by Unknown
Nate sat back in his seat and hid another smile of satisfaction.
All systems go.
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C H A P T E R F I V E
Dear Divorce Journal,
On this business of sucking it up: I can’t believe I’m doing this. I mean, can’t. But I need an outlet for self- expression because my other outlet’s on the fritz— so here goes. I hate everything.
Every— little— thing. How’s that for an expression in sucking it up, Maxine?
“Oh! Nice, Mr. Ledbetter. Look at you,” Mel praised with a giggle when he managed to dip Mrs. Ledbetter without letting her drop to the ground like he had two weeks ago. “I can’t believe how good you two have gotten. I’m not worthy.”
Mel made a bowing motion to the Ledbetters before circling the rec center fl oor of couples practicing the basic steps to a foxtrot, fi ghting back a yawn. Today had worn her out. Her legs were as heavy as her eyes.
And her ass.
Depression. It had to be. She’d worked long hours at her studio in L. A. There was no excuse for this kind of exhaustion. Not even the swell of “Moon River” lifted her spirits.
A tap on her shoulder from behind made her whirl around to fi nd the movement made her dizzy. She put out two hands to steady herself, planting them on a hard chest.
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Callused hands reached for her, solid and steady and maybe just a little bit exciting. “Mel? You okay?”
Her vision blurred for a moment then cleared. Oh. Look. It was the dance police. The one and only Drew McPhee. It was hard to deny the raw physicality of a man blessed with the best of both worlds from his ethnic background.
If she were in a better place, he might have taken her breath away with his chocolaty hair and bronzed skin. His thick fringe of black eyelashes made his blue eyes almost sapphire. The steel blue of his fi tted shirt, hugging defi ned pecs and falling on a tapered waist, was the perfect complement to offset the tight black jeans.
So instead of lavishing Drew’s beauty with drool, she reminded herself all her breath was reserved for starting her life over. It was going to take a lot of breath.
Mel yanked her hands back and instantly took two steps away, narrowly missing a dancing couple. She found her hand going to the hair she’d never bothered to brush to smooth her fi ngers over it anyway. When in the presence of such chiseled hardness, one should at least be tidy in appearance.
Drew’s hand went to her elbow, and he repeated, “Are you okay?”
“Fine. Just tired. What brings you here tonight? Did you come to your senses and realize real men wear tights?” she asked, folding her arms under her breasts.
His eyes were fi lled with the kind of amusement she imagined only the devil could display. “Absolutely. In fact, I went right out and bought a pair in every color of the rainbow because I never want you to mistake me for anything but a real man.”
Like that would ever happen. “I feel like you’re just shy of grabbing your crotch with that statement.”
“Never let it be said I wouldn’t make the effort upon request.”
“You’ll never hear those words from my lips.”
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“So I suppose I owe you an apology.”
Mel’s eyebrow rose upward in her best disapproving teacher expression. “You suppose?”
“My son said so.”
“Is that similar to your mother making you do it?”
He held his thumb and index fi nger together. “Very, very close.”
“I await.”
Drew rolled his tongue along the inside of his cheek before he spoke. “I was harsh today.”
Mel cocked her head at him, fi ghting the peculiar shiver of awareness his presence sent slithering up her spine and along her arms.
“That doesn’t even rhyme with ‘I’m sorry.’ ”
“Look, Nate is at the school on a partial scholarship. I had no idea he’d do anything other than study to be the rocket scientist he almost already is. I want him to focus on his studies, not learn whatever that dance you said was.”
“It’s the waltz. Own it, and that’s still no excuse for being so rude.”
His grin was playful. “I was rude. The rudest.”
“Well, that’s settled.”
“I’d like to make it up to you.”
Now her grin was playful, and she found, not as uncomfortable as one would think when you felt so disjointed and disinterested. “Do you have cash?”
Drew pulled the wallet from his back pocket and held it open for her to see. “Only two singles and a fi ve.”
Mel waved a hand at him. “Then forget it. I like big bills or haven’t you heard? I was a kept woman.”
He regarded her with eyes that revealed nothing, shoving his wallet back in his pocket. “I heard. How about I make it up to you with a drink or even some coffee?”
Uncomfortable returned in one fell swoop. He was asking her out.
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A man with a crappy attitude about one of the most intimate creative venues in her life was asking her out. She couldn’t go out with someone who felt the way Drew McPhee felt about her one true passion in life.
Was this single? Jesus, what was single? She’d never been single long enough to know. No dates. Not for a long time. “How about we just chalk it up to your lack of knowledge and Stone Age beliefs, and let it go?”
“Here’s the problem with that. I don’t know if I can sleep at night if you don’t let me buy you a cup of coffee. There’s also Nate to consider. He’d be very disappointed if he found out Ms. Cherkasov refused make-up coffee.”
