"It's an internship," Kate said, "and it's not like we studied dance at Julliard."
"Still, I'm serious about my career." Jasmine took a sip of water.
Kate raised an eyebrow. "And that's why you're eating out all summer? To keep your figure for the job?"
"I eat healthy breakfasts and lunches."
Kate didn't look convinced. "That's true, I guess. You've filled our fridge with fruits and veggies. Does that counteract all this grease?"
"Seems to work." Jasmine shrugged.
The waitress came over, and they gave her the order for dinner.
"We need to meet some guys," Kate said. "No offense. I like hanging out with you and everything, but we're acting like old ladies, eating by ourselves all the time."
"Aside from the concerts, I don't have much time," Jasmine said. "I've got the classes, and when they're not in session, I'm busy with the lesson plans."
"Seriously?" Kate asked. "We get new kids every week. Just do the same one over and over. It's not like the kids know the difference. Easy-peasy."
"The kids who come every week don't want to do the same routine all the time," Jasmine said.
"Yeah, but there's only one or two. They don't care."
"Sure they do," Jasmine insisted. "They'll get bored. Even if they don't say anything."
Kate stuffed some fries in her mouth.
Jasmine shook her head.
Kate smiled. "I haven't had any complaints."
"I want the returning girls to walk away with real skills," Jasmine said. "I want to make a difference."
"It's dancing, not the Peace Corps."
Jasmine sighed. It was pointless to argue with Kate. The two of them were polar opposites, but somehow that made their friendship stronger. Kate helped Jasmine to be a bit more spontaneous, and Jasmine helped to keep Kate focused.
"So, where do you plan on finding a guy?" Jasmine asked.
Kate's eyes lit up. "I thought about the beach, but it seems like everyone's always either paired off or otherwise busy."
"Jump in on a game of volleyball or something," Jasmine said.
"And break a nail?" Kate asked. "No thanks."
"You know what I mean. Something. You're athletic."
"There is this one guy at the club." Kate grinned, looking deep in thought.
Jasmine's heart raced. She hoped it wasn't the same guy she'd been staring at through the window. "Oh?" she asked weakly.
"Yeah, he's from England or somewhere. I could listen to him talk all day, even if it was about politics. You should hear him speak—you'd melt into a puddle. Oh, that accent." Kate sighed dramatically.
Relief swept through Jasmine. "Why don't you ask him out?"
"I should, huh?" Kate asked, sitting taller.
The waitress brought their food, and they dug in.
"Salad?" Kate asked. "Really? I thought dinner was for grease."
"Didn't you hear me order?" Jasmine asked.
Kate shrugged, dipping a fry into her shake and then sticking it in her mouth.
"I need to break the habit." The summer was winding down, and she didn't want to be used to fast food every night when she returned to Oregon.
"Maybe I should eat better, too." Kate sighed. "I wouldn't have to workout so hard to burn calories."
"Precisely." Jasmine bit into a piece of kale covered in almonds, cranberries, and a light sauce.
"Don't you get hungry all the time?" Kate asked, not appearing convinced.
"No. Just snack on healthy stuff throughout the day. Oh, and drink plenty of water."
Kate's eyes glazed over. "Did you watch Dance America last night?" she asked, obviously changing the subject. "They eliminated Luciano. I about died—I thought for sure he would win."
"I was already in bed." Between the internship and nightly beach concerts, Jasmine couldn't stay awake for television.
"Of course," Kate said. She went on about how much she adored Luciano and what a talented dancer he was.
"Maybe he needs a girlfriend," Jasmine said.
Kate snorted. "Yeah, right. I think I'll stick to some guys in the area who I actually have a shot with."
They made light conversation and finished their meal, leaving just as the restaurant filled up with the nightly crowd. They had to squeeze past a group of people standing near the door, waiting to be seated.
"The concert doesn't start for another hour and a half," Jasmine said. "What do you want to do?"
"Go back to the condo and change." Kate stared at her.
