Page 58 of Chips & Checks
“Sure, buddy,” she says.
I get back to my feet and smooth down the knees of my slacks. “Maybe I’ll get to see it the next time you come to one of these events.”
“Okay.” Joey beams at me.
Bowen and I bid the two of them farewell. In the interest of our fake dating scheme and the destruction of his rules, I loop my arm through his, and we make the rounds. I know that these events attract big donors whose dollars really helpHeadSpace,but I don’t like how they tend to look down on the people we’re here to help. These people are patients, but they’re stillpeoplefirst. A lot of the donors feel more comfortable talking to the parents, partners, and helpers rather than the people their philanthropy will actually support.
Bowen doesn’t seem to mind as we drift from group to group, splitting our time between the potential donors and the patients I’ve gotten to know over the last few years. The only person he isn’t friendly toward is Chad. Every time his teammate tries to intercept us, Bowen steers us to a new cluster of people.
“Thanks,” I whisper when he completes this maneuver for the third time in an hour. “I wish he’d just leave me alone.”
“He’s schmoozing with the donors,” Bowen whispers back. “Let’s hope he lays it on thick and people decide to donate a boatload of cash before they leave.”
He’s right. Chad, too, is avoiding anyone with a helmet or a speech impediment. For some reason, that pisses me off more than when the donors do the same thing. Chadknowswhat it’s like to have head trauma. He knows that everyone here is one car accident, bad play, or unexpected fall from needing the same support as the rest of our patients do. And yet, when he looks atpeople like Joey, he doesn’t see someone who’s in the same boat. He sees someone he can look down on.
What a dick.
After we’ve made all the small talk I can manage, Bowen takes my hand. “Want to dance?”
I shudder. “No, thanks. I’m no good at dancing unless the song tells you what to do.”
Right on cue, the DJ blasts the Cupid Shuffle. People immediately flock to the dance floor, including a trio of women in wheelchairs. I know when I’m beaten, so I follow Bowen and the rest of the dancers over to the polished wood. I end up working a little square of floor between Bowen and one of the ladies on wheels, and we all end up laughing at our, uh,creativeinterpretations of the dance. I am literally never on-beat. It is my curse.
I don’t recognize the next song, but Bowen does, and he pulls me into his strong arms. It’s easier for me to follow the rhythm when he’s leading. Now that I don’t have to try to remember the steps, I can appreciate the firmness of his chest, the solidness of his arm at my back, the swivel of his hips. Damn, he’s actually good at this.
The woman who was dancing beside us wolf-whistles, and my face burns hot. We’re not being subtle. We’re selling this fake date. Strangers can see that there’s something here.
Chemistry, not romance, of course. But I’m sure it all looks the same from a distance.
When the next song starts, someone grabs my shoulder. I twist to see Chad standing behind me.
“May I cut in?” he asks with a smirk.
“No!” Bowen and I answer in unison.
A storm cloud crosses Chad’s features, but Bowen is already spinning me away. We leave Chad standing alone amid a crowd of dancers.
I couldn’t feel any less sympathetic.
* * *
“You should come home with me,” Bowen says.
I take a deep breath of the night air, which is rapidly cooling but is still thick. People like to talk about how the desert is a dry heat, but on nights like this, the warmth clings to my skin.
I brush my sticky hair out of my face. “Again? What happened to the rule about overnights?”
Bowen scans the space behind me. “I don’t trust Chad. He was looking at you at the event like you were a tasty snack he wanted to devour. And that guy is obsessed with his groin. After last night, I’m worried about what he’ll do if I send you home alone.”
I hiss through my teeth and jab him with a finger. “Who says you’re sending me anywhere?”
“Violet. You know what I mean.” He catches my hand and holds on tight. “Come over. I’ll keep you safe.”
That’s not exactly a passionate declaration of desire, but like it or not, Idofeel safer with Bowen. I concede. “Fine.”
“Deal.”
I spend the drive home replaying the way our bodies fit together on the dance floor, and then how they’ve tangled together on other occasions. By the time we arrive at his condo, I’m hot and bothered. And by the time he takes me to his bed, I’m a wreck.
