Wicked Grind Page 8

  But from the way she was smiling, it didn't look like she thought he was lame. On the contrary, her entire face glowed.

  "I love dancing," she admitted. "It's--well, it's what I want to do. The only thing I want to do."

  "Then this works out great," he said, the feeling that he was an idiot morphing into something much more pleasant.

  "Except--well, it's just--" She held the tickets back out to him, and it felt like a punch in the gut. "It's just that I can't accept this."

  "You don't have to." The words tumbled out of his mouth. "I mean, I already accepted. They were a gift to me." Not exactly a lie since his grandmother gave him the tickets. "I just need someone to tag along so I don't have an empty seat beside me. Looks pathetic, you know."

  She bit her lower lip. "Really?"

  "You'd be helping me out a lot."

  "Thursday?"

  "It's in the afternoon. You don't have to work, do you?" He knew she didn't; he'd already checked her schedule.

  She shook her head. "That's my day off."

  "Great. Your parents will let you come, right?"

  "I don't--" She cut herself off, then lifted her chin. For the first time, she looked him straight in the eye, and he felt the reverberations all the way through him. "I mean, I don't think that would be a problem. Thank you," she added, then drew a deep breath. "I'd love to go with you."

  Those tickets turned everything upside down, switching his world from just okay to absolutely perfect. He and Kelsey started walking together regularly, taking the long way from the snack bar to the tennis center. They snuck in more time, too. Breaks at the edge of the golf course. Hours stolen during weekends.

  He learned that she danced whenever she could sneak in the time, and that she adored her little brother. "I try to stay mad at him," she admitted. "But then he'll make up a story in these crazy voices he does, and whatever irritated me just sort of fades away. Griffin's great."

  "I want to meet him." They'd paused on the main walking path at the turn-off to the tennis center. "Why don't I just come with you?" Every day, this is where he left her. But every day, he didn't want their stolen time together to end.

  "Someday. But I--"

  "Ashamed of me?" he quipped.

  She bit her lower lip, looking younger than her fifteen years. "It's just that Griff's only twelve, and if he says something . . . I mean, I'm not allowed to date--"

  "We just went to the competition together."

  "Yeah, well, that wasn't really a date. I was doing you a favor filling that seat, right? And, um, my parents were out of town. They took my brother to LA for an appointment, and I knew they wouldn't be back until late."

  "So you didn't tell them."

  Her cheeks bloomed pink. "I don't usually sneak around," she admitted. "But I--you know." She met his eyes, then looked at her shoes. He thought her shyness was adorable. Hell, he thought she was adorable.

  She drew a breath. "I guess I told myself it was like going to a movie. Only with live dancers. But seriously, Wyatt, if my dad--"

  He held up a hand, then pressed his finger to her lips. "It's okay. Really. I get it." He flashed a grin. "I'll meet Griffin some other time. Once your dad approves of me," he teased.

  "Yeah?" Her smile was like sunshine. "You don't mind?"

  "I want to hang out with you," he said. "All the rest is no big deal."

  With every day that passed, they managed to sneak in more and more time. He took photo after photo of her. By the pool, on the walking path, anywhere he could. Mostly, they talked incessantly, learning everything they could about each other. He learned she liked salted chocolate, but hated nuts. That she loved pink in her dance outfits, but hated it in her regular clothes. That her favorite author was Mark Twain, but that she had a weakness for Nancy Drew books, and that even though she stopped reading them years ago, she had her entire collection packed neatly in plastic boxes she kept stacked in her closet.

  He confessed that he generally despised fast food but had a weakness for In-N-Out Burger. That he'd accidentally blown up the garden shed in middle school when he was trying to come up with a project for the science fair, and that he'd once played Pac-Man for twelve hours straight on the free-standing machine that his grandmother kept in the game room.

  The last revelation led to an even bigger one, because he hadn't realized that she knew about his family until she asked him, point blank, if it was hard growing up around so many famous people.

  "Wow," he said, thrown by the question. "I didn't think you knew about my family."

