cold and empty. It took two minutes before I stood up and rounded the steps myself. I was breathless by the time I caught up to him. He paused, standing halfway between the lobby and the exit doors.
“Hutch,” I whispered before he exited.
He slowly turned back toward me. My steps were brisk, my footing more sure than my feelings. I paused a few feet from him, hoping he’d close that gap between us. “We can share the seat. There’s no need for you to leave.”
His steps back to me, cautiously measured, caused my heart to quicken its already speedy pace. We could hear the music floating out from the auditorium. The guitar riff was very familiar. The first notes of Finding My Way Home surrounded us.
“This is my favorite song,” he said, removing his hat. His fingers raked through his thick hair. My fingers twitched with envy.
“Me too.”
He tucked a strand of loose hair behind my ear. “Lilly, would you do me the honor of a dance?”
I looked around. The vendors were setting up, and a few people loitered in the lobby, but once more, we were invisible…or maybe only visible to each other.
I put my arms around his neck. “The honor is mine.”
“I’m not a professional, but I promise not to step on your feet.”
I laughed, laying my head on his chest, surprised how solid it felt. “I trust you,” I said, realizing the words were completely honest even if they weren’t exactly logical. Whatever spell was cast, I wanted it to last.
As a tall girl with a larger-than-normal build for a dancer, it was difficult to find partners. Hutch and I fit well though. We moved to the song, silent except for the beating of our hearts, which created their own melody.
“I’ve never held anything so perfect,” he whispered so softly I thought I imagined it. I caressed the back of his neck and felt the chain that was tucked into his shirt.
I traced it, pulling it from his shirt. My eyes widened seeing the dog tags with his name. “You’re in the military?”
“I was a Marine.”
The guilt invaded me like a tidal wave. He said he had done a lot to get to this concert, too, and here I was acting like a child, throwing a tantrum about the seating arrangement. “If I had known, I would have given you the seat.”
“Exactly why I didn’t tell you.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Everyone who finds out wants to do something for me. I’ve had people offer to fix my car or buy my meal. It’s nice, it really is, but I signed up for it. No one forced me.”
“I think people just want to show support wherever they can, Hutch.”
“I understand, but there are very good charities for that. I am not a charity.” It was evident he was a very proud man. “Don’t get me wrong. I’m honored to have served, but I just want to live my life now.”
A tear stung my eye. How did he make me do that? He tilted my chin. “Hey, it’s okay. I’m a very lucky man.”
“You are?” I asked, hoping my voice didn’t crack.
“I’m dancing with a very beautiful girl.”
I laughed, patting his chest. “I know what that’s like in a way.”
“You’ve danced with a very beautiful girl? Tell me more and spare no details.”
“Very funny, I meant about how you feel. I don’t usually tell people this, at least not right after I meet them, but my parents died in a car accident when I was fifteen.”
“I’m sorry, Lilly. Where did you live after that?”
“With my dad’s mom until she passed away. Then there was no one, and I went into foster care until I aged out of the system.”
He frowned, his hold on me tightening. “Foster care? Did they treat you well?”
“Yes, I mean they were decent, but I wasn’t kidding myself. They liked the paycheck more than me. But the reason I’m telling you this is that I get it. People had a constant need to make me smile or help me get over it, but they didn’t understand that I just needed time. I didn’t want to get over it. I wanted to be sad for a long time. I needed to be.”
“That’s exactly right. Everyone wants to call it PTSD or depression. Can’t a man just be sad without it being a disease?”
“I think so.”
The song was over. Colton’s next song was much faster, but we still swayed against each other. I never talked about my parent’s death, especially not to strangers, but somehow Hutch didn’t seem like a stranger. Not anymore.
“They would have been very proud of you…your parents.”
“I hope so.”
“I have no doubt.”
“My mother was a dancer with the New York Ballet company, but she had to give it up.”
“Why?”
“Her partner dropped her, and she injured her femur. My father was her physical therapist. That’s how they met. She never danced again. I guess their story is a romantic tragedy if there ever was one.” I didn’t admit these things to people. I carried a façade that I regularly checked for chips and cracks.
“I’m a realist not a romantic, but even I think that’s more romantic than tragic.”
“I suppose it is.”
I leaned my head against his chest. There was something so emotionally pure about being in his arms that I couldn’t pinpoint when our feet stilled. We simply embraced each other. I stood on my tippy toes and kissed his cheek. His hands tangled through my hair. I trailed kisses until I found his mouth. When he kissed me back, my knees weakened. He tightened his grip on me. He was a good kisser, soft and tender with urgency behind each touch. I was lost in the moment. For the first time in my life, I didn’t mind the idea of being lost.
The press of something hard against my waist stilled me. He pulled back immediately and shot me an apologetic look. He put his hat back on and turned the bill low, covering his eyes.
“I should go,” he said, bowing slightly. “Thank you for the dance and your company, Miss Franklin.”
Go? No. No. No! I didn’t want this night to end. I had come here for a concert, but whatever craziness was happening between us wasn’t something I’d give up. In fact, I wanted to surrender to it.
I clasped his arm. “Don’t leave.”
“There’s only one seat, and it belongs to you.”
“I’m willing to share. Please sit with me, Hutch.”
He didn’t say anything, but he didn’t resist when I took his hand in mine and led him back inside.
I took my place on his lap, and this time I did lean back. He put his arms around me. Colton finished one of the few fast-paced songs he had. I shifted, moving to the music. “Stop that, Lilly,” Hutch said in a commanding voice.
“Why?” I turned, narrowing my eyes at him.
“Because of this.”
He jutted his hips, grinding his erection into me. In the diminished light, I could see the vibrancy of his eyes and the wicked smirk on his lips that bordered a space between sexy and menacing.
“What if I don’t?”
“Then I’ll have to retaliate,” he said, moving my hair to the side and kissing my neck. It caused an electric spark to travel down my spine. His lips were the perfect combination of soft and firm against my bare skin. “I don’t want to get arrested for public indecency. I’m a weak man in your presence, Lilly Franklin.”
I was about to say something when Colton got on the microphone, stealing my attention from Hutch’s dark brown eyes.
“I wanted to thank y’all for coming out tonight. I especially want to express gratitude to my big brother, Hutch, who’s back from Iraq.”
I spun around so fast, my hair whipped Hutch’s face. “He always tells me how proud he is of me, but the truth is I’m honored to be his brother. I owe whatever success I have to him. He saved my life more than once. He actually helped me write Making My Way Home, too.”
Hutch looked uncomfortable.
“And I have to admit, I’m a little jealous since you’ve had this beautiful girl in your lap for most of the show.” Colton was still talking, and everyone was cheering, but I drowned it out.
“Colton Keyes is your brother?”
Hutch nodded.
“Is Keyes a stage name?”
“No, legally we’re half-brothers…different fathers. But he’s my bro in every way.”
“You could have watched from backstage.”
Hutch smiled, twisting a strand of my hair around his finger. “Probably, but then I wouldn’t have gotten to sit with you.”
Colton finished with an encore of Making My Way Home.
“You wrote this song with him?”
“Not exactly. He took lines from my letters, added his own stuff and created it.”
“I danced to this song too at my recital. It’s my favorite.”
“Why do you like it?”
“When my parents died, I lost a lot of hope. And then after my grandmother...well, I thought I had no real home.”
His eyes darkened. “That had to be difficult.”
“It was. I kept thinking if I just had a little more hope, I could make it through each day. I prayed for it.”
