Page 49 of Someone to Tempt
I'd snap back with a sharp retort, but I'm hurtling toward a full-blown panic attack. Forming words is way beyond me when I can't even seem to suck air into my lungs
"Seriously, Dixon, are you okay?" He leads me toward a booth in the corner, saying something to the waitress we pass that I can't make out because of the ringing in my ears. I'm not sure my knees will bend to sit down, but Jake practically shoves me onto the red velvet seat and slides in next to me, his muscular thigh pressing against my now trembling leg.Even as my world narrows to a panic-filled tunnel, his voice is an anchor pulling me back to safety.
"What the hell is going on?" He waves a hand in front of my face.
"I can't do this."
"You don't have to do anything except follow my lead."
"They'll know I'm terrible."
"Iris, it's just dancing. Everybody's doing it. No one gives a shit about you and me joining in."
"I can't."
"Let's have a drink, and then we'll reassess."
"We could chug a bottle of Everclear, and I'm still not going to do this. This isnotfun for me."
"What's going on?" he repeats, his tone softening, coaxing.
How do I explain my reaction without reliving the humiliation all over again? I bite my lip and stare out at the club, the music pounding in my chest like a second heartbeat.
"I took that one dance class as a kid, but moving wasn't the real reason I missed the recital. We were supposed to, but I pitched the only fit of my entire childhood and begged my mom to stay so I could dance."
I wave a hand toward the club's dance floor but snatch it back, embarrassed that my fingers are shaking. "We were performing to 'What a Wonderful World,' and I was so excited. I finally felt like I belonged somewhere and had friends and I loved dancing."
Jake grins. "I wish I could see little Iris in all her glory."
"The costumes were atrocious," I say with a laugh that dies as I remember that time with more clarity. "Mom was pissed that I'd taken a stand. She was champing at the bit to meet her new online love in person."
I swallow hard. My throat feels coated in sawdust. "Thinking back on it, I'm pretty sure she got caught with the husband of one of our neighbors in the apartment complex where we lived. There were a lot of slamming doors and hushed arguments that week, but Nick had also gotten into a fight so she blamed the tension on him."
“Maybe your brother went looking for trouble to deflect attention from her," Jake suggests evenly.
The idea throws me for a loop. I've never connected my mother's behavior with Nick's trouble, but it makes sense. It’s a sad, terrible insight, but one that resonates.
"I don't know," I say honestly, but the pit in my stomach would say otherwise. "Parents weren't allowed to watch class or attend rehearsals, but my mom came anyway. She pulled me from the recital as soon as she saw me dance. There was a huge blow-up between her and the instructor, with Mom screaming about how I was going to humiliate myself and her."
"That doesn't make sense," he says, shaking his head.
"I was terrible, Jake." I lick my dry lips and try to detach from how I felt then. I'm a grown-ass adult, I remind myself. Not that little girl with silent tears running down her face. "She knew people would laugh at me if I got up on stage. For once in her life, my mother was trying to protect me."
"What are you talking about?" He sounds both confused and irritated, but gently takes my hand like he knows I need something—someone—to ground me in the present moment so I don't lose myself in the past. "Iris, I've seen enough viral reels to know the cringey kids are the ones people love to watch. It doesn't matter if you're bad. It matters that you're bad with enthusiasm."
I choke out a laugh. "You've seen me dance. All the enthusiasm in the world isn't going to make someone with two left feet look good."
"We're not talking about now, are we?"
He brushes a strand of hair away from my face, tucking it behind my ear. The touch is both soothing and electrifying. It makes me want to lean into him. Find comfort in him. But Jake isn't my person.The tenderness of the gesture short-circuits the walls I’ve spent years constructing.
"What did your mother tell you?"
"She was protecting me," I say again, then roll my lips together because it still hurts.
"What exactly did she say, Iris?"
"I told you already. That I was going to embarrass myself. People were laughing at me."