  "I overheard Grace and Marsha talking that first day you came to the pool."

  "Really?" He cocked his head as he looked at her, then realized he was grinning so wide he must look like a fool.

  She laughed. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

  "No reason." He was still grinning, but how could he not? He thought back on all the days he'd been pursuing her, and it gave him a nice, warm feeling in his gut to know that all that time she knew who he was.

  "No reason?" she repeated, then laughed. "Come on. Tell me."

  "Maybe I like you," he said, though the simple words did nothing to capture the euphoria he felt from just being around her. From knowing that she wanted to be around him, and not the Segel boy. He reached out and took her hand, then twined his fingers with hers.

  She ducked her head, then gently hip-butted him. "Maybe I like you, too."

  They walked, hands swinging, toward the little copse of trees between the eighth and ninth greens. Wyatt had discovered it when he was wandering the grounds taking landscape shots, and now they were heading that direction so that he could take photos of Kelsey sitting on the massive, low-lying limb.

  "I felt a little sorry for you that day," she said softly. "That first day, I mean." She glanced up at him, then almost immediately back down at the grass.

  "You did?" He couldn't remember the last time someone said they felt sorry for him. Oh, wait. Yes, he could. That would have been the fourth of absolutely never ever. "Why?"

  "I guess because it must be hard, and a little lonely, too. Because you never really know why someone wants to be your friend, do you?"

  They were still walking, but now he tugged her to a stop. He wanted to tell her she was right. That he didn't think anyone else understood that, at least not anyone who wasn't born into a celebrity family. Mostly, he wanted to just look at her. To feel the warmth inside him turn into a raging blaze of longing for this girl who got him. Who really and truly got him.

  "Wyatt?"

  He blinked, realizing suddenly that he was staring. "Sorry. Sorry, it's just--well, it's just that you're right. It is hard."

  She nodded, but frowned a bit, too.

  "What?"

  "I was thinking that your last name makes it even more hard. It's so well known. But then I was wondering why it's your name at all. Shouldn't you have your father's name?"

  "You've obviously never met Anika Segel. My grandmother is the head of a wide and vast matriarchy. No way was my dad going to win that battle."

  Her mouth twisted a bit. "Guess it's hard for your dad, too, huh?"

  He nodded, thinking about the conversation he'd had with his father back when he was still trying to get Kelsey's attention. "Yeah," he admitted. "It is."

  She took his hand and they started walking again. They'd veered off the path and were now walking on the green toward the cluster of trees. "At least people see you and talk to you," she said. "They notice you because of the name and your family. I'm invisible."

  He pulled her to a stop again, then searched her face, his heart breaking a little at the truth he saw there. A truth he didn't understand, because she was amazing. Sweet and smart and funny and talented. He could spend days talking to her, sitting with her, or just quietly holding her hand. He could, and yet he couldn't, because her parents kept her on such a tight leash.

  "You're not invisible to me," he said, and he almost kissed her right then. Instead, he brushed her
lips with the tip of his finger.

  She sighed with more passion and longing than he'd ever heard from any of the girls he'd dated.

  That's when he knew. He wasn't just Wyatt anymore. He was Wyatt and Kelsey.

  And damned if that didn't feel nice.

  "Have you ever been kissed?"

  Her eyes shot up to his, and he wasn't sure if it was excitement he saw there, or terror.

  She swallowed, then shook her head. "No," she whispered.

  That little word made him happier than it should. "I'm going to be your first, Kelsey Draper."

  "Oh." A pink stain flooded her cheeks. "Okay."

  "But not today."

  "Oh." Now the word was laced with disappointment, and damned if that didn't make him feel good, too. "When?" she added.

  But he only smiled, released her hand, and said, "Race you to the trees."

  The next day, he brought her tickets to the ballet. He pulled her around the rec center to the service doors because nobody ever went there, and handed her a small, flat box. Then he had to fight not to smile like an idiot as he watched the awe on her face when she opened it and drew out the two printed pieces of paper.

  "Wyatt. This is amazing. You got me tickets to Swan Lake?"

