“I’m fine just the way I am.” His eyes found Christine again. She was watching him and Kady with a soft look on her face. When she noticed him looking, she turned away, her cheeks red. “Are we being assigned partners during this thing, or what?”
Her brow furrowed and she looked at Christine, too. “You’re supposed to be, yes. But with Christine out…it messes the numbers up. I don’t know what to do with you now. Maybe I could split my time with you and Colt…?”
“No way.”
“But—”
“No buts.” He rubbed his jaw. “How about this? Since she can’t dance, how about if I go over to Red and keep her company? Then you’ll be back to even numbers, and I don’t have to dance. It’s win-win.”
Kady blinked. “Red?”
Oops. “Christine.”
“No one calls her Red.”
“I do.” He gently pushed her toward Colt. “Now go. Have fun.”
She watched him. “If you’re sure…”
“Positive. You go to your man and show him all those moves I taught you.”
Kady leaned in, kissed him on the cheek, and headed toward Colt. As soon as she reached his side, the instructor clapped his hands and started lecturing everybody about the waltz. Tyler tuned him out and made his way toward Christine. The jerk who had been flirting with her earlier was gone, so she was alone again.
Good. He didn’t like that dick.
She had a pair of crutches up against the wall. Where had she gotten them? Julie, no doubt. She had a way of finding anything that was needed.
When she caught sight of him approaching, she curled her hands into fists. “Let me guess. You’re on gimp duty?”
“Yep.” He stood next to her, his hands clasped behind his back. “But I don’t mind.”
She lifted a shoulder. “I figured you wouldn’t. You’re that guy.”
“What guy?”
“The one who volunteers to be with someone who can’t dance. The one who always helps other people, even if he’d having a lousy day himself.” She tipped her head back so she could see him. “You know. That guy.”
“Is that such a bad thing?” He smoothed his shirt. “You know what? Don’t answer that. How’s your ankle feeling?”
“It’s better.” She looked down at her ankle, lifting it up slightly, and stared up at him. “It hurts a little bit, but I elevated and iced it all afternoon, just as the doctor ordered.”
He stared at it, resisting the urge to drop to her feet and examine her for himself. “Technically, you should still be in bed.”
“I didn’t want to miss the dancing.”
“You can’t even dance,” he said, gesturing out at the couples on the dance floor. “What’s the point in coming down?”
“I don’t know,” she said wistfully. “I like watching.”
He turned to her and examined her face. Big mistake. Huge.
The sight of her longing expression as she watched the dancers made him want to rip his own leg off and give it to her so she could dance. That’s how bad he had it. He shoved his hands in his pockets. “Well, I for one hate dancing, so I’m much more content to stand here with you.”
“How could you hate dancing?”
“Easily.” He shrugged. “I just do.”
She tapped her fingers on her knee. “You can’t hate it that much. You taught Kady your moves all those years ago.”
“That’s different. She’s my sister.”
“You’re so good to her,” she said, her gaze latched onto him.
I could be good to you, too, if you gave me the chance. “Isn’t that what all brothers do? Spoil their sisters?”
“I know mine does,” she agreed. “But a little birdie told me you’re quite an excellent dancer because of a bet gone bad.”
He watched Kady, wanting to cross the room and shake her until she promised to never tell anyone else his secret again. He’d been forced to take ballroom dancing lessons in college, when he had made a wager that his football team would beat his buddy’s team…and lost. The cost of his losing had been six months of ballroom dancing with a bunch of old women.
He’d gotten damned good at it, truth be told, but by the time he was finished, he’d never wanted to see a dance floor again. “I made her swear not to tell anyone about that.”
Christine snorted. “I’m not just anyone.”
“Yeah, I guess not. Did she tell all of you?”
“I don’t think so.” Christine smiled. “We were alone when she told me, anyway. It was over a container of Chunky Monkey, after a particularly painful breakup.”
He fisted his hands. “Whose? Hers, or yours?”
“Hers. I told you. I didn’t have anyone serious.”
He swallowed the words trying to escape. He wanted to be her first serious man, damn it. “So she told you about my secret because some jerk broke her heart?”
“Yep.” She laughed. The sound made his heart soar. He loved her laugh. “We called you Tiny Dancer for a week after that conversation.”
Fucking A. “Yep. I’m going to have to kill her. Right before her wedding, too. What a tragedy.”
She laughed again. “What? It’s cute.”
“A baby or kitten is cute.” He crossed his arms. “Me dancing with a geriatric patient on a Friday night isn’t. Neither is you laughing about it afterward.”
She tapped her fingers on her knee. “I bet she was hot though, wasn’t she? A little spitfire of an old lady.”
He burst into laughter, remembering the little old lady he’d danced with every week. She used to bring him cookies, and knit him scarves with matching mittens. “Oh my God, no.” He pictured her hitting on him and burst into laughter again. “Just…no.”
She joined in. “That bad, huh?”
“She was the sweetest thing ever,” he managed to say. “Not a spitfire at all.”
“I bet.” She smiled up at him, and he smiled back. God, she made him so happy. Around him, he stopped worrying about everything and just…lived. “You liked her, didn’t you?”
He rubbed his chin. “I did. She was nice to me.”
“I’m kind of jealous of her.”
“Why?” he asked, watching her. The idea of her being jealous of an old lady was preposterous to him. “You’re much prettier, I promise. And your ass is much—”