She Laughs in Pink (Sheridan Hall #1) (5 page)

I text Chase.

Ready. I need food.

Within minutes, he’s at my door. A backpack hangs over his plain gray tee shirt, and sunglasses sit on his thick black hair. I curtsy while waiting for his approval on my outfit and my entire body heats as he looks me up and down.

“That’ll do. Let’s go eat.” He turns away without another glance. I stick my tongue out behind his back as I shove my phone and wallet into the front pocket of his backpack.

We use our NJU food plan to pick up a bagel and coffee at the Student Center, then Chase leads me to the train station. I smile.

I love cities. I would have followed Ben to the ends of the Earth, but I couldn’t be happier than being across the river from Manhattan. My mind floods with images of Justine in Philly. We used to take the train everyday—me to dance and her to art class. I search my memory for our last trip to the city together but come up short.

Chase and I don’t talk much. At the first stop, he touches my arm and stands. I don’t ask, I follow, contemplating my next move with Ben. As opposed to yesterday’s snarky, playful Chase, today’s Chase seems more thoughtful—more mindful, more serious. Trying to figure him out distracts me from organizing my game plan for Ben.

I wonder if that’s Chase’s plan as I glace at him sideways.
What are you up to, Chase Cooper?

Chapter Five

Chase

The air is thicker and warmer in the city than it is on the other side of the river. As we climb the stairs from the station, people move around. Some are in a rush, like good city folk should be, while others linger and peruse the storefronts that line the narrow, downtown street. I hold Juliet’s hand and we weave through the crowd. Her palm is smooth, her fingers long, and the contact overtakes my senses. I trace my thumb in circles on the back of her hand as I lead her through the city streets.

On the walk from the train, Juliet blabbers about Ben.

“You heard him last night.” Her willingness to talk to me must mean she’s over her embarrassment at my intrusion. “He thinks I’m difficult. Do I seem difficult?”

She pauses, but I stay silent.

“I
am
difficult. Why can’t I just be normal? I’m always doing crazy things. My head is always scrambled with stuff. He wants simple. I can do simple. Right?”

“I don’t know,” I lie. Even though I just met her, I’m certain Juliet could never do simple.

“Simple it is then. That’s the plan.”

I glance at her sideways and mutter under my breath, “Good luck with that.”

By the time we reach my street, my ears are ringing. Her constant need to talk about Ben makes me want to rip them off my head—especially since he doesn’t want her. We approach the storefront gallery, and I open the glass door which leads to the staircase and the apartment above. I point inside with my chin and follow her through the door.

She takes one step, stops on the first stair, and turns around to me. I’m eye to eye with her tits and instead of thinking how awesome they look, my brain switches on images of Yankee Stadium. It’s becoming an automatic reaction to Juliet. If I keep using the Yankees to calm my body, sooner or later the Yankees are going to trigger my hard-ons too.

“What is this place? Do I need to use my self defense moves?” She folds her arms over her chest.

I’d love to practice any type of move with her. “Not today, gorgeous. This is my home.”

She gasps and her jaw drops. I’m going to love getting reactions from her. She’s a ball of energy—each expression genuine and animated. I can’t wait to draw her. “You live over an art gallery? Is that how you became interested in art?”

So she does pay attention
. “Sort of.” I’m tempted to touch her and kidnapping is on my mind, so I know we need to move. I gently twist her shoulders, turning her toward the staircase.

I follow her long, tanned legs as I climb the stairs and pull out my keys when we reach the landing. I open the door for her.

Since Gram’s out gambling away my inheritance with the seniors, we have the place to ourselves. “I’ll be right back,” I say, and leave a quiet, calm Juliet—one I haven’t yet seen—in the middle of my living room, examining the photographs Gram set on the mantle.

As I shuffle through my bedroom closet, I wonder what she’s thinking. This apartment is me—humble. I find what I’m looking for—my favorite set of pencils, my pastels, and my watercolors. My fingers come alive simply by handling the items. I put them in my backpack along with an extra sketchpad.

Juliet’s examining my family photos, her arms crossed, and she’s leaning into her hip. Her ponytail hangs down her back. I sneak another look at her legs and imagine how it would feel to run my hand from her ankle up under her skirt to her thigh. I wait as she looks up the wall and stares at my painting. I don’t want to disturb her, but I’m anxious to hear what she has to say.

