CON MAN

by T. Torrest

  “Pas d’excuses!” Sabrina would always admonish. “Just try again.”

  I was proud that I’d found Ainsley a “proper ballroom dress,” and the long, blue velvet was swishing around her ankles with every step. Her hair was loose and hanging over her shoulders, the golden waves bobbing in time with the music.

  She almost looked too beautiful.

  I couldn’t take it any longer.

  I walked over to the both of them and tapped Sabrina on the shoulder. “May I cut in?” I asked.

  Miss Sabrina didn’t look surprised so much as put out. “Non. Too much work left to do.”

  Was she really going to let me just stand here like a spurned dope in the middle of the dance floor?

  I kept the annoyance out of my voice to ask again. “S’il vous plaît, belle dame...”

  My old dance teacher was no match for a compliment. But even though we both knew I’d won her over, she sighed and waggled a chastising finger at me. “D’accord,” she responded with a bit of irritation. “Bien. But of course. I suppose I could use a cup of café.” She relinquished her beleaguered partner’s hands and I stepped into place, but not without a final warning. “Confiance, Mademoiselle Carrington. Respirer!” With that, she waved her palms in front of her torso and took a huge breath. “Remember to breathe!”

  And then she turned on her heels and stalked off.

  I shook my head at her retreating form before holding my hand out to Ainsley. “Shall we?” I asked.

  Ainsley responded by slipping one of her palms into mine and dipping into a corny half-curtsey. “Oui, monsieur! Bien! Respirer!”

  I chuckled as I pulled her into my arms and lightly spun her around the dance floor. “I think I could get used to you speaking French.”

  “Interesting. Because I don’t think I want to hear anyone speaking French ever again.”

  I chuckled, amused at the mutinous tone in her voice. Ainsley was certainly in rare form today. It was a nice change from her usual reserved personality. It was great to see her finally having some fun with this whole thing. Hell, it was great that I was having fun.

  We were posed in a standard box-frame, but still close enough that I could smell her. I mentally thanked my father for the years of dancing lessons, because I was able to keep step on auto-pilot while still drinking her in. Despite the abuse she’d been subjected to for the past two hours, Ainsley looked elated. Her smile was dazzling, her cheeks were flushed, her sparkling blue eyes were... pointed toward the floor.

  “Stop looking at your feet. Look at me.”

  Ainsley raised her head tentatively, meeting my gaze with what could only be described as annoyed curiosity. I had to stop myself from laughing.

  “Okay, good. Now let me see that smile again.”

  “Hey, lady expert,” she snarked. “Don’t you realize how much a woman hates it when she’s told to smile?”

  That time, I did laugh. “I have a feeling Miss Sabrina’s bluntness is rubbing off on you.” Ainsley had never challenged me so fervently before. “Maybe take it down a notch, yeah?”

  The lightened mood allowed Ainsley to continue with her goading. “You sure are bossy today.”

  “Sorry. I guess Miss Sabrina is rubbing off on both of us.” I quirked an accusing brow at her which made her giggle.

  “Besides,” she said, “I think I’m doing a pretty good job anyway. Don’t you?”

  “That I do.” Before she could bask in my praise, I added, “But you could be the best dancer in the world. It doesn’t count unless you can sell the attitude to go with it.”

  I guess she didn’t find my backhanded compliment very flattering because she gave a huff and said, “Trust me, I’m starting to develop an attitude about this whole thing!”

  I missed a step as I chuckled. Whether Sabrina was responsible or not, Ainsley had apparently begun to cultivate a bit of a rebellious streak. I liked it. I corrected our movements and elaborated on my point. “A man just asked you to dance. You should be acting as though there’s no way he wouldn’t have. No surprise, no eagerness. You need to play it cool. Gracious. Untouchable. Hard to get.”

  “You expect me to convey all that and still remember the steps?”

  “Yes. More importantly, you should expect it from yourself.”

