He’s so lost in his head he doesn’t notice the car pulling up until it stops beside us at the curb.
He blinks, straightens his spine, and steps to the side to open the door for me.
I don’t hesitate to slide onto the backseat and escape the freezing rain. As I scoot to make room for him, I realize he’s not following. “Trace?”
With a hand on the roof of the sedan, he leans down, dripping with icy water.
“I don’t hate you.” He trails cold wet fingers across my cheek. “I love you so much I want to be a better man. A man you deserve.”
“Don’t say that. I love you just the way you are.” I clasp my hands around his neck and bring our foreheads together. “I think I have a thing for assholes because I’m the biggest asshole in existence.”
“No, you’re not. Not even close.” He sighs against my lips. “I want to be more, Danni, and it starts with giving you what you need.”
“I need you.”
“You need space. Time to just be. That’s the only way this will work itself out.”
“Is that what you’ve been doing? Giving me space?”
“No, I’ve been…displeased.”
“You mean pissed.”
“Yes.” He releases a breath. “I’m working through that.”
“We can work through it together.” I touch my mouth to the icy, pliable flesh of his. “Let me stay with you tonight and—”
“I’ll fuck you, Danni. If I take you home, I won’t be able to stop myself.” He grabs my throat and breathes against my lips. “I’m seconds away from fucking you right here on the backseat of the car.”
My lungs release a shivery pant, and my skin inflames beneath my wet clothes. But I don’t beg, because I know he’s right.
“I’ll have your car delivered tomorrow.” He releases my throat and steps back on the sidewalk, gripping the door. “When you’re ready, I’ll be waiting.”
The door shuts with a deadening snick, and my heart crashes against my ribcage. The driver eases the sedan into motion, and my pulse bangs harder, louder, thrashing in my ears.
I touch my fingers to the window as Trace slides his hands in his pockets and hunches in the rain. He watches me, and I watch him, until the darkness stretches between us.
Removing my phone from my coat pocket, I send him a text.
Me: Distance doesn’t separate us. We’re waiting together.
I pull up my playlist and select We Can Hurt Together by Sia. Then I rest my head against the window, humming brokenly to the melody while trying not give into the achy burn in my eyes.
He’s not ignoring me. He just wants to give me space and time. To just be.
Because he loves me.
But he’s also sending me home to another man. What if this so-called space pushes me closer to Cole? Trace might not have a plan, but I know he’s considered this. Still, he put aside his fears and took the risk to give me what I need.
It’s a remarkable act of selflessness that only further endears me to him. Maybe that’s exactly the reaction he intended. If this is all an orchestrated game, I’m playing into it beautifully.
I’m tired of the egos and rivalry and constant state of uncertainty. It makes me question every action and twist around every word. But I can’t lose sight of one important thing.
I trust him.
Over the next week, I spend my nights off work visiting the homeless shelter and my days practicing a Waltz routine for the mayor’s Christmas party with Nikolai. I’m too busy to make use of the space Trace is giving me, but that’s about to change. Tonight was the mayor’s party.
The performance went off without a hitch, and I don’t have another gig lined up until next summer. With the stress of my second job behind me, I should be happy and relieved. But as I step inside my house after the party, carrying the sparkly gown and heels, I feel out of sorts and misplaced, like I don’t know what I’m doing or where I belong.
Cole emerges from the basement as I pass through the hall, and our paths collide.
“How did it go?” He lifts the dance costume from my arms and takes it into the spare room to hang up.
“They want us back again next year.” I lean against the hallway wall, watching him through the doorway.
“That’s great.”
He steps into the hall and stops a few feet away, regarding me with unshakable focus. His expression is cautious, mouth slightly parted and gaze fixed on mine.
I strain to hear the words he doesn’t speak. Whatever he’s thinking is right there, hovering on the pillow of his kissable bottom lip.
His jaw shifts, his head angling imperceptibly to the side. His eyes, so deeply brown they appear black in the dim light, are bordered by dark lashes, giving him a sexy, sleepy look. A baseball cap sits backward on his head, making him appear younger than his thirty years. A gray shirt hangs from his slope-shouldered body, partially tucked into low-slung jeans that fray along the seams. And he’s barefoot, which I find obscenely sexy.