“And that’s bad because…?”
I banged my skull against the headboard. “Because she doesn’t know about the deal. She doesn’t know her dad basically paid me to hang out with her.”
Chase flinched. “Yeah, that’s not good.”
“No shit.” I closed my eyes and hit my head against the wall a few more times, hoping it’d knock an answer loose. “Being honest is a big deal with her, and I’ve had two weeks to come clean and haven’t. I’ve already blown it. Now we’re together, and I know the second she finds out the truth, she’ll be out the door.”
Silence fell. Which, considering who my best friend was and the truth bomb I’d tossed at his feet, wasn’t a good sign. Wary, I lifted my head, and he gave me a pensive look.
“I’m not gonna lie,” he said, scratching his ear. “When you told me you were with Lily, I didn’t get it. Not because she’s not great. It’s just, one minute you’re claiming to be the next Dalai Lama, then the next, you’re going out with Iron Stomach. It didn’t make sense. But then I stopped and thought about it. Lily’s cool, man. She’s not like the usual girls you hook up with. And you, you’re different with her. I’m just saying, if you tell her the truth, she might understand.”
“That’s the thing,” I told him, frustrated. “She is different. She’s too good for me. Flip the script, she never would’ve taken the money, and believe me, I’ve thought about giving it back. But my parents are struggling. After seeing the desperation in Ma’s eyes tonight, I can’t do that. Not when the studio’s hanging by a thread, and not without another way to bring in extra cash.” My breathing spiked, and my shoulders rose and fell with an almost desperate need for oxygen. I’d never felt more trapped in my life. “I also considered telling Lily about the deal, hoping she could see past the secrets and understand, but I can’t do that, either. I shook her dad’s hand and gave my word that I wouldn’t. Honestly, though? It’s more than that.”
I sat up, and Chase stopped twirling the loose string around his finger.
“You say she might understand…but what if she doesn’t? What if she thinks the only reason I’m with her now is because I was paid to be?”
My head started to pound, and it felt like a two-ton elephant was sitting on my chest. I stared at my dark blue comforter and quietly admitted, “I know I don’t deserve her, but I’ve never felt this way before. If I tell her the truth, and she doesn’t hear me out, or she doesn’t understand, she’ll bail. She’ll get angry that I kept it from her and quit the lessons…quit me…and that’ll be it.”
I raised my eyes again. “But maybe…maybe if I wait another month, let the agreement run its course and get past the showcase, I can find another way to get my parents the money. And I can use the extra time to prove I genuinely care about her. That it’s not just her dad or the money keeping us together.”
Chase tightened his mouth in a wince. “I don’t know, man. I get that you’re in a tough spot, and I don’t envy you. But I’ve got to say, I think waiting any longer is gonna bite you in the ass.”
“You might be right,” I acknowledged thickly. “But I’m praying like hell you’re not.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Lily
Twinkle lights wrapped around a black-painted column reflected off hardwood like a spotlight. Even though the studio was relatively empty, and no one was here other than Marcus in the back office and Angéla at the front desk, it felt like a crowd was watching us rehearse. Waiting for me to mess up. Cheering when I didn’t. It was the good kind of stressful and exciting—a strange combination that was quickly becoming addictive, fueling my adrenaline.
“Why don’t we start again from the top?”
I blew out a breath and nodded. Mrs. Viktória smiled, then headed to the stereo system in the corner to start our music over. It wasn’t the actual song we’d use for the performance—she’d yet to tell us what she’d chosen but was dangling it over our heads like a juicy carrot. We’d learn that crucial detail after we went through the choreography one more time. So far, we’d used a variety of stand-ins, “auditioning them” over the last week and a half, and I’d discovered whatever the choice, the rhythmic mix of drums and horns always spiked my energy.
As I took my place across from Stone, a bright pink poster over his shoulder caught my eye. The signs announcing the showcase followed me everywhere, as if I could possibly forget it was approaching like a freight train…or that the studio’s livelihood seemed pinned to this one night going well.
