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“No, I couldn’t. I have to administer a big test tomorrow.” He patted the spot on the bed next to him. “Come here.”
She laughed but didn’t approach. “I still can’t believe you’re actually a teacher. It’s so studious—totally obliterates your lady-killer image. I can’t imagine you being serious enough about anything, let alone teaching children. Do you even like them?”
“Of course I do.” His pride took a little bit of a blow. Did she really think he was nothing but sex and empty promises? Had he given her a reason to think that, besides their first night together? He’d been the one chasing her, the one seriously contemplating keeping this marriage. “I love my job and I love kids.”
His voice might have come out harder than he’d planned. She peeked at him over the towel, her brow furrowed. “Okay. I’m sorry if I hit a sensitive spot there.”
He cursed himself inwardly. He needed to keep his cool. “I coach basketball there, too. With Garrett.”
“Ah. The bachelor.”
“Yeah. We’re kind of close.”
She laughed and chucked the towel on the chair. “I kinda figured that out myself.”
He observed her almost offhandedly. She seemed to think she knew everything about him, while he knew next to nothing about her. “My turn to ask a question. What do you do besides bartend occasionally and dance?”
“I help out at a ballerina studio. It’s not ideal, but it pays the bills.”
He pictured her helping little girls in pink tutus spin around in circles and smiled. “Why didn’t you ever want to get married?”
“It’s not some sad, dark tale of abuse or loneliness. I don’t even hate marriage, as a whole.” She sat down on the bed and clutched her knees. “But my mother got married young. Before my dad came along, she was a dancer. One of the best ballerinas in the world—until she met him. They fell in love and she hung up her pointe shoes to get married and have me. Then all of those dreams she had just kind of…went away.”
Okay. He got that. But that didn’t mean it would happen to her. Or them. Oh, Christ. What was he thinking? Since when did he want to be a part of a them? Hell, he’d spent so long avoiding anything to do with being part of a couple that actively seeking one out felt wrong. Illegal, even.
But still…
“Was she happy with her decisions?”
“That’s not the point.” She fidgeted on the bed. “I’m twenty-five. Did you know that a dancer’s stage career is over by the age of thirty-six? If we’re lucky to last that long, that is. Which means people in my profession have to cram a lifetime’s worth of performance career into a fifteen or twenty year window.”
How could that be possible? He could easily picture Morgan dancing well into her sixties. “I can’t imagine—”
“Well, imagine it. Because it’s true.” She stood up and paced in front of him, nibbling on her thumbnail. “In ten years my stage career will be as good as over and I’ll be reduced to teaching kids how to dance in a studio I can hardly afford, dealing with stage moms and all the drama that comes with them.”
He couldn’t picture her doing that. It was obvious to him she needed to dance to feel alive. She’d told him that. “So, no kids of your own?”
“Not unless I’m still fertile after my career is over.” She shrugged. “I’m not ruining my body for nine months, in the prime of my career. It would ruin any professional momentum I’ve gained. And even if I get pregnant, it’s not like it’s over after you pop the kid out. I’d have to take care of a child every day for the rest of my life. There would be the Mommy guilt if I left for too long, the diapers, the breastfeeding.” She sank back down on the bed. “I’d probably be too tired to even want to dance.” Meeting his eyes, she said, “Look, I don’t mean to sound cold. I don’t fault other women for their choices or for having families. But for me, dancing has always been my salvation—where I feel most at home, where I feel most alive. I saw the dreams my mom gave up to have me. She claims she doesn’t regret it, but…I’m not my mother. I want dancing more than I want kids. More than I want marriage and love, too.”
More than she wanted him, obviously. Point well taken.
But he couldn’t hate her for feeling the way she felt. Couldn’t deny how much her face lit up when she spoke of her passion for dance. If only everyone had something in their lives to make them that happy.
“I see. Well, I guess that makes sense.” He held up a finger. “Except for one thing. Why can’t you have the marriage without the children?”
“Husbands are just as needy as children.” She smirked and darted a quick glance at him. “No offense to my current hubby, of course.”
“None taken.” He trailed a finger down her arm, watching the goose bumps rise over her flesh. “I’m pretty fucking needy.”
She grinned, seeming to be pleased with his answer. “Then you see why I can’t be married. It’s not fair to you—especially if a real wife is what you really want. This is only fun for a couple of days or so and then I have to go back to reality at the end of the week. Back to my life.”
He swall
owed his protestations. He didn’t see why they couldn’t be together, but he didn’t even know if he wanted to be with her yet. So arguing seemed futile.
Especially when her arguments sounded so damn logical.
She yanked her shirt over her head and all she had on underneath was one of those half-shirt, half-bra things women wore when working out. And, damn, he liked it on her. He could get used to seeing her do that every single day, thank you very much.
