Page 10 of Wild Hit
“Shall we?” I offer my arm like I indeed have made such a promise.
One of her companions—rather, bullies—scoffs in open annoyance as my neighbor passes her by to take my arm. Her dainty hand grabs me with surprising strength, which tells me that she really wants to escape this group. And so I whisk her away.
To the safety of the dance floor.
CHAPTER 5
AUDREY
What is happening? What is my life?
Miguel Machado, a once in a generation baseball talent that most people can’t dream of breathing the same air with, has not only appeared in front of me once… but twice. And for reasons that my brain hasn’t caught up to, my hand is on his rock-solid arm, which I guess is a step up from socking him in the eye.
“Thank you for helping me back there,” I say, my voice sounding foreign to myself. “I just have one question.”
He hums from his throat, indicating that he’s listening even as he keeps us moving farther and farther from my ex-high school classmates.
“Were you legitimately looking for me all night, or was that just a line to get me out of there? Because I already said I’m really sorry about the eye, but I can’t afford to lawyer up.”
“Considering how I still have full use of my eye, that something called concealer hides the bruise pretty well, and that I had no idea you were here until I chanced upon you getting bullied…” He trails off with a shrug, making my knuckles brush against the soft fabric of his suit jacket. “I’d say that I have no motive to serve you with papers.”
“Whew,” I voice in an exaggerated, yet flat way. “Also, I technically had it handled so I didn’t really need your knight in shining armor services.”
“I know you did. Let’s just say that it was my own sense of justice what I serviced instead.”
He slows down amid a moving mass of people. Suddenly, he tugs me in a way that I end up facing him. Next thing I know, one of his hands places mine on his shoulder before it circles my waist, resting in the middle of my back—which feels like nearly all my back with how enormous his hand is—and the other grabs one of mine.
“Wait.” Tingles rush from my chest to every corner of my body—the bad kind. The kind that usually precede an embarrassment rash, because of course I can’t be a pretty blusher. “What are you doing?”
Miguel’s eyebrows rise. “We’re going to dance.”
As if he had bribed someone, the band reaches the last notes of a jaunty tune and begins a slower one. It takes me another moment to recognize it as Fly Me to the Moon.
I shake my head like a robot. “Oh, no. I don’t dance. I just said that as an excuse to get away.”
“Where would our honor go if people don’t see us dancing?” he asks with an affected tone of voice and a twinkle in his eye that I don’t understand.
“Uh, this isn’t a historical ball where it matters who dances with who and how many times, you know?”
“Do you always challenge the people who are trying to help you so much? Because…” And here Miguel does something unprecedented. He leans lower—lower still—until he’s so close that I can no longer see anything that isn’t his massive shoulder. For a wild second I wonder if he’s trying to kiss me. But of course he isn’t and just whispers into my ear, “Your bullies are watching.”
A shiver goes through my spine.
Am I creeped out that my ex-classmates are keeping tabs to see if I lied? Kinda, yes. Is my back cold? Very, but only because the heat that this man radiates has me well and toasty at the front.
Why does he smell so damn good, though? There’s something familiar about it, and the name of the scent is lodged in the back of my mind where I can’t pluck it out for my immediate satisfaction. Yet, there’s also something even better that I can’t pinpoint, but I’d like to because now it’s going to nag me forever.
My lapse in self-awareness ends when I realize that I’m swaying. Or rather, he’s making us move somewhat in sync with the classic song.
Oh. Wow. How did that happen?I ask myself.
I pull back from him slightly, trying to bring oxygen into my brain instead of deliciously intoxicating man-cologne. I’m glad he’s just making us dance a little and not walking me down a plank or something.
It doesn’t seem to matter that I’m the stiffest dance partner this guy has probably ever had, he has enough command of his own muscles that I probably look like a professional to the untrained eye. Peeking over my shoulder, I confirm that what he said is true, and the whole group of rich pests is watching our every move with avid interest.
It’s no surprise that half of the people in attendance at this gala have been in my father’s circle all our lives and comprise of his business associates, who in turn had kids I went to school with.
Tonight is the first time in years since I show my face in this polite society, so I was ready for some impoliteness in return. I just could’ve never foreseen how the scene would unfold. Playingdamsel in distress to an elite baseball player whose future smells of hall of fame wasn’t on my bingo card.