It wasn’t just the studio. The entire town was plastered with posters. Bulletin boards at grocery stores, front windows of restaurants, they were even in the cafeteria and on lockers at school, courtesy of Cameron, who was inviting everyone to watch her in the all-ladies burlesque-style routine. With each flier I passed, I reminded myself that it was for the greater good. What it wasn’t good for, however, was my nerves.
Every time I imagined a packed auditorium, the “good kind of stress” transformed into a hint of the yucky.
The music started, “Muevete” by DLG, whisking away my quivery stomach as a smile broke free. It was impossible to hold onto fear when the familiar beat worked its way through my body. This was the first song I’d ever danced to with Stone. Almost four weeks ago, I’d walked through the doors prepared to throw the lesson and get my life back on track.
That day seemed like a lifetime ago.
“Are you ready?” he asked me now, his hand squeezing mine in time to the count.
I bobbed my head with the music, clearing it as I found the beat. When the only thing remaining was the exciting feel of his arms and the electric sound of the horns, I exhaled and said, “Let’s do it.”
Stone grinned…and then the world slipped away.
The first salsa basic transitioned into a cross-body lead, followed immediately by open breaks and a hook turn. After another basic, Stone wrapped me in a cradle, then rocked me back into a second series of the same steps, only this time trailed by a double turn.
As he spun me out, his eyebrows wiggling suggestively, I swallowed back a giddy laugh. The turns were my favorite part. I’d suspected with my gangly giraffe legs they’d be what tripped me up the most, but amazingly they weren’t. Spinning around the dance floor in Stone’s arms, watching his famous grin take over or his eyes turn molten with heat, made me feel pretty in a way I’d never felt before. Sure, I still stumbled at times and got dizzy. Occasionally, I’d take too long and lose the beat. But when I turned off my brain and truly let myself go, the turns were surprisingly fun.
Besides, those times when I did mess up, Stone was there, too, guiding me and believing in me anyway. And distracting me in the best way possible with those sexy Magic Mike hips.
Honestly, the entire routine was a blast. For the most part, we stuck to beginner moves, adding stylization when and where we could, making it our own, and other than sporadically stepping ahead of the beat, and once stepping on Stone’s poor feet, I only really struggled with the short section of fast, intense, multiple spins toward the end.
Well, that and the final move, of course. But that was plain ridiculous.
As the third hammerlock turn came to an end, my chest grew tight. Knowing what was coming, my body started cringing away, like it could somehow protect me by revolt. Or, more accurately, like it could protect Stone.
The pretzel-like double turn signaled the ending of the choreography, and as I ducked under his sure, steady hands to complete the combination, my breathing spiked, and my own hands grew slick with sweat.
This was the part I loathed.
What made it worse was that I only had myself to blame. Calling attention to that World Championship ending at the barbecue had been a classic rookie mistake. Of course, Mrs. Viktória had added it to our routine, if for no other reason than to prove I could do it.
The problem was I couldn’t. So far, I’d failed spectacularly. Every. Single. Time.
Stone’s chocolate eyes locked on mine, making
my pulse race as he spun me out, then sent me into a back rock. Squatting low, he held my right hand firmly in his left and nodded encouragingly.
“You’ve got it,” he urged me on, the confidence in his voice making me want to believe he was right. That this time I could nail it.
I took a deep breath, then stepped up onto his rock-hard thigh with my right foot—
And kicked him square in the head with my left.
“Fu—” Biting back a curse, Stone dropped my hand to clutch his battered head, and I jumped to the ground, covering my mouth.
“I’m sorry!”
My apology was muffled, but I knew he understood because I’d been repeating the same phrase like a high-strung parrot ever since Mrs. Viktória first presented the crazy idea last Wednesday.
“I told you I can’t do this.”
Every stinking time I climbed over Stone’s broad shoulders, I was so terrified of kicking him in the head…that half the time, it’s exactly what I did. It was a horrible, embarrassing self-fulfilling prophecy I couldn’t stop no matter how hard I tried.
How many times did a girl have to kick a guy in the face before he dumped her?
If it was less than twenty, I was living on borrowed time.
