Page 21 of Damaged Protector
“Oh, no. I can’t ask you to do that. You’re already letting—” She cut herself off as soon as I lifted my hand, palm out, and for some reason, her acquiescence made the back of my neck tingle.
“I’m not letting you carry everything by yourself,” I said simply, gesturing for her to follow me down the hallway. She did but stalled at the open door to my home gym, her eyes flitting around the room. “What’s wrong?”
She didn’t meet my gaze, still focusing on the room with two walls of mirrors and large, arched windows.
“Did this used to be a dance studio?”
I hummed in the back of my throat. “Maybe. A man built this house for his daughters while they were in college. It’s possible one or more of them danced. I bought it from him after the last one graduated.”
Mallori’s heel lifted from the floor as if she was going to take a step, but then it flattened once again.
“You can go inside.”
Her right foot did a little stutter step before she finally crossed the threshold. The change in her was instantaneous. Her posture straightened, and she seemed lighter somehow, like being in this room lifted a weight from her. Even if I didn’t already know, I would have surmised she was a dancer as soon as I saw her in this space.
“You dance, right?”
Mallori took another couple steps into the room, slowly, like she was warring with her own feet. “I did. I mean, I guess I do, but I haven’t really. Though I still can. I think.”
“Well, that clears that up,” I said wryly, and she laughed, finally turning to face me. “You’re welcome to use the room, Mallori. For dancing, if you want. Or just to work out.”
She walked an unhurried circle, her eyes moving over the wood floor and mirrored walls. “I might.” The words were so soft, I barely heard them.
Mallori wasn’t tall, but her legs looked long and slender in fitted, ripped jeans. When she paused, her right toe pointed and swept an arc over the floor, as if testing… something. One hand lifted, fingers twisting in her long, blonde hair. Even in a ponytail, the ends reached the middle of her back.
“I haven’t danced in a while.” She spoke a little louder this time.
“Did you stop dancing because you were injured?”
She faced me and simply said, “No.” There was something in her solemn aqua-blue eyes that I couldn’t quite read. For some reason, I wanted to press and ask her what she was thinking… what had sapped the smile that had been on her face a few minutes ago.
But I didn’t. It was none of my business, so I nodded. “Okay.”
Mallori rose on her tiptoes, her body morphing into pure gracefulness for a moment before she lowered and asked, “Can you show me where I’ll be staying now?”
An hour and a half later, I knocked on Mallori’s bedroom door, and she answered, wearing denim shorts and a tangerine-colored tank top. She’d been in jeans and a long-sleeved shirt when she arrived.
“You changed clothes.”
“Yeah, it’s freaking hot down here in Texas.”
“Just wait till July,” I said with a chuckle. “Hey, I was going to order some fried chicken. What sides do you want?”
Her eyes darted to the side. “Oh, um… let me get my purse.” She wanted to give me money for the food. Cute.
I waved a dismissive hand at her. “Nah, I got it. I usually order an eight-piece box, so I have plenty.”
“Are you—”
“I’m sure. I usually avoid the fries because they’re mushy by the time they get delivered. The chicken is always crispy though.”
“What sides do you usually get?”
“Potato salad and corn fritters.”
Her eyebrows inched closer together. “What’s a corn fritter?”
“Sweet corn that’s fried into a little ball of fucking awesomeness.”