She does a half-spin, grinning when she finds my eyes. I can’t help it, I smile. She looks so damn cute, and she’s in my living room beaming at me and my art. Instead of grabbing her and pressing my lips to her neck, I stand next to her and rock back and forth on my heels, shoving my hands into my pockets.

I shake my head when a swirl of pink surrounds her like a mist, like she’s embedded in a cloud. As quick as it appears, it fades. I’ve never seen flashes of color like that.
Maybe I’m having a
sensory overload.
Art and beautiful women must do it for me.

She interrupts my thoughts as the colors around her fade. “This is yours?” She points to the canvas hanging over the fireplace. Ben had told me she was interested in art. She’d fought to keep her school’s program running.

I nod.

“It’s beautiful.” The words sound calm but the way her eyes light up and her eyebrows raise, is the awesome reaction I’m starting to crave from her.

I look up at the painting with its waves of blue, black, and white. I’d created the oil on canvas by shutting my eyes and imagining one word over and over in my head:
Peaceful.
That’s how I work. My art comes from my mind, not my hands. I think of a word or a feeling, shut my eyes, and give up control. “My parents died when I was young. I was thinking about their personalities when I painted this. It’s the piece that got me into NJU’s art program. NJU called me a ‘promising artist.’”

Juliet doesn’t offer sympathy. Maybe she can tell I don’t want it. She turns back to the painting. “I don’t know much about art, but I can’t imagine an art degree would make your work any better. What made you come to NJU?”

“I needed to get out of the city for a while. Detox. Compose myself. Grow up a little. I get in trouble here.”

Juliet smiles. “I can imagine. I can tell after one day you’re problematic.”

“Funny, I can tell the same about you.” I lean an inch to my left and bump shoulders with her.

“I’m a lot simpler than people seem to think,” she mutters, her eyes on the painting.

“Me, too.” But my eyes are on her.

After a minute, or maybe an hour, she whispers more to herself than me, “I lost someone close, too. She was also a promising artist.”

I don’t ask and she doesn’t offer.

Juliet

Back outside, I peek into the art gallery while Chase locks up. Being at Chase’s makes my head spin. Learning that he was raised by his grandmother, seeing his artwork, looking at the pictures on the mantle and the trinkets his grandmother keeps around the house makes me think about how differently I’d been raised.

My parents had lost their shit after Justine passed away. They retreated into themselves. It’s as though when she’d died, they’d died, too. I wish I had a grandmother who could have saved me from all that. I would have gladly given up our cold, suburban McMansion for a life surrounded with art and color and love.

I smile at Chase as the midday sun beats down on us, wondering what his life is like, what he’s about.

He catches me looking. “What are you smiling at?”

“You.” My mouth moves without my brain filter. “I know you’re a stranger to me, but I feel…comfortable around you.”

He weaves his fingers through mine then pulls away. The act is simple, but intimate and shy at the same time. “Well, ‘comfortable’ isn’t the word I would use to describe how I feel around you.”

He shifts his weight and adjusts his backpack
.
Serious Chase holds my gaze as he leans against the window of the gallery.

“I need time to figure you out,” I say.

“Good luck with that. I don’t think I’ve figured myself out.”

“I’ll consider it a challenge.” When I grab his hand, he squeezes, and I squeal. “Ow!” He’s back to Fun Chase. I pull my hand away and slap his arm. “Where are you taking me next? I’m not ready to go back to campus.”

He steps toward me, and I can feel his breath against my ear, his nose in my hair. He morphs again, this time to Melt Me Chase. “It’s a surprise.”

With butterflies fluttering in my stomach, I stand on tiptoe and whisper in his ear, “I love surprises.” When I lower myself, my cheek brushes the soft cotton of his tee shirt and I want to burrow into his chest.

Chase’s chin grazes my hair. “Good to know, gorgeous.”

His chest brushes against mine, barely leaving any space between us. My entire body wakes up, tingling in all the right places, and I forget about the rest of the world. I’m tempted to put my arms around his waist, aching for his touch, for him to move his hands up to my shoulders, for him to turn his cheek a half an inch so his lips touch my ear. I turn my face upward into his neck because I want to feel my skin on his and inhale the clean scent of his aftershave. He doesn’t pull away.
Is he moving closer?
My mind goes blank and my head spins.
If I just lift my chin a little higher…

But then I remember. Chase isn’t Ben.