The few times I hadn’t kicked my boyfriend of twelve whole days during the straddle hold, I’d gotten off balance when he pivoted me around for the final dip. That had led to me falling and clipping him in the throat while I went down. Not much better.
Twice I’d almost actually gotten it right, but both times were shaky at best, and they were done when we were only working on the one move, never as part of the whole routine. Today was our third session since Mrs. Viktória’s announcement, our second Wednesday-night lesson, and Stone and his mom had developed their own parrotlike habit of saying I’d get it in time. That we had four more lessons to nail it.
All I heard was I had four more chances to kick my boyfriend in the head multiple times a night. And four more chances for him to finally have enough and give me the boot.
At the sharp click of heels, I spun to face Mrs. Viktória. Her smile was easy, full of understanding as she waved a hand in the air. “The ending will come, dear, do not fret. I have every confidence.”
“That makes one of us,” I replied, glancing back at Stone. As it was, the poor guy wasn’t stoked about outing himself as a dancer in front of the town, and here he was dealing with girlfriend abuse. I winced, watching him rub his head, but he gave me a smile regardless, showing he still believed in me. Sweet, delusional man.
“Now, would you like to know the song I have chosen for your performance?”
My head snapped forward. If anything could knock me out of self-pity, it was that. Although she’d teased us ever since she’d taken over my lessons, she’d never given more than a few hints. I might not have been a natural dancer like Angéla, or a Channing Tatum doppelganger like Stone, but even I knew song choice was key. The right song could make or break a performance. Angéla had told me the same moves could be interpreted differently depending on a song’s lyrics, its mood, and its theme.
Mrs. Viktória’s green eyes grew wide with excitement. “You will be dancing to…” She paused dramatically, drawing out the suspense, and Stone beat a drumroll on his thighs… “A salsa remix of ‘Shape of You’! The remix has the same lyrics as the Ed Sheeran version, but it’s youthful and edgy, and also a bit sexy.” She wiggled her shoulders playfully. “It’ll be the perfect complement to the routine—and to the two hotties dancing it!”
I snorted. Loudly. I mean, I understood her wanting to hype us up for the showcase, and I could even see where, sure, a youthful, edgy song and dance would draw in a different clientele than the norm. Different clientele equaled fresh blood and new money pouring into Ilusiòn.
But I was hung up on one key word.
“Sexy?” I huffed a laugh, then fanned my face, blowing a puff of air up at my bangs. “Uh, yeah…I’m not gonna pull that off. I can barely pull off cute, and even that’s a stretch. Youthful, hey, I’ve got that by age. Fun, eh, I can manage. Edgy is extremely doubtful, but catch me on a bad day, and maybe. But sexy?” I shook my head. “Mrs. Viktória, you’ve got the wrong girl.”
The press of heat at my back and the hand on my hip put a stop to my rambling. “Trust me, Red,” a voice said, low and rough against my ear. I inhaled the scent of wintergreen, and my stomach dipped. “You’re sexy.”
Stone tugged me around until I faced him, then he lifted my stubborn chin with his finger. “But that’s in the eye of the beholder. What you need to focus on is fire. The inner desire to kick ass and take names. That’s you to a T, pretty girl. You’re fierce.”
His grin was slow and deliberate, diffusing my rising jitters as more primal urges took hold. The guy was shameless. He could flirt the peanuts out of my M&M’s and they’d still be delicious. But I was too far gone to care.
Quirking my lips, I poked his chest with a finger. “I see what you’re doing, QB. You think by turning that unicorn-sneezing-rainbows smile on me I’m gonna get all twitterpated and forget to be nervous.”
“My unicorn what?” The flirtatious grin transformed into a full-on smile with teeth and dimples and eyes all crinkly. Stone shook his head and pressed a chuckling kiss against my forehead. “Twitterpated? Damn, girl. My life was boring as hell before you came around, you know that?”
Warm breath coasted across my skin as he released a small, happy sigh, and in spite of my looming embarrassment—and the sheer certainty I’d look like a fool in front of half the town in my attempt to be sexy—I was filled to bursting with giddiness.
