Page 62 of Just Ten Seconds

“Sounds like a good plan for a night owl.”

“Beats watching the next season of Riverdale. Without Luke Perry, I don’t know how I’ll survive.” His tone is dead serious. I could make a joke about it, but there’s something he’s not saying that I’m hearing.

“Not sleeping again?” I ask.

He grimaces. “No. I think that night was just a fluke. Don’t read into it.”

“I’m not.” I hold my hands up in defense. “I just … I feel bad. About leading you on.”

“You didn’t lead me on.” He takes a step forward. “I sought you out. I asked you to dance.”

“And I said yes. To all of it.”

He runs his hand on the back of his neck as he looks up through those long, dark lashes. “You did.”

“I did,” I reiterate. Maybe I’m a glutton for punishment, but there’s this invisible tether that, no matter how much I try to cut it, I find myself being pulled further toward him. “Since we’re working together, maybe we can be friends.”

“Friends?” he repeats.

His confused expression makes my stomach drop.

“Is that a problem?”

“No,” he affirms. “I just thought we already were.”

I smash my lips together and fight the roll of my eyes. “You’re not the easiest person to read. Sometimes, I think you enjoy my company, and other times, it feels like you’re insulted by my presence. Mostly …”

“It’s like I want to kiss you,” he fills in the blank, and it’s startlingly flattering. And unnerving. It’s … so many things.

“Yeah,” I breathe.

“Has anyone ever told you, you’re incredibly perceptive?”

“No.” This conversation is so honest; I want to run and hide from it.

He reaches out, snags a strand of hair hanging down my shoulder, and runs it between his thumb and forefinger.

“I am all of those things. Mostly, I’m confused. I’ve been alone for a year and a half. It feels like an eternity. It feels like a minute. I’m battling myself.” He drops the hair back onto my shoulder and steps back. His hands slide into his pockets. “I’m sorry if I’ve been sending mixed signals.”

“I’m the one who was apologizing. You can’t steal my apology.” I pout.

He raises his brows. “Maybe we should both cut ourselves some slack.”

I drop my chin and smile. “That sounds great.”

He grabs the tape measure and clipboard off the table. “First step is getting this show on for the kids.”

The kids. Right.

I almost forgot the anxious nerves I had about teaching, as they were replaced by the anxious nerves I had around Dean. Working with him and teaching is going to rattle me to the core.

“God, you’re so much better with this than me. Paul wants me to work with these kids, and I don’t know if I’ll be able to. I mean, it’s been years and—”

“Hey”—he places a hand on my shoulder and lowers his gaze to mine, looking at me with those navy-blue eyes—“do what you can. It’s a grassroots place, all volunteer. No one’s expecting these kids to be Broadway stars after one show.”

Well, that certainly takes the pressure off.

“That’s true, I guess.”