  I don’t know what well of confidence Ainsey drew from, but there was a noticeable change to the expression on her face. Her lips quirked into the tiniest hint of a knowing smile as her eyelids relaxed, offering an artless seduction which almost knocked me off my feet.

  Respirer.

  I wanted to commend her efforts, but I didn’t want to scare that look off her face. I was enjoying it too much. “Trés bon,” I offered diplomatically, returning her flirtatious smile with my own.

  Ignoring my lurching stomach, I continued to twirl Ainsley around the dance floor.

  I was drawn to the curve of her lips—getting lost in them, if I’m going to be honest—and wondering what they would feel like against my own. Probably soft. Probably perfect. Heated breaths exchanging as I ran my fingertips across the smooth skin of her nape. I bet she’d taste as sweet as her flowery perfume.

  Thank God we had a few inches between us because I had a raging hard-on from the thought. It was the first time in my four years at this job that I found myself grappling with my conscience.

  Sure, there were a few ladies that I turned into fine-looking women. But by the time the program was finished, they were ready to try out their newfound confidence on the guy that they’d had their eye on before coming to me. It’s why they enrolled in my course in the first place. The story was always the same: They were into some guy who wasn’t into them. They needed me to teach them how to change that situation. And I did. In two short months, I transformed them into self-assured man-killers. Social. Beautiful.

  Ainsley was different, however. She was already beautiful, so I had a full eight weeks to soak her in. But I had made the decision that absolutely nothing would happen between us until we were through working together, and I planned on sticking to it. She came to me for help, and help her I would, even if it killed me first. I owed her that.

  Didn’t mean I had to be happy about it, however.

  I spun her out and reeled her back in, causing Ainsley’s mysterious smile to turn into a full giggle.

  Considering I’d just reinforced my vow to remain hands-off, the sight of her elated face was more frustrating than encouraging. Because of that, my voice was overly sharp as I directed, “Stop mooning at me. You’re supposed to be playing hard-to-get, remember?”

  Ainsley’s smile was gone, replaced with a forthright glare. “And when did I ever give you the impression I wasn’t?”

  Maybe this assignment was going to kill me sooner than I thought.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  For Mia’s and my next exercise session, I let her drag me to a Zumba class. I figured it could count toward dancing lessons, because I knew damn well she’d give me a hard time about going to Sabrina’s.

  I was also trying to make amends for being such a horse’s ass the other day, for assuming all my clients wanted the same thing. It’s just that it was my experience that women wanted to be pretty. And feeling pretty, up until now, was always largely based around body weight.

  But the thing was, Mia was already pretty. Maybe she wasn’t typically “hot,” but her self-image kind of compensated for that. It was refreshing, if I’m going to be honest. She knew what her body was capable of and seemed to be perfectly comfortable in the skin she was in.

  And holy shit could she move.

  I’d commandeered a chair in the back corner of the room. My original plan was to watch Mia for a few minutes and then hit the machines for my own workout. No reason to waste good gym time. But instead, I became mesmerized by Mia’s dancing. I ended up staying for the whole session.

  Every woman in that studio was working it, but Mia was owning that class. She swiveled her hips in time with the salsa beat, her hands and f
eet snapping in perfect choreography. Her moves were elegant and dirty and sexy and real. I couldn’t get over it. This chick was born to dance.

  When the class was through, Mia came over to me looking sweaty and elated. I tossed her a towel, giving her a wide-eyed, “Wow.”

  Her face broke into an exuberant grin as she answered in a breathless, “Told ya.”

  “No. You showed me. You looked incredible out there. Really, Mia. Not only that, you made it look fun.”

  “Well, maybe next time, you can join in and we can have fun together.” Her eyes stayed on mine a beat too long, but before I could fully register it, she looked away.

  “Hey. Why don’t you shower up and get dressed. We still have an assignment on the schedule to get to.”

  She gave me a casual salute as she answered. “Yes sir.”