A throat delicately cleared behind me, and I blushed. Looking over my shoulder, I saw Mrs. Viktória fighting a smile. “We have fifteen minutes left for today’s lesson,” she said, shooting me a wink. “I think we should use that time to fine-tune the Cuban motion. It is vital to salsa, or any Latin dance, and I think it will help you find your inner siren.”
“I’m not sure that’s possible,” I told her with a resigned sigh, “but I’m willing to try anything. Especially if it keeps me from kicking Stone in the head again today.”
She laughed and clapped. “Excellent. Then let’s move to the mirrors, shall we?”
Correction: I was willing to try anything that kept me from kicking Stone in the head and didn’t involve watching myself in a mirror. I’d always been my own worst critic. I’d made an art form out of avoiding the huge shiny things mounted on the wall the last month, not wanting to pick apart my every movement, and I saw zero reason to stop the practice now.
Eyes wide with horror, I let Stone take my hand. Linking our fingers, he grazed his thumb over my palm, shooting delicious tingles up my arm, then led me to the shiny, reflective surfaces. Staring into the spotless glass, I ignored the flutters tightening my belly and avoided looking at myself by reading the words scrawled in black marker along the top: Dance like no one is watching…because they’re not. They’re checking their phones.
“Balance is key to the Cuban motion,” Mrs. Viktória instructed, diving right in with the exercise. She hit play on the stereo, and the salsa remix of “Shape of You” began floating through the room. She lowered the volume, allowing us to get familiar with the beat while still listening to her direction.
“It is different from how we naturally move. If you didn’t grow up in martial arts or dance, when you stop walking, both of your feet are flat on the floor. But we’re looking for a step more like a horse waiting for his rider. Weight on one foot with the other poised to move.”
Standing next to me, she demonstrated the step, meeting my eyes in the mirror.
“It’s about rolling your feet, transferring weight. Criss-crossing your knees. The motion is hip, then foot, then weight, bending and straightening your knee. The hip rotating is what leads the movement, not the foot.”
Sweat trickled down my spine while I tried to replicate the step, alternating my hips and knees. I felt ridiculous, like a gracele
ss hack, straightening one knee while bending the other, moving one hip up and the other down. Talk about sexy. Here I’d been thinking I’d finally gotten a good grip on the basic move, only to find out I looked like a stiff, uncooked spaghetti noodle.
Stone must’ve seen my face, because suddenly he was standing beside me. “Can I make a suggestion?”
Wincing, I untucked my hair from behind my ear. “Uh, yeah. Of course.”
Brow furrowed, he reached out and, holding my gaze, slipped my glasses from my face. The world instantly went blurry, but not enough that I couldn’t still see the thoughtful look on his face. “Try this. Think of it as an extension of the exercise where you kept your eyes closed. Stop focusing so much on what you’re doing wrong and feel the music. Trust your body to get it right. You know the steps.”
It was on the tip of my tongue to argue that this was a mirror drill and I couldn’t do it if I couldn’t see—but, when I glanced at my reflection, I realized that wasn’t true. I could still see my body. I could still see the movement of my leg and Mrs. Viktória watching with a pleased expression. What I couldn’t see was every precise nuance, every tiny inflection. The view was distorted just enough to lose the sharp, unforgiving edges.
The music started over, and I mimicked Mrs. Viktória again, this time also trusting my body. As I gave in to the rhythm, the motion became more fluid. Without my glasses, it was as if the pressure was somehow off, and I sank further into the movement. And the further I sank, the more confident I became.
The song continued to weave its magic, and somewhere along the way, I forgot to be embarrassed. In truth, it could’ve been my blurry reflection, or the steps themselves, or knowing Stone was watching, but as I got more and more comfortable with the motion, a pink stain began warming my cheeks.
I had to admit, I felt…sensual.
“When you step, use the inside edge of your foot, then roll your weight. The heel simply kisses the floor, then you push off into the next step. Straighten your knee, and your hip rolls back. Yes! That’s it! Beautiful!”
Eyes on Me Page 21
