Page 45 of The Accidental Beauty Queen
Buttercup plops her little bottom onto the ground in a perfect sitting position. I’m astounded. She knows commands? When did that happen?
“You have some explaining to do, dog,” I mutter. Then I slip out the door before she can follow me.
Halfway to the ice closet at the end of the hall, I realize I forgot to put on Ginny’s Miss Texas sash before I left the room. Nor am I in perfect pageant form. My face is bare—I’m not wearing a speck of makeup. I’m not even wearing shoes. I’m barefoot, wearing ripped, faded jeans, and one of my bookish T-shirts.
Curiouser and curiouser!
It’s fromAlice’s Adventures in Wonderland, by Lewis Carroll, the actual author of the book. My students are always shocked and dismayed to learn it was written by a mathematician in the mid-nineteenth century and not Johnny Depp.
But I digress.
If anyone from the pageant spots me like this, I’m toast. So I duck my head and make a mad dash for the door markedIcein hopes that no one will see me. I push the door open, dart inside, and then slam the door shut, leaning my forehead against the smooth wood.
My relief is short-lived.
As it turns out, I’m not alone in the tiny room. Behind me, a throat clears. A deep, masculine-sounding throat.
It can’t be.
But it is.
My breath clogs in my throat, and I close my eyes and turn around. Maybe if I can’t see him, he somehow won’t be able to see me.
No such luck. When I open my eyes, he’s still there.Him.
Gray Beckham is standing by the ice machine, watching me in all his brooding, Darcyesque glory.
I think I might faint. I wish I would, actually. Escaping this awkward moment seems like a great idea, even if it involves temporary unconsciousness on my part.
But I don’t faint. I just stand there like an idiot, staring into his dreamy blue eyes. My hands shake so violently that I nearly drop the ice bucket. I’m not sure whether I’m thrilled to see him, or whether I want to dash back down the hall and shut myself back inside the room with Ginny.
“You,” I say breathlessly.
“You,” he echoes. His tone is far less flattering.
I suddenly have no idea what to say. I waited in the stairwell for nearly an hour last night, hoping for a glimpse of him. I’ve taken Buttercup outside at least ten times since theill-fated cheeseburger party. For the past sixteen hours, I’ve basically been stalking Gray Beckham and now that he’s here, standing less than a foot away, I can’t seem to form words.
“Excuse me.” He moves to sidestep around me.
He’s leaving. Of course he is. Why would he want to stay and flirt with me again after the way I’ve behaved?
“Wait.” I leap in front of him, blocking his path.
He shifts the other direction, and so do I. As ridiculous a notion as it seems, it almost feels like we’re dancing. If we were, it would be one of those intense love-hate dances. A tango, maybe? I’m not sure. Maybe his judge friend, theDancing with the Starsalum, could shed some light on it.
“What are you doing?” Gray Beckham pins me with a glare, and my knees go weak.
He’s so handsome.Toohandsome. And despite the thunder in his gaze, I know that somewhere deep down, he likes me.
Or he used to, anyway.
“I’m apologizing.” Something dangerous is unspooling inside me. I feel like my heart is about to fall out of my chest and land at his feet.
He arches a brow. “Apologizing?”
“Yes. I said some things yesterday that I wish I could take back. Terrible things.” I take a deep breath and wait for some kind of sign that he’s going to let me off the hook. But my hopes are dashed when his stony expression remains unchanged. “What I’m trying to say is that I’m sorry. I didn’t realize why you were here.”
He smirks and points to the judge pin on his lapel—the one I mocked earlier.
