CLOSING NIGHT: Driven Dance Theater Romance Series, Book 2 (Standalone) by Brianna Stark

Author:Brianna Stark [Stark, Brianna]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: STARK PUBLISHING
Published: 2020-05-10T05:00:00+00:00

12

Patrick scrubs his neck, watching me, as though he doesn’t know what to do with me. And I have a feeling I am looking at him in the same way.

“So?” He lifts his shoulders.

“So…”

My eyes hit the ground, and my voice drifts off. When it sounds like he might be about to say something else, I look back at him, waiting for him to make a move.

Pedestrians pass by us in a trance. A hostess steps out of a restaurant, and a car honks its horn three times in a row.

“I’m going that way.” I nod in the direction of the metro to Brooklyn, brushing back a flyaway hair that’s caught in the wind.

“Me too,” Patrick says, his feet planted firmly into the sidewalk. My shoulders drop as I stall, and Patrick rubs his jaw pensively. “I don’t have to, though, if that’s a problem.”

“It’s fine,” I say, knowing he would be taking the metro, too, if he didn’t drive, just in the opposite direction. If we go to the subway together, we will part soon enough.

We walk down the busy street in silence. Even though we are worlds apart, and in New York City, it feels as though we are the only people around.

He follows me onto the platform once we arrive at the subway station.

“You’re not going home, I guess.” I’m thinking of the phone number Sasha indiscreetly stashed in his pocket, and how many more of those numbers there probably are, considering his crazy good looks, confidence, and the explosion of his career.

“No. I’m taking you home. We don’t have to talk. I just want to make sure you get there safely.” He doesn’t make eye contact. Just shoves his hands in his pockets and looks straight ahead.

“I take the subway by myself at night all the time.” I stand my ground.

“And I don’t like it.” He presses his lips together.

It isn’t even late. Maybe eight o’clock. Granted, it is dark out, but still, we are in New York City, and people are around at every hour. I have never felt unsafe, even though my apartment is on a quieter Brooklyn street.

We stand in silence, waiting for the train. It feels like forever before mine arrives. When it does, Patrick steps aside for me to walk ahead, and I lower myself into a vinyl seat. He slides in next to me, and even though we have known each other for years, when his knee brushes mine, it’s like I’m being branded. I flinch, and he adjusts. His gaze falls to my lap and twiddling thumbs. I clutch my fingers together and look out the window at the blur of tunnel walls rushing by.

He stands up when it’s my stop and waits for me to walk by. His breath touches my neck as his eyes hit the floor. Our feet fall into a rhythm until we are at my building.

“Thanks.” My voice is tight in my throat as I slide the key in the lock. Patrick doesn’t leave. I tilt my head.

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