Jasmine looked down. "Oh, I totally forgot to put on my regular clothes."
Kate laughed. "Yeah, you've been in your leotard this whole time."
Jasmine's face flushed with heat. She'd been so distracted by watching that guy she'd forgotten to change.
Kate gave her a funny expression, but didn't say anything.
Jasmine was grateful because she didn't want to talk about the mystery man. For all she knew, he already had a girlfriend or maybe she'd never see him again. With so many people coming and going through town, that was real possibility.
They made their way to the condo, Kate still talking about Luciano being cut from the reality show. When they got inside, Jasmine ran to the bathroom to get cleaned up and change her clothes. Her mind kept wandering back to the cute guy. It wasn't like her to obsess over a man, but there was something about him that she just couldn't shake.
She was conflicted. On one hand, she wanted to get to know him. On the other, she needed to spend the rest of her summer focusing on the internship. If she received a stellar recommendation, that would help her get the job of her dreams. She hadn't managed to intern at either of the studios she wanted, but that didn't mean she couldn't work at one once she had the proper training.
Jasmine decided to push him out of her mind and leave it up to chance. If she saw him again, then it would be her sign to at least talk with him. If she didn't, then it wasn't meant to be.
In the meantime, she had to keep her head clear, and he wasn't helping, whatever his name was.
When she got out of the bathroom, Kate was ready to go. She had on cutoff shorts over a brightly-colored one piece swimsuit. Jasmine felt overdressed for the beach in a skirt and short-sleeved shirt, but she wasn't about to change.
"Ready?" asked Kate.
"Let's go." Jasmine grabbed her purse and they headed back to the beach. Music reached them long before they hit the sand.
"I hear the band—they're already warming up," Kate squealed. "They sound good, don't you think?"
"Definitely." Jasmine glanced over to where people were already crowded around the stage.
Kate ran ahead of her, and Jasmine was forced to run also, or she would lose Kate and never find her again—not during the concert anyway.
A headache started to form. It was going to be a long night, and she didn't feel much like being smashed up against a bunch of strangers.
Three
Zachary rolled over in bed, every movement hurting more than the last. Muscles he didn't know existed ached. He groaned, not wanting to get up. Next time, he would remember to warm up. That's what he got for going more than a year without working out.
His mom called his name from the other side of his door.
"I'll get up," he called, rubbing his right arm. Not that getting out of bed mattered. He had no plans for the day, so his parents would be the only ones who knew or cared if he did nothing.
"When?" asked his mom, her voice muffled through the door.
"Soon!" He stretched his legs. His right leg throbbed with intense pain as he got a charley horse.
"Breakfast is ready," she called.
Zachary bit his lip, stretching his leg to work out the muscle spasm.
"Did you hear me?"
He picked up a book from his nightstand and threw it at his door. That should answer the question.
"I'll take that as yes." The floor in the hall creaked as she walked away. He could hear her complaining about h
er moodiest son.
Zachary grabbed his leg and rubbed the pained muscle. Next time he would definitely stretch more before working out.
Finally, after what felt like forever, the pain subsided and he was able to breathe normally again. He rolled over again and sat up, ignoring each and every muscle that screamed in protest.
This was going to be a long day, and he hoped his parents would spend most of it at the Hunter Family Store. With the summer winding down, they were likely to be extra busy before everything calmed down for the rest of the year.
Zachary stood, his legs hurting all the more. He reached down to pick up a shirt from the floor and nearly pulled a muscle in his chest. He stopped and stood back up, taking deep breaths.
That was better. His family could live with seeing him shirt-free. It wasn't worth the struggle.
He walked into the hall, moving like a robot. He went into the bathroom. The mirror showed the start of a beard, but he didn't care. He had no desire to shave today. Or do anything other than take a long, hot shower to hopefully soothe his muscles.
Someone knocked on the door. "Your mom made breakfast," said his dad.
"I need a shower first."