What am I doing?
Flustered, I pull away. Chase runs a hand through his hair. He shifts his weight and looks at his feet.

I shake my head and take a deep breath. “Where are we going?”

Chase points behind me, grinning his movie star grin. I scrunch my face, and he gently turns me toward the street. “We’re already here.”

When I see what he’s referring to, my heart feels like it’s going to beat out of my chest. I take off for the street, jumping up and down.

“Juliet! Wait!” Chase yells behind me. I don’t stop though, and a cab almost crushes me. On the other side, I wait for him, hopping around on the balls of my feet.

“You’re going to get yourself killed running into the street like that. This isn’t Pennsylvania.” He smiles as he scolds me, then holds the door and leads me up the flight of stairs.

My legs tingle and my heart fills. The classical music hits me first, then the instructor’s voice. “
Chasse, pas de bouree, glissade, assemble.”
I do the moves in my mind as we enter the waiting room. I glide to the little window that looks into the ballet studio.

Chase joins me, and we watch the dancers perform. I stare at them like a kid looking into the window of a toy store. When Chase waves, the instructor, so elegant with her black bun and slender, lanky figure, waves back.

My jaw drops. “You know her?”
He’s full of surprises.
The teacher walks toward us as the girls behind her practice. The sliding door to the studio opens with a creak, and the beautiful woman swoops out gracefully and acknowledges Chase.

“It’s good to see you, Miss Stephanie.” Chase kisses her on the cheek.

She hugs him and asks about Gloria, who I assume is his grandmother. She looks at me, and I stand up straight. “You’ve found yourself a dancer, I see,” she says to Chase.

I beam, proud she can tell I’m a dancer just from looking at me. The excitement must be plastered over my face. I extend my hand. “Juliet Anderson. Nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you, too, Juliet.” Her words flow like the music playing for the class but her grip is strong. I love how ballerinas, real ballerinas, are living anomalies—strong yet soft, feminine yet resilient, musical yet calculated.

Chase interrupts my stare-fest. “Juliet is a freshman with me at NJU, and she’s looking for a dance studio in the area. Can we pick up a schedule? See if we can work something out?”

“Of course!” She doesn’t let go of my hands. “Are you
en pointe
?”

“Yes, ma’am.” I have the urge to curtsy but refrain.

“Look for Advanced Ballet on the schedule. We’re finishing up inside. When the girls leave, feel free to check out the dance space.”

I manage a nod and a “thank you” as Miss Stephanie rejoins her class. I stand nose-to-the-glass watching, jealous I’m not inside. Finally, the class ends and the sweaty, tired girls file out.

They smile at me but seem more interested in my tall, dark, handsome companion.
Understandable.
Chase politely nods as they look him up and down.
Talk about a piece of art.
I admire the long
V
of his body and the way his jeans hang on his hips. When I move closer to stand next to him, the dancers’ scoping becomes a bit more subtle.

When the last dancer clears the room, I prance into the studio, giddy, and head for the
barre.
It runs along the far end of the room under a line of windows that overlook the city street. Chase’s apartment is eye level with the studio. I love the idea of
barre
work with a view outside, as if I’m dancing for the world. The mirrors stretch ceiling to floor opposite the
barre
, and an upright piano and sound system occupies the stage right corner.
Heaven.

I walk the length of the
barre
, running my hand along its wood. I can’t stop myself from doing a quick little
plié
. Then a
relever
. I kick off my sandals, and, barefoot, I lift my leg and rest my ankle on the
barre
pointing my toes.
Ahh
, my hamstring thanks me for the stretch as I lean into my leg.

I’m not dressed to dance and my short skirt rides up. Chase leans against the
barre
, watching me. “Sorry. I can’t help myself,” I say, trying to pull down my skirt but maintain the stretch.

He grins. “Trust me. I don’t mind. Dance for me, gorgeous.” He backs away toward the mirrors, leaving me the floor. I spin to face him and smirk. If he thinks I’ll chicken out now that I have an audience, he’s in for a shock.