Her eyes turned to avoid his steady gaze and focus on the seniors she was supposed to be teaching to dance. She slowed Mona, Maxine’s mother, and Gail Lumley, who’d both deemed no man in Leisure Village South worthy of a dance partnership with them, to correct Gail’s hand at Mona’s waist as they took another turn around the dance fl oor. “I like a man who uses his son to get his way. Admirable.”
Drew’s shoulder bumped hers when he laughed with ease. “Dirty pool’s the name of the game.”
Her palms grew sweaty when his shoulder touched hers. “I get the impression, with all the guidelines and rules at Westmeyer, dating a student’s father is out of the question.” Good save, Mel.
“I never said a word about dating. That’s the plural use of an event we haven’t even had a singular of.”
Shut up, Mel. She tucked her chin to her chest, praying the stain of red that rushed to her cheeks blended in with her sweater. Mel sidestepped away from the heat of Drew’s body, hoping that would help the breathless, headiness of his presence. “Touché.”
“But you’re right. Westmeyer does have rules about dating stu-9780425245507_WaltzThisWay_TX_p1-344.indd 72
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dents’ parents. Though, seeing as I’m an employee as well as a parent, one has to cancel out the other, don’t you think?”
“You work at Westmeyer?” Was the ruler of the universe on an extended vacation? How was it that such a biased, narrow- minded man who was sexie
r than sin itself would end up being in her immediate vicinity every day?
“Yep. I’m the resident fi x whatever’s broken engineer.”
“Does this mean you’ll be breathing down my neck all the time about the choice of color for Nate’s pending tutu?”
He barked a laugh, deep and hearty. “Hot and heavy.”
“Things to look forward to.”
“So a drink? Coffee?”
Mel’s tongue warred with her teeth in a sluggish refusal. Drew McPhee probably wasn’t used to being turned down. “I don’t think so. I’m still ugly bitter about my divorce and men in general. Which means I might act out in ways uncharacteristic of a lady.”
“Oh, I’m bitter, too. You’re not the only divorced person in the world, you know. In fact, you can believe I’ll act out due to past bad experiences in my relationship with my ex-wife. But I say we should act out together. I’ll be your wingman. You be mine.”
Mel’s irritation sparked at his tenacity— which was ridiculous. It wasn’t like Drew wasn’t crazy good- looking. He was. That’s part of what irritated her.
The fi rst person to ask her out on a date in her post- divorce mel-ancholy should be someone she would have easily turned down and not second- guessed her choice to stay away from in the shallow end of the dating pool. He should be someone with bad breath or dirty fi ngernails— or something that totally turned her off and made him unworthy of a date with her.
But no. Instead, there was a perfectly handsome, virile man asking her out. Mel sighed, unsure how to proceed. She should have 9780425245507_WaltzThisWay_TX_p1-344.indd 73
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read Maxine’s stupid pamphlet with less mockery and taken a more studious approach.
Maxine had an answer for everything in that damned packet of lame euphemisms. Surely, she had one for this, too. “Look, Drew. I appreciate the offer, but I don’t think I’m in a place … that’s … I mean, it’s only been a few months since …”
“Since your messy, ugly, newsworthy divorce?”
“Yeah. Since that. But thanks for summing it up so well. I don’t think I’ve ever heard the words about my divorce spoken so suc-cinctly until you,” she said, allowing her sarcasm to drip with each word.
He shrugged his wide shoulders. The crisp rustle of the fabric of his shirt brushing against his skin rang in her ears. “I’m just calling it like I see it. That’s what happened. It apparently sucked. But it’s over now. You know, all those healthy clichés like shouldn’t you be moving forward and dipping your toes in the dating pool?”
Because? By hell, for sure, the next time she left the house, she was defi nitely bringing Maxine’s stupid guide to divorce with her so she could refer to it when she didn’t know what to say.
Nudging her shoulder with his again, Drew said, “Are you saying you don’t fi nd me attractive and the idea of coffee with me makes vomiting all night long, followed by a case of the hives more ap -
pealing?”
“No.” She paused and pretended to refl ect. “Wait. Maybe.”
He winced, the skin on his brow wrinkling his otherwise smooth features. “Ouch. If I were a less secure guy, I’d be hurt. But just so you know, I’m pretty secure, and you’ll regret the choice not to entertain having coffee with me.” He winked at her, letting dark lashes fall to his cheek.
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the subject, hoping he’d let it drop. “So what brings you here tonight?
You didn’t come all the way over to Leisure Village just to ask me out, did you?” She let her eyes go innocent. Poke, poke, poke. Take that, you arrogant, overbearing ballroom-dancing hater.
His eyes scanned the dance fl oor of milling couples. “I came to pick up Myriam. Where is she anyway? I haven’t seen her fl oat by.”
