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Or I was imagining it.
It was possible that when he dipped a hand into my lap to knot our
fingers together, it was code for “someone’s looking,” or when his body
keened toward me, it was to relieve an ache in his back.
He held my hand on the armrest. No one who needed to see that could
see it, but he did it and I couldn’t figure out why. He didn’t need to fake for
Amilcar, who was sitting ten rows up. The nearest GAC person in the
audience was Irma, who he didn’t know he had to fake for anyway, but I
liked it too much to move away.
The lights came up for intermission, and he didn’t take his hand off
mine. It felt good and right, but distracting. Like a rock in my shoe exactly
where the sole itched.
“Wow,” he said. “They’re kids.”
“And amazing.”
“Were we that good? At Wildwood?”
“You don’t remember?”
We stood to let people in the row out, and he tugged me to go with
traffic.
“We were that good,” I said when we got to the aisle. “And we had
everything. Alexis had voice coaching Tasha doesn’t get. More money for
tech and costumes.”
“And you.” He put his arm around me. “They had you.”
Yeah. They had me until Bianca took me out.
I let it go. We were having fun and I didn’t want to ruin it with old
grudges.
“You buying me a Coke?” I asked, pulling him into the refreshment
line.
“Since when do you drink Coke?”
“I’m in the mood for it.”
My shoulder tucked itself right under his arm and my hand reached for
his pocket as if we were sized to wait in line side-by-side. I felt as if I could
slide under his skin and become one person.
“Why’d you come home early?” I asked.
He shrugged as if it wasn’t the first time in six months he’d left work
before dinner. “I was in the mood.”
“Don’t bullshit me, Crowne.”