So far, Grant and I had been able to keep my HD from the media. We didn’t go out much to places where people would expect a person like Grant Turner, reserving our dates for home or somewhere unexpected. It wasn’t that I felt ashamed of my disease, but I just wasn’t ready for the whole world to know. I was still struggling to get used to having a camera stuffed in my face when I was alone at the grocery store and some random fan recognized me—I wasn’t ready for all that came with being “that famous football star’s girlfriend who has Huntington’s.” I really wasn’t ready for what everyone would realize next, turning their attention and speculations on Charlie.
While she knew HD was a genetic disease I’d inherited and she may have also inherited, she didn’t give it much thought. She was more concerned with her dad’s number of receptions than the probability of her one day winding up wheelchair bound.
I wanted to keep it that way for as long as possible. That was my main reason for keeping my HD a secret from the public. But from the way I could feel my mind starting to scramble, the phantom jerks already rocking my body, I knew I’d waited too long to go in search of some private room.
Grant was in the middle of a conversation with one of his coaches when he leaned over to me. “What’s the matter?”
My hand twitching in his answered his question.
“Excuse me for a minute, Coach.” Grant clapped his hand on his coach’s shoulder. “But this party’s dying a little early. Time to liven it up.”
Saying nothing else, he steered me through the crowd, stopping by the DJ’s table and leaning over to say something to him. The DJ bobbed his head and flashed him an okay sign.
“What are you doing?” I finally got out, the words sticking in my mind for a minute before I could say them.
Grant pulled a dining chair from one of the tables and dragged it to the middle of a large, open space. Then he turned me around, so I was standing in front of it. “Taking the attention off of you,” he said, mischief brimming in his eyes. “Sit.”
The only reason I did was because I wasn’t sure if I should keep standing with the way my foot was trembling out of control. “You’re taking the attention off of me by sitting me in the one chair in the middle of a room filled with people?”
Grant curled my hands around the bottom of the chair. “That’s the plan,” he said, right as a different kind of beat throbbed through the room. A beat that had been created for one thing.
“Don’t tell me your grand idea is to—”
“Not planning on telling you. I’m going to show you instead.” Grant jacked his brows at me as he slid out of his tux jacket.
People started to cluster in around us as that beat kept rolling through the room. Then he gave his bowtie a tug, undoing the top collar button as he stepped one leg over me. And then the other, looking down at me with a hot-as-hell glint in his eyes, despite realizing the entire room was now staring at us.
“Really, Grant Turner? Your big plan is an impromptu lap dance?”
His head barely shook as his hips slowly started to catch the beat. “I’m taking the focus off of your Grass.”
I blinked at him. “With a lap dance.”
“Whatever it takes, baby. Now just sit back and enjoy it.” He gave me a crooked smile as his finger played with the next button on his shirt.
Hoots started coming from the women in the room.
“So what?” I tried keeping my eyes on his as he thrust above me, pulling another button free. “No one will notice my spastic shaking because you’re grinding all up in my business?”
The sexy smolder notched up another degree. “Have you seen my grind?” His hands slapped down on his thighs as he gave a particularly enthusiastic thrust. More whoops came from the women and men in the room as money started raining down around us. “My hips are damn practically double-jointed.”
I tried fighting the smile, goddamn I tried, but it was impossible. Not a person in the room was paying attention to the woman sitting in the chair, her head and hands twitching every few seconds. No, everyone was focused on the giant MVP grinding like he was auditioning for some sad spin-off of Magic Mike.
“Great. So instead of Grass, they’ll just label me some kind of attention-seeking pervert.” My eyebrow lifted at him as he gave his ass an impressive shake. More dollar bills rained down.
His chin lifted. “It’s about time everyone knew what’s up.” Then he gave his shirt a yank, sending the rest of his buttons flying into the air.
Okay, so now the noise in the room was comparable to the noise in the arena on Sunday.