"She made your favorite, and if it gets cold, you'll hurt her feelings."
Zachary groaned. Some things never changed, and he knew better than to let the meal chill.
"Be right there." He splashed cold water on his face and ran a comb through his hair. He made his way to the kitchen, taking ten times longer than it should have due to his aching muscles.
His parents sat with Cruz, eating omelets and bacon. Cruz wore a shirt with the sleeves ripped off, showing off his numerous tattoos.
"Look who's up," Cruz said. "You gonna help me out at the shop today, yo?"
"Not today," Zachary said. He grimaced at a sore muscle.
"Why?" asked Cruz. "Got important plans?"
"Please put a shirt on," his mom said. "My kitchen, my rules. You need to wear clothes at the table."
"I am wearing clothes."
She looked him over, looking concerned. "What's wrong?" She stared at his beaten-up hands.
He stuffed them in his shorts pocket. "Just a little sore today, that's all. It's no big deal."
"Oh, did you finally work out with Brayden?" asked his dad.
"Yeah," Zachary said. "It's been a while, and now I'm feeling it."
"Well, your mom's right. Put on a shirt."
"He just wants to show off how ripped he is," Cruz joked.
"Shut up," Zachary muttered, glaring at his younger brother.
"Dude, I was just messin' with you. You don't even look like you stopped working out."
"Whatever." Zachary turned around and started the slow trek back to his room.
Halfway down the hall, Cruz joined him. "Are you really that sore, man? Lemme just get your shirt for you. Stay there." Cruz ran to Zachary's room and came out a minute later with a dark blue shirt Zachary didn't recognize. "It was all I could find. Sorry."
He tossed it at him. Zachary held it up and saw that it was an old t-shirt from high school—and even worse, it had the Superman logo across the chest. It was hardly the only shirt Cruz could have found. He'd had to have dug to the back of Zachary's closet to find this relic.
Sighing, Zachary slid it on. It clung to him so tightly that it was no better than being shirtless.
When he walked into the kitchen, his brother burst out laughing. "I wish I hadn't left my phone at the shop last night. Someone has to get a picture."
"No. Someone better not." Zachary glared at Cruz.
Their mom shook her head at the two of them. "Do boys ever grow up?"
Zachary was too sore to think up a funny comeback. He robot-walked to the table and picked up a piece of bacon, shoving it into his mouth. It melted on his tongue.
Cruz burst out laughing.
"What's so funny?" asked Zachary.
"I just love your shirt, Zach. You should wear that to the beach today, Superman."
"It's Zachary. Not Zach—and certainly not Superman."
"You should get to the shop, Cruz," said their dad. "It's almost opening time."
Cruz wiped a tear from his eye. "Calvin's got it this morning. He can hold the fort until I get there. Can you at least leave the shirt on until I get back for lunch?" He grinned at Zachary.
"If you like Superman so much, you should get a tattoo," Zachary said.
Cruz laughed. "I thought you were going to tell me to marry him."
"That, too."
Their dad shook his head, but it was obvious he was trying not to laugh.
Zachary ignored his family and dug into the omelet. His parents discussed the family business until Cruz finally left for work.
His mom turned to Zachary. "When are you going to get a job?" asked his mom.
"I just got back. I need to figure some things out first."
"It's been almost three weeks," his dad said. "And you spent a week on the road driving from New York to California."
"My agent thinks I need to write another book," Zachary said, "and if I do that, I can't have a job tying me down."
His dad poured some orange juice. "You managed to work at the paper when you were in New York."
Zachary took a deep breath and counted to ten silently. "I wasn't writing a novel then. My agent already had it, and she chased every publishing company, no matter how big or small, while I chased stories for the column."
"Well, you need to do something. Lying around in your room all day isn't getting you anywhere."
"I'll start outlining my next novel today. Does that work?" Zachary asked.
"What's wrong with the first book?" asked his mom. "You said the agent liked it."