  * * *

  It took us about an hour to make it out to Sleepy Hollow. Perfect timing. The sun had just set, casting an orange haze over the treetops and bathing the streets in shadow.

  We parked in the gravel-and-dirt lot of Horseman’s Acres, a real live produce farm located on the edge of Westchester County. Mia stepped out of the car and looked around at the rows of corn, the small petting zoo, the surrounding woods. “For the life of me, I can’t imagine why you hauled me all the way out to a farm,” she scathed.

  “You’ll find out soon enough,” I shot back.

  I led her to the large red barn on the far end of the lot. Inside was an active market—shelves along the walls stocked with homemade pies and jams, rows of tables filled with baskets of all the vegetables grown right here on the farm.

  “There are about three hundred farmer’s markets every weekend in the city. What’s so special about this one?” she asked.

  I couldn’t help but smile as I answered, “This one has a haunted forest.”

  Seeing as it was barely September, the timing was a bit early for a creepy hike through the woods. But this town was made famous solely due to spooky shit. They celebrated Halloween year round.

  “A haunted forest?” she asked through a curled lip. “Are you serious?”

  “It’s Trust Week, Cruz.”

  “So?”

  “So, you agreed to this. You signed the contracts. That means you’re going to have to trust me, trust yourself. Even beyond Week Three. Remember?”

  She let out with a quick burst of air. “Fine.”

  We made our way to the front counter and bought our tickets. The pimply-faced teenager behind the counter advised us to, “Go out the side door and just follow the orange arrows into the woods. They’ll keep you on the trail.”

  As we walked away, Mia squished herself against my side with a sarcastic, “Oooh this is soooo scary. Nothing says horror like fluorescent orange arrows.”

  “Stop being such a buzzkill, Cruz. I’ve been to this thing before. It’s no joke.”

  “Are you scared?” she asked on a disbelieving laugh. “Big strong man like you afraid of a little—”

  Just then, Michael Myers stepped out from behind a tree causing Mia to jump a mile.

  “Cabron!”

  I squeezed her hand a little tighter, trying not to bust out laughing at her reaction. “I thought you didn’t scare easily.”

  “He caught me by surprise. That’s all.”

  “Oh, is that all?”

  I navigated us around the machete-wielding maniac and got us back on the path just in time to see the zombies creeping out from behind the trees. They surrounded us from all directions—jaws slacking, feet dragging—and while Mia would surely deny it, I felt her pressing closer against my side.

  It’s hard to keep your cool when you’re shitting a brick.

  We darted around the zombies and into the pitch black of the woods. The piped-in background noises got louder the deeper we ventured along the trail; howling, scratching sounds that made the hair on the back of my neck stand up.

  We came to a “dead guy” hanging from a tree, his bowels spilling onto the ground where a ratty-haired, dirty woman was scooping them into her mouth.

  “Okay, that’s not scary. That’s just gross.”

  Mia spoke too soon, because suddenly, a chainsaw buzzed loudly as Leatherface jumped out at us. That was enough to spook her properly. She grabbed my hand and we ran down the path into a little clearing... which was of course set up to look like a cemetery. We slowed down some once the ground became squishy under our feet. It felt like the earth was opening up underneath us and trying to suck us in.

  Mia was hopping from one foot to the other as she let out with what was undoubtedly a string of curse words. “Vete par carajo tu madre es en puta!”

  Man, she was really bugging out. “Mia! It’s okay! Look, it’s just a bunch of mattresses underneath some dirt and leaves. That’s why it feels like you’re sinking.”

  She attempted to catch her breath, and forced a nervous chuckle as if everything were fine. I knew that logically, she was aware that this was all fake. But if she said she wasn’t freaked out, she’d be lying. “Just get me the hell out of here, okay?”

  I couldn’t help but chuckle. “Okay, okay.”

  She pointed out the orange arrows with one hand while holding onto my arm for dear life with the other. She calmed down some as we walked. Always on edge, but able to keep from jumping at every sound coming from the trees.