  "You like?"

  "It's one of my favorite ballets ever. This is incredible."

  "You're incredible," he said and was surprised when she frowned.

  "It's in Los Angeles," she said. "My father's never going to let me go."

  "Really? Not even to the ballet? It's cultural."

  She lifted her shoulders, and it killed him the way she seemed to be sinking into herself. He hadn't met her dad, but she'd told him enough. And Wyatt had seen the man, too. Leonard Draper worked ten-hour days at the club, so even though he was usually out on the golf course or overseeing the maintenance of the shrubs and flowers in the various public areas, he was around enough that Wyatt had managed to pick him out. A lean, lanky man with a hard face and the leathery skin of someone who'd worked outside his whole life.

  Only his eyes reminded him of Kelsey. But where hers were as blue as the Caribbean, his seemed as distant and cold as a glacier.

  Wyatt watched her face, now drained of the joy that had lit her from within only a few moments before. Bastard. He didn't know what Leonard Draper's problem was, but he knew it pissed him off. And that if the rules he made regarding his daughter denied Kelsey access to all the things she loved, then the rules were stupid.

  And Wyatt didn't have a problem breaking stupid rules.

  "We don't have to tell your dad," he said.

  Her eyes went wide. "If he ever found out . . . I mean, the dance competition was here. And he was out of town. And I could have just told him I got a ticket all on my own because I wanted to see the dancing. I would have gotten in trouble, but not for being with a boy. But this? If he finds out. . . ." She shuddered. "Not telling him would be as bad as going to the ballet in the first place."

  "What does he have against the ballet?"

  "He . . . he just doesn't think it's right for me. Watching it is okay. But not watching it with a boy all the way in Los Angeles."

  "Do you have any girlfriends here?"

  For a moment, she looked at him blankly. Then her eyes went wide, and she hugged herself, then looked at her watch. "I need to run. I've got to get Griffin."

  "No, you don't," he said, with a quick glance at his own watch. "You've got at least five more minutes." But he was saying the last to the air. Kelsey had already sprinted away.

  Damn.

  He kicked himself for even suggesting it. He should have known she wasn't the kind of girl who'd go against her parents, even if the law her parents set down was stupid.

  He told himself he'd apologize when he saw her the next day, and then the next day he had to kick himself even harder, because she managed to avoid him altogether.

  He'd screwed it up. He'd gone and completely screwed it up.

  Two entire days later he still hadn't seen her. He spent the afternoon swimming laps, and realized that she must have asked to switch her schedule around, because she didn't wipe down one single table the entire time he was there.

  He finally gave up and headed to his car, all the while wondering as to the best tactic for groveling his way back into her good graces. But when he arrived at the parking lot and saw her leaning against the BMW he'd borrowed from the fleet his grandmother kept in Santa Barbara, his heart skipped a beat as a flicker of hope settled in his chest.

  Maybe--just maybe--he hadn't screwed this up too bad.

  "Hi," he said, half-afraid he was hallucinating.

  "My friend Joy lives here during the summers." She drew a breath as if for courage. "I could say I was staying with her next Friday."

  "You'd be okay with that?" His heart was pounding so loud he was certain she could hear it. "You're not exactly the rule-breaking kind, Kelsey Draper. And I don't want--"

  "What?"

  It was his turn to suck in air. "I don't want you to resent me if you get in trouble. Or even if you just feel guilty."

  She shoved her hands in the pockets of her shorts and nodded. "That's sweet." She looked down at the pavement. "And--and well, I probably will feel guilty. But I think you're worth it," she added, tilting her head up to look at him.

  "Yeah?"

  She nodded, her entire face lighting up as she smiled.

  "You can trust this girl?"

  "Definitely. We go to school together. Brighton," she said, referring to an exclusive girls' school in Los Angeles. "I'm on scholarship."

  "I'm impressed. Brighton's got a hell of a reputation."

  "I guess. I got in based on academics, but I applied because they offer dance for PE credit. It's not a dance academy, but they support the arts, and so at least I get to study, you know?"