"Yeah, she does, but it doesn't do any good if no one will look at it. She thinks I need something with a little romance. Right now that's what they're looking for in their thrillers." He shrugged. "Doesn't make sense to me, but that's what they demand."
"Can't you just add some into the story you already wrote?" asked his dad.
Zachary shook his head. "No. It would be too contrived. I'll wait until they're ready for this one. In the next year or two, they won't want romance in thrillers anymore."
"Maybe you should get a girlfriend," his mom said. "That might inspire you to think romantically."
Zachary stood up, pushing his chair back. "I have plenty of things to draw from, thank you." He tried storming out of the kitchen, but his muscles wouldn't cooperate, and he moved with the grace of a giant marshmallow. He could hear his parents chuckling.
Maybe a job wasn't such a bad idea. Then he could get his parents off his back. Of course he didn't want to be a freeloader, but he did need a little time to get back on his feet.
As soon as he reached the bathroom, he gladly pulled off the old shirt. He got into the shower, getting the water as hot as his skin would allow. His muscles relaxed, and hopefully enough so that he would be able to move around like a human again before long.
When the water went cold, he got out and went to his room to find clothes that actually fit. After getting dressed, he went through his closet and drawers, taking out all the clothes from his childhood. No more tight-fitting, goofy superhero shirts for him.
He went out to the garage and found some empty plastic boxes and brought them into his room, packing away old memories. He stopped when he got to a shirt that Sophia, his sister, had given him before she'd gotten sick. He couldn't bring himself to put it away, so he folded it and put it in the back of his shirt drawer. He probably wouldn't wear again—he didn't want to risk anything happening to it—but he also didn't want to pack it up.
A lump formed in his throat thinking about her. That seemed to happen a lot still. It had been a few years, but he still felt as raw over losing his baby sister as when it happened. He tried to not to think about it—her passing—but usually tried to focus on her life. She'd had such a bright, beautiful smile and could always cheer anyone up.
He could sure use some of her enthusiasm now. Zachary could almost hear her telling him to keep trying. She'd always believed that he would one day get the publishing deal of his dreams. He sat on the bed, not feeling any better after the imaginary pep talk.
Being a creative type, Zachary was prone to a lot of different moods. It wasn't unusual for something others considered small to set him off, either angering him or hurting his feelings, but he rarely admitted to the latter. Sometimes he would fall into a mild depression and not even know why.
Growing up, his brothers had teased him, saying he was as emotional as any girl. He knew it wasn't true, and especially after hanging out with other creatives, he knew it was just the territory of being imaginative.
Sophia had always seemed to understand that, being a bit of a creative herself. Though she didn't usually do much with it, she was a fantastic artist. She claimed that it bored her, but she'd been the one who understood him more than any of the other Hunters.
Zachary held up the shirt again, thinking of something else he could do with it besides stuff it in a drawer. He'd seen frames for shirts—perhaps he could get one of those. Or maybe he could do something even more creative like have it made into a pillow or something like that. Sophia would have liked that.
He blinked back some tears, cleared his throat, and finished boxing up the rest of his old stuff. Sure, this was his childhood room, but that didn't mean it had to stay that way. He had everything from his tiny apartment that he could fit into his car, and he could make this room every bit as cool as his old place had been.
Zachary bent over to pick up one of the boxes and quickly remembered how sore he was. This was not going to hold him back anymore today. He needed some painkillers—why hadn't he thought of that sooner? It could have spared him the humiliation of wearing that too-tight shirt. Thankfully, Cruz hadn't had his phone to snap a picture.
He went out to the bathroom to search through the medicine cabinet. There was a bottle of aspirin that he swore had been there since he was in school. Checking the date, he saw he wasn't far off.
Zachary threw the bottle in the trash and kept looking until he found some ibuprofen that was only a couple years expired. He made a mental note to buy something new the next time he went to the shop. Didn't anyone else have aches and pains around here?
Seaside Dances_A Sweet Romance Page 2