Mel let her eyes stray back to his face, admiring the sharp angle of his jaw with a hint of stubble. “Myriam’s not here. She was ordered a one- week timeout by the Village committee for using foul language because another senior wouldn’t dance with her.”
“Are you sure?”
“Sure she uses bad language? Uh, yeah. I’m sure. I know it’s wrong, but I secretly think it’s pretty funny when she yells at Frank Johnson for pretending to need a walker just to avoid dancing with her.”
“Did he?”
“Bring a walker with him just in case he was paired with Myriam?
Yes. I’m ashamed to say, he did. But it really was in self- defense. He was paired with her three weeks ago, and she really beat him up for being such a crappy imitation of Fred Astaire.”
Drew chuckled. “She can be a real warrior. I can’t say as I blame Frank. Tell him next time he should break out the serious hardware and bring a wheelchair.”
“In truth, I don’t blame him either. Sometimes Myriam—”
“Mel!” someone yelled from behind her.
Her head swiveled in the direction of the voice— familiar and so welcome.
Neil Jensen, her old dance partner rushed up to her, pulling her into an embrace and whirling her around.
Mel clung to his neck, planting a kiss on his cheek with a grin so wide, her face hurt. Being in Neil’s arms was like coming home. A 9780425245507_WaltzThisWay_TX_p1-344.indd 75
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piece of her scattered jigsaw puzzle of a life instantly fell back into place, tucking into a corner, right where it should be. “What are you doing here?” she asked, breathless and giddy as she ran a hand over his thick head of blond hair, giving it a hard scrub of her fi st.
Neil kissed her hard on the lips and grinned back. “I came to save you from yourself, Mel’s Bell’s. Your dad called me and told me to grease my white horse to save the damsel in distress, and here I am.”
Mel buried her face in his neck with a sigh of relief and a giggle of complete joy. “I’m so glad to see you! You have no idea how glad.”
Without fair warning, a tear stung her eye. Neil represented so many happy memories. Their friendship was one she’d treasured since they were paired together way back at Miss Gina’s School for Dance when they were ten. They’d worked together, won several titles together, for almost nine years until the lights of Broadway and Stan had lured her away.
Neil’s brown eyes, soft like dark chocolate satin, were sympathetic. He pressed a fi nger to her cheek to thwart her escaping tear.
“I know all about it, lead foot. I watch TV, and your dad told me what little I didn’t know. I tried getting in touch with you, but fi nding you was like trying to fi nd the Holy Grail.”
Mel clung to his neck. “I know. It’s …” She shot a sidelong glance at Drew, who hovered but kept his eyes averted. “We’ll talk later. You will be here later, right?” Worry saturated her words. Suddenly, Neil’s presence was like a lifeline to a world she had lost her way in, and she wasn’t ready to let go of it.
Neil nodded. “The show’s on hiatus until January. I have more time than a prisoner in solitary on my hands. I’m all yours for as long as you need me.”
Mel wasn’t sure if she saw Drew’s eyes roll or if it was just a trick of the now- dimmed lighting for the free dance.
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Either way, it was rude
not to introduce them. “Neil Jensen? This is Drew McPhee. I teach his son, Nate, at Westmeyer— my new job, which I’ll explain later. His Aunt Myriam’s a senior here in the Village.
Neil’s my old dance partner from way back in the day when I was competing. He’s a choreographer on Celebrity Ballroom now. You know, the show that takes celebrities and turns them into ballroom dancers?” She shook her head with a chuckle. How stupid of her to think Drew would watch anything but American Choppers and the Playboy Channel. “Forget it. You wouldn’t know what I mean.”
Neil extended his hand and Drew took it, giving it a hard shake that made Mel frown in confusion. But Neil’s good nature, always a buffer, took over, and he either ignored Drew’s brash attempt at showing off his manhood or didn’t care. “Nice to meet you, Drew.
Your son has the best ballroom teacher in all of Jersey,” he said on a smile then turned his captivating grin on Mel. “Speaking of ballroom— wanna show them how this is done?” he thumbed over his broad shoulder at the crowd of dancers, holding out his right hand to her. “Good meeting you, Drew,” Neil said with another smile, throwing his hand out to Mel.
As it was, and always would be, placing her hand in Neil’s was a homecoming— a swell of familiar excitement rose in her chest at the idea of dancing with Neil again.
And it was more than good to know that part of her, the part that sought solace on a dance fl oor when everything else was falling apart, wasn’t entirely dead.
!
He’d been dismissed. As summarily as if he’d never been.
Drew lingered in the back of the rec center as Neil twirled Mel around to the tune of raucous clapping and whistles from admiring seniors and the song “Moon River.”
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So Neil could dance.
And if he was the kind of guy who was into admissions, he’d admit that Neil didn’t look at all like a man in a tutu when he spun Mel around while she clung to his underarms and her long legs splayed out behind her. Her head lay against his chest in a way that made Drew’s eyes narrow with discontent.
