Blind Spot - Katana Collins Page 0,76
drum. I knew shit like this happened. I’d heard stories, seen reports of rape on the news and around campus. But never anyone I knew. At least, not anyone who had told me.
She peeled away from my grasp, crossing to the other end of the playground. “I don’t want your pity. I don’t want your sympathy. It’s the exact reason I didn’t want you or anyone to know.”
“It’s not pity, Shelby. It’s…it’s…” What was it exactly? I didn’t know if I had words for it. My response faded into the night, and silence sat thick between us. “Dance for me,” I finally whispered.
Shelby twirled, whipping around to face me once more, her features completely unreadable. “What?”
I swallowed. “Let me see you dance.”
A ragged laugh broke through her sigh. “The cancan? I don’t even remember it.”
“No. Ballet, like your mom taught you.”
An exhausted chuckle rang like music in my ears. Thank God for that laugh of hers. She sighed in a “why not” way, and I leaned against the monkey bars as she took her place in the center of the playground.
There was no music––no beat other than the rhythm of my heart thrumming in my chest. Her body moved seamlessly from one position to the next, like running water twisting and turning around bends and rocks. Beginning with her heels together, one leg scooped around in a muscular point before lifting back behind her head, her torso tilting parallel to the ground. Part of me wanted to run with arms out to catch her if she fell, while the other part of me was glued where I was, enchanted by this side of a woman I’d spent so much time with lately.
What else didn’t I know about her? I quickly looked away, pinching the bridge of my nose as if this could clip the rush of emotion.
Shelby ended with a spin, landing with one arm curved above her head. As she brought her hands down, she shrugged, and the insecurities that had momentarily disappeared rushed back.
The lines of her muscles flexed, and I could see years of hard work and training in the roped tension that held her legs and arms in place. But it wasn’t her physicality that had me speechless. The real strength was deeper than the various masses of cells beneath her skin and couldn’t be seen in a physical way. That power, that fortitude was in her, a part of her.
“That was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” I said, moving toward her. I slid my arms around her waist, and she fell into me as I absorbed her weight. I brushed her still damp hair away from her face and brought my lips to her temple where the edge of the scar dipped behind her hairline. She shivered, but let me. “I’m so sorry that happened to you. If that guy was still alive, I’d kill him. And the fact that your stepdad…” I trailed off, shaking my head. No, that wasn’t what she needed to hear. She didn’t need to hear more about how cruel the world had been to her. I cleared my throat and tried again. “You’re the most amazingly strong person I’ve ever met. You think I pity you?” I shook my head. “How could I pity someone so amazing? I’m in awe of you, Shelby.”
A ragged breath pulsed through her parted lips, and she pressed her mouth to mine, dragging her tongue along my bottom lip. “Take me home,” she whispered. “Your home.”
I curled my arm around her shoulders as we walked back to the car. Her stomach growled. Had she eaten yet tonight? Did she need something to soak up that alcohol? “Let’s make a pit stop first.”
“For what?”
“Provisions,” I said, gently poking a finger to her ribs. She squirmed, ticklish. “We need crullers for the morning.”
She rolled her eyes, threading her fingers in mine. “Where the hell are you going to find crullers this late?”
I arched an eyebrow, opening the passenger door for her.
“Oh, right,” she snorted. “I forgot that you have magical ways of finding delicious baked goods.” She smiled, and though it wasn’t a huge grin, it was something. It was playful. Sarcastic. The Shelby I’d come to know so well.
I leaned down into the car’s doorframe as she buckled her seat belt. “Guess where we’re not finding these crullers?” I brushed my mouth gently across hers and whispered, remembering those terrible burned croissants she made. “In your oven.”
…
An hour later, we had already dug