“I’m mostly anxious about dying at this point,” Mallory says between clenched teeth as I shift gears, and we jolt forward again. “And you.” She turns her head to look at me, and I see her glower in my periphery. “You should be worried about me killing you. What the heck was that hand-on-the-back business back there?”
“Oh, come on. I have to make it look like I’m into you.”
“That’s not what we agreed to. And why am I still here? I thought you were going to send me home night one?”
“That would have probably made my life easier, wouldn’t it have?”
“You think?”
I huff out a laugh. “I don’t know. I think it’s kind of nice to have an ally on the front lines.”
“AndI’myour ally, Bradley?”
“Aren’t you?” I challenge. “You’re my coach. You have my back. Clearly, I was…rattled on night one.” The burn of shame floods my cheeks, but I clear my throat and plow forward. “Thanks, by the way, for talking me through it.”
I want to forget the whole situation happened, and I’m hoping Mallory does too, because it’s making my skin itch to rememberhow vulnerable I was, and how she saw it. But I need to acknowledge what happened, and this is my chance without the cameras and the microphones.
“It won’t happen again.” I glance to my right when I feel her gaze on my cheek.
“It’s okay. It was actually kind of…nice.”
“You think me having a panic attack was nice? Gee, thanks.”
“That’s not what I meant.” She shakes her head and then shifts her jaw before continuing. “I just… I never see you without your flashy face on.”
“My flashy face? What are you talking about?”
“You know.” She moves her hand around in a circle in my general direction. “You’re always so jokes-y and confident and suave.”
“You think I’m suave?”
She punches me in the shoulder.
I smirk.
“Forget it. I…you…well, you felt more real in the pantry, that’s all.”
A pang of something ping-pongs around my ribcage. I’ve spent twenty years trying to make sure I don’t show that weaker side of myself to the outside world. I sure as heck don’t want to reveal it to my coach or anyone in my professional sphere. But…Mallory saw it. There’s nothing I can do about that now. And…what?
I glance at her. She’s staring back, her green eyes clear and direct. She’s doesn’t have the look of someone who’s going to lord it over me. She looks…kind. Softer than I’m used to seeing her. She’s so stunning that when I let myself consider it, my mouth goes dry and my hands start sweating. And that pang in my chest? It intensifies in a way that makes me suck in a hard breath.
That’s why I need to keep in mind that she’s my coach, and that’s all she’s ever going to be. I need her to keep coaching me, and I don’t know how to handle this sort of considerate attention from her without melting into a useless mush puddle. I’m used toour banter. I need to get us back there, because vulnerability is not on the menu with this woman.
“Well, anyway.” I have to work to keep my voice light, given the emotions that are laying siege against my insides. “Consider the bouquet handout on night one your thank you from me.”
“Wait.” She narrows her gaze. “You think stringing me along on a dating show is a good way to show your gratitude?”
“Obviously. Look at all the perks!”
“You’re delusional.” She makes a show of glancing around. “I see no perks. Being mic’d up and on camera is my worst nightmare.”
“Oh, come on. It’s not so bad. I thought you’d like it.”
“I will totally be making you pay for this at practice.”
“I love it when you make me pay.” I grin, and she rolls her eyes. This is good. This is a normal Holland-Mallory exchange. “Besides, don’t act like Daisy’s isn’t amazing.”
She sits back in her seat and bites her lip.
