What They Didn't Know

Chapter 7

Chase's POV

Our theatre class met in the auditorium three times a week. I found myself skipping lunch and arriving early each day just so I could see Bethany perform.

I was enamored with her. I couldn't help myself. I needed to watch her and that was all there was to it.

After a few weeks of this, I was surprised to arrive one day and find the stage empty. Disappointed, I fell into the nearest chair like a boy whose puppy had been kicked.

"Are you ok?" A small voice startled me from behind. "You look like you just lost your best friend."

"Close," I replied to myself out loud and without conscious thought as I stood up to turn around and see her.

"I'm sorry," she said frowning while worrying her water bottle top with her clear-coated fingernails. They were short but well-groomed. Her hands were small but her fingers were long and graceful just like the rest of her. I looked her up and down, taking in the new black shoes she wore. They matched her leotard and the lace skirt she had wrapped around her waist. They were offset by her blood-red tights.

Shaking my head, I came out of my trance. "I'm sorry," I replied sticking my hand out to shake hers. "I'm Chase. I have theatre class in here in a few minutes."

Sucking her bottom lip into the corner of her mouth, Bethany tucked her chin down and then looked up with a gleam in her eyes. "I'm Bethany."

"I know," I sighed before I could catch myself.

"You do?" she asked, surprised and suddenly weary. "Have we met before? I'm sorry. I don't remember your name-" On alert for some reason, she became fidgety, glancing over her shoulder and around the room nervously.

Reverting to my old habits, I ran my hand through my hair and then cursed at my slip of the tongue. Like a young school boy, I blushed before answering. "Professor Simon mentioned your name the first time we came in with our class." When my voice cracked on the end of my sentence, I could have crawled under the chairs at our hip.

Relaxing, Bethany widened her beautiful doe eyes and pursed her lips into the word, "Oh." She never said it out loud and I could see her trying to hide her small grin.

Taking a sip of her water with one hand, she touched the tight-spun bun of hair on the back of her head with the other. She peeked around the room again, and not seeing anyone, met my eyes. I think she was as intimidated as I was. "I noticed you here a couple of times while I was practicing," She whispered, before looking away and running the fingers of her right hand across the back of a nearby chair.

"You did?" I asked insecurely. Damn, I had tried to be discreet. I thought maybe she couldn't see me, what with the lights shining on her on stage and all. I had heard it was difficult for performers to look out into the audience.

"I hadn't realized," I stammered. "I mean, I hope I didn't bother you; throw you off or something. I only-"

"No, no," she replied hastily. "Nothing like that. It's only, well..."

"What?" I asked.

"Would you like to go to Caro's with me tomorrow after class?" she whispered conspiratorly. "I haven't had ice cream in months. I'm dying for some. And, if you're free, we could go together."

Like a simpleton, I flashed her a toothy smile and nodded my head automatically. "Ok."

"Ok?" she looked up in surprise. "You will? Oh. Yeah! Ok, see you here at four. We can walk over together, if that's alright with you," she added quickly.

"Sounds great."

And like usual she was gone in a blink of satin and lace before I could get my feet under myself to stop her.

As I pondered my good fortune, I caught movement out of the corner of my eye. A large, formidable man stood in the shadows at the back of the theatre. He moved in stealth mode, never making a sound. His attention had been divided between Bethany and I. And though I couldn't see who he was, I didn't miss what he wore. The skin screamed out to me and I wondered what club he belonged to. Instantly on alert, I couldn't help the alarming feeling from forming in the pit of my stomach; he was here with Bethany.

What the hell?