  All was well, until we saw... The Clown.

  He was standing ominously at the end of the path. A bloody-faced, sharp-toothed clown holding an ax. There was nowhere else for us to go but forward.

  “Que. Carajo.”

  Even I knew she was asking What the fuck. “We have to walk by him to get out of here.”

  “No we don’t!”

  “Well, we could always go back the way we came.”

  “Not a chance!”

  She was laughing, and we both knew the scary clown was nothing more than some college kid in a costume, but yeah. It was still creepy.

  As we walked closer—slowly—the clown just stood there—watching us—as a litany of whispered Spanish prayers slipped from my companion.

  Finally, I cut her off when I asked, “Wanna make a run for it?”

  “No. Yes. Padre santo que estas en los sellos ayuda me.”

  I pulled Mia tightly against my side, took a deep breath, and we went for it. The clown made a final lunge for us and only managed to clip my sleeve, but Mia screamed anyway. We were cracking up laughing as we sprinted the last few steps out of the woods, winding up back in the field in front of the barn. With the bright lights and people milling about, it was easy for her to shake off the last of her fear.

  “I totally hate you for making me do that!” she chastised, smacking my arm.

  “Fine. Hate me all you want. But the fact is, as scared as you were, you did it anyway. That’s what I like to refer to as bravery.”

  “Vete a la mierda, cara culpa.”

  “I’m afraid to ask.”

  “I told you to fuck off.” She looked rather proud of herself as she added, “And then I called you an ass face.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Jared and I had become pretty close throughout this adventure. I didn’t get too many male clients as it was, but I’d never had one that I related to so much. Kinda sucked that he lived all the way out in Ohio, because our association had all the markings of turning into an epic friendship.

  I’ve already told you that I didn’t have many friends growing up. And believe me, I’m more than willing to take responsibility for that; the situation was of my own making. Hell, even as an adult I found it really hard to let anyone in. I guess when you’ve spent years trying to overcome the loser inside, you can sometimes forget that you’re not one.

  But it was hard to keep my walls up around Jared. He was just a genuinely nice guy. There was no artifice there, no ulterior motive. He just wanted to be the best version of himself and assumed everyone around him was already without flaw. It made me want to live up to his high opinio
n. I suppose that’s what drew people to him. It was easy to be friends with someone who already liked you.

  We had a meeting at Toastmasters later in the day, so we decided to kill our wait time by heading over to the driving range out in Jersey to hit some golf balls. We set up in two adjacent stalls and left each other to work on our swings.

  It was unusual for us to spend so much time together without talking, but then again, I wasn’t exactly feeling like my usual self. I didn’t get much sleep last night. Even my newly effective, tried-and-true relaxation exercises were proving no match for my overactive mind. My thoughts had been plagued with a crisis of conscience, and I spent the better part of the early morning hours trying to work it out. I wasn’t having much luck, and my brain didn’t have much room left to concentrate on the task at hand.

  Needless to say, my game had seen better days.

  “What’s the problem today? You seem distracted.”

  Jared’s observation broke through my musing. I tried to play it cool as I teed up another ball and asked, “Oh yeah?”

  “Yeah. You’re not normally this quiet. Everything okay?”

  “No.”

  When I was met with Jared’s patient glare, I decided to just confess. I swiped a hand through my hair and took a deep breath. “I think I’m falling in love with one of my clients.”

  It was the first time I’d allowed myself to put my feelings in just such terms before, and saying it out loud only confirmed what I feared to be true.

  “It’s not me, is it?” he asked, completely whiffing on his swing.

  “You’re pretty damn cute, but no,” I answered, laughing.

  Jared took another chop at the ball before asking, “Just so I’m clear, we are talking about Mia, right?”

  That stopped me in my tracks. “What? No!” Why the hell would he think that? Mia and I had gotten pretty friendly lately, but friend was all she’d ever be. “No, I meant Ainsley.”