Page 56 of Perfectly Complicated
“If he’s a friend,” Emmalynn notes, “then why is Mr. Rourke mad?” She points at the man playing Saint Nicholas, whose jaw is clenched so tight I’m surprised the muscle doesn’t pop.
“I don’t know, why don’t you ask Mr. Rourke?” I mutter, hoping this will end the conversation so we can finish rehearsal.
Nobody moves. They’re all too scared to ask, except for Lily. “Mr. Rourke, you look like you want to punch something.”
“I’m fine,” Rourke growls. He’s not even trying to hide his disdain for David. His face is a mixture of fury and somethingdistinctly un-jolly. There’s no way we’re going to make progress on the pageant now.
I throw up my hands in exasperation. “All right, everyone, let’s call it quits for today. Your parents are waiting in the lobby after you sign out.” The kids run off the stage, gathering their backpacks before heading out of the auditorium.
Emmalynn and Lily glance over their shoulders at Rourke before approaching me.
“Are you going to practice with Mr. Rourke again, Ms. Bennett?” Emmalynn asks timidly. “Because he needs it. He’s the worst Santa ever.”
Before I can correct her about Rourke not playing Santa, Lily leans toward me like she has a secret. “Maybe youshouldpractice the kissing part. It might cheer him up.”
I take a deep breath and pinch the bridge of my nose before answering. “I’m pretty sure that would only make things worse.”
After the last child leaves, I clean up the stage hoping Rourke will leave too.
As I pick up a stray ornament, Rourke stops behind me. “So, Peterson, huh? That’s your type?”
I whirl around, giving him a cool look. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Safe. Boring.” He doesn’t seem amused. “Probably discusses lesson plans over dinner.”
“David is a nice man,” I say defensively. “And a reliable coworker.”
“Reliable, huh?” He plays with the Santa hat in his hands. “Does he talk about grading rubrics for fun? School discipline policy at dinner? Is that what really turns you on?”
“Of course not!” I say, irritated that he’s pressing so hard about this. “And what do you care anyway?”
“I don’t.” He toys with the hat, his gaze dropping for just a second too long.
He’s lying.
“Because it’s not a date, right?” he says, showing a crack in his very solid armor. “Just colleagues hanging out?”
“It’s…” Honestly, I’m not entirely sure what it is, or even what David’s intentions might be. He’s always been friendly—I just hadn’t thought that much about it. “He’s just a friend.”
Nothing about that statement is inaccurate. David is everything that makes logical sense, and he leaves me feeling absolutely nothing. He’d be a devoted husband, a reliable father figure for Aria. But when I imagine his hands on my skin, his lips on mine, I feel nothing but mild disgust.
I don’t want mild. I want wildfire. A man who makes me feel reckless. Who makes me forget to breathe when he walks into a room. Someone whose voice alone can make heat pool low in my stomach, whose proximity makes my nerve endings spark. I want fire and electricity and the kind of chemistry that rewrites your DNA.
I want someone who makes me feel dangerously, desperately alive.
And heaven help me, I knowexactlywho that someone is.
He studies me, his gaze raking over me, slow and torturous. “Right. Just a single friend who wants to take you to a party.” His voice is flat.
I pick up a pair of reindeer antlers someone left on the choir risers. “What do you care if he’s single?”
Instead of answering, he steps closer, and suddenly the empty stage feels very small, the heat pulsating between us. “Doesheknow you’re not interested in him?”
I freeze, feeling that swirl of energy that only happens when he’s close. I focus on the antlers instead. “I never said I wasn’t interested.”
“You didn’t have to.” He pins his gaze on me. “The way you said yes was like agreeing to jump off a cliff against your will.”
I frown. “Well, David’s never invited me out before. I was just surprised.”
