Page 98 of Trailer Trash

Meanwhile, I’m the mess.

Because I’ve fallen for Killian.

Toxicity and all.

Time isn’t changing my feelings. There are so many moments I have to stop myself from touching him. When he sleeps on the sofa, I want to pet him again. I even get closer, hoping he’ll rest his head on my lap. Sometimes I watch him, wishing he were holding me. I linger in his eyes whenever he smiles, praying he’ll see how much I want more. I hate when he dresses nicely or puts on cologne. It makes me wonder what girls he saw that day. After all, his texting addiction is worsening. It must be a woman. He’s simply being kind by not bringing her up.

I don’t ask, though. He never asks me about guys. Not anymore. And that part... it hurts the most.

I love him.

There’s no question about it.

I’m in love with my patient, and it’s all my fault.

26

Harlow

The dance studio is nice. It looks new. The cars in the parking lot are high end and the people filtering inside look like this isn’t a hobby — it’s a career.

I wander into the lobby, feeling lost. Nobody is at the front desk. People of all ages file down the halls, turning into different classrooms. I glance inside the windows as I pass. Instructors lead various types of dance and the students look about the same ages. At the end of the hall, I finally come upon Killian.

There are four young-adult students, but it’s the second instructor who makes me do a double take.

Frida, his ex. Why would he work with her?

He wears all black and holds his chin as he studies a pair doing what looks like complicated footwork. Suddenly, the woman slides onto the hardwood floor and is dragged by her partner.

Killian shakes his head. Frida is already at his side. She slides into position and he demonstrates the move they just did, but far better. I never pictured Killian being able to do this kind of dancing. I thought he was too spoiled to apply himself to anything.

And with Frida at his side, they are beautiful together. The lines of their bodies flow with one another beautifully.

It’s rare I look in the mirror and compare myself to another woman. Especially a woman as different as Frida. She has subtle curves, and they’re a perfect hourglass. I have an ass that pulls attention even when I wish it didn’t. I can’t just cover it up with something baggy. She’s much more slender, too. Her arms are so graceful when she moves.

I squint, just now realizing my upper arms are much thicker than I thought. And maybe worse... am I really that short?

Killian and me doing this dance would look absolutely ridiculous.

My chest tightens as a sense of unease sinks in. It’s moments like this I remember how different we are.

The song ends, and students clap. He helps Frida stand before dipping her playfully.

I hold my breath and step inside the classroom. The door shuts behind me with a loud thud. I flinch hard. Everyone looks over. Killian’s face lights up, and he literally drops Frida on the floor.

“Killian! Ow!” she belts out.

“Oops, sorry,” he says without sincerity and jogs toward me.

I cover my mouth to hide my smile.

Freaking Killian.

“You’re here,” he says, astonished.

“I am. What dance was that?”

“Paso Doble. This is the advanced Latin ballroom class.”