  "And your dad's okay with that?"

  "Technically, my dance class is a gym class. So he copes. Mostly he likes being able to say that his little girl goes there on scholarship. And--" She cut herself off with a shake of her head.

  "What?"

  "I don't know. Nothing. It's petty," she added when he lifted a brow and stared her down.

  "So? I'm not going to think less of you."

  "He doesn't let me dance--you know, not at a real studio. And he knows it bugs me. So I think in his mind I can't complain since he's letting me go to Brighton."

  Wyatt nodded, hoping she wouldn't see the way he was clenching his fists to fight back the anger. Her dad was a piece of work, and the sooner she graduated and got out of there the better.

  "I never asked where you go," she said.

  "Beverly Hills High School," he said, then grimaced. "I fit the profile of a Hollywood cliche, but my mom and sister went there, so no one was going to rock the boat for me. But I'm doing my senior year in Boston," he added. "I got into an exclusive photography academy."

  "I'm not surprised. And I bet you're the top in the class. Your work is fabulous."

  He'd hooked his camera up to the computer at Patrick's work station once between her shifts and showed her some of the images that were on the memory disk. It wasn't his best work, and it was all raw, without any time spent cleaning up or enhancing at his own computer. Even so, he appreciated the compliment as much as the tone of absolute loyalty and certainty.

  "Will you get to study only photography? Or do you have to do the regular school stuff, too?"

  "A couple of classes, but mostly I'm done with all my academic requirements."

  Her sigh was filled with longing. "I wish I could go to a dance academy."

  He started to say something, but she shook her head, cutting him off. He knew her situation--even if she got a scholarship, her dad wouldn't let her go. "Well, at least you have Brighton," he said, lamely. "I can't believe you've been going to school just a few miles from me all this time."

  "And now you're going to Boston." She cleared her throat. "I'll miss you."

  "I probably wouldn't hav
e applied if I'd known about you. There are excellent photography schools around LA, too."

  "Really? Then why didn't you apply to those? Boston's all the way across the country."

  He considered giving her his stock bullshit answer about how the Boston program was the most innovative, had the most variety of classes, offered him an amazing scholarship. And all of those reasons were true. They just weren't the reason.

  And Kelsey deserved the truth.

  "I want to get away from my family," he said simply.

  "You do? But you love your parents. And you've said yourself your grandmother's amazing."

  "She is. And I do. But--oh, hell. I want to be a photographer. More than that, I want to be a successful one. I don't want to be a starving artist. I want to make a real living."

  Her brow furrowed. "But you--"

  "What?" He snapped the word, then kicked himself when she flinched. But didn't she get it? After all the talks they'd had? All the time they'd spent together? "You think it doesn't matter because I have a trust fund? That I should just live on that and fund my business and not care if it never really earns a penny because what does it matter, I can pay my rent and buy my groceries?"

  She crossed her arms over her chest, her expression somehow both stern and sympathetic. "Actually, I was going to say that being a success doesn't depend on where you go to school. You'll be a success even if you teach yourself. You're really talented, Wyatt. Of course, you're going to be amazing."

  Everything that had been tightening up in him loosened again, and he basked for a moment in her complete faith in him. Then he kicked himself even harder for assuming that she'd been thinking the worst.

  Frustrated, he ran his fingers through his hair. "Sorry. I didn't mean--it's just that it's hard trying to do anything in the arts around my family. My grandmother would want to set me up with a gallery on Rodeo Drive." He paused. "Should we sit in the car?"

  She shook her head. "If my dad sees me in your car, he'll have a fit. Out here, I can say you were asking me about working for the club. Member staff relations or some silliness like that."

  "Well, sit on the hood if you want."

  She laughed. "I'm fine, and you're changing the subject. Even if your grandmother did set you up with a gallery, it would only stay open if you're talented enough to keep the customers coming in. And you are."

  "Except, I'd never know for sure. The circles my family runs in--they can afford to buy bullshit art, just for the social value of saying they own a Segel print."