At the end of her performance, there’s barely a dry eye in the house. Chelsea keeps her cool though. Her prima ballerina attitude is out in full force. She struts off the stage like a super model walking the catwalk, her first tear not shed until she’s in the safety of the stage wings.
“Well done! I’m so proud of you!” My claps are barely heard over the uproarious ones coming from the hall, but I can’t help myself. Her bravery tonight deserves more than a round of applause, but it is all I have to offer, so it is what I give her.
BY THE TIMEall the classes have worked through their routines, two hours have ticked by. I’ve checked on Elvis regularly from my post backstage, and not once has he shown signs of boredom. He has watched every child’s performance with the same pride of the parents surrounding him.
He appears thoroughly entertained, and even more so when I sashay up to him with my hips swinging and my booty shaking. “Did you see Chelsea’s performance!? My god, E. The smile on her face will light mine for years to come.”
I’m still so euphoric, I throw my arms around his neck and plant my lips on his without giving him the chance to protest. He doesn’t seem to mind. His tongue lashes my mouth a mere second before my coat is tugged.
“Excuse me, Ms. Willow, we’re going home now.”
I smile against Elvis’s lips before pulling back and dropping my eyes to Xane, up and coming dance prodigy. He’s only six, but his talents are undeniable.
While I bob down to Xane’s level, Elvis advises me he will wait for me outside. It’s probably for the best. Behind Xane are another two dozen students waiting to wish me farewell. Most are clutching flowers.
ASISTEPout of the dance studio wrangling roses and baby’s breath like I’m hacking my way through the wilderness, Elvis fights through an even more dangerous wasteland. He hasn’t just caught the single mothers’ eyes, he’s wrestling back a handful of fathers as well.
“Look at you, Mr. Popular. If they’re not moaning about me confiscating their cellphones, I barely get a grunt out of them.”
Smiling, he removes three-quarters of the flowers from my grip before heading toward his car parked halfway down the parking lot. “They were a little overfriendly, but nothing I can’t handle.”
“Handled more than one groupie at a time previously, have we?”
When his smile grows, I know he took my comment as I intended. I’m not bothered by the attention he gains. I dragged my ass out of bed at 5 AM every Saturday for nearly two years just to get the daily dose of man meat my diet requires, so I can’t blame the dance moms for getting their hit any way they can.
Elvis removes the remaining flowers from my grasp and places them into his backseat before opening my door for me. “Sucholdschool charm,” I tease while sliding into the passenger seat.
I can’t see his face, but I can picture his grimace from the grunt rumbling through the tinted window near my head. After unclenching his fists, he jogs around to the driver’s side door and slips inside. He fastens his belt, checks mine is latched, then fires up his engine before swinging his dark eyes my way. Damn, I’ve missed seeing his eyes in the flesh. We’ve FaceTimed many times the past three weeks, but a screen can’t show the sparkle his eyes get when the moonlight bounces off them. His dark and mysterious features only heighten the anonymity surrounding him.
We’ve talked an average of six hours a day the past three weeks, yet I still don’t know his job description, what he studied in college, or how old he is. We got the basics out of the way in the first week. He is the only sibling to his older sister, Syndi. His parents have a rocky relationship, but with their steaming moments far exceeding their screaming matches, he doesn’t see them splitting anytime soon. He’s known Danny since he was six and met Dalton as a freshman. When I asked how long ago that was, he skirted the question like he did any time I tiptoed around his age.
If I were desperate to find out his age, I’m sure there are ways I could, but I’m not concerned. They’re can’t be a ton of years between us. His face is too youthful for him to be older than mid-thirties, and he’s never mentioned an ex-wife or the slew of kids most men in their forties have. If I had to guess, I’d say he is late-twenties, perhaps inching towards his thirties, but I wouldn’t go much more than that. That puts him a good six to ten years older than me. Not enough age gap to be frowned upon, but plenty for me to feel guiltless when calling him “old man.”
My stomach grumbles at the exact moment Elvis asks if I’m hungry. “I’ll take that as a yes.”
I nod. “What do you feel like? There’s a Vietnamese restaurant not too far from here, or Skylar swears by Chino’s on 42ndStreet.”
My interest piques when he mutters, “I think I can top both Italian and Vietnamese. What are your thoughts on an Elvis special?”
“Swinging hips and all?”
He throws his head back and laughs. His deep grumble adds to the sexual energy teeming between us. “If you’re lucky.”
After saving my lip from my teeth, he throws his gearstick into first, then hightails it out of the parking lot. It doesn’t take me long to gather my bearings. With me house-sitting for Becca and Dalton during her short stay in the hospital, then their trip home to show off their new bundle of joy, the streets surrounding their home are as familiar to me as the ones around my university.
“Couldn’t wait another hour to get into my panties?” I scan the manly hedges sheltering Elvis’s condo from prying eyes. “Where’s Danny? If he knew you were planning to bring me home, he would have rocked up with bells on.”
“That’s why I didn’t tell him.” There’s no humor in his voice. He’s being dead serious. . . until he helps me out of his car. “I’m not trying to get into your panties—”
“Like a dirty old man,” I fill in on his behalf.
His teeth grit, but he nods all the same. “I just want to spend some time with you—alone. Is that okay?”
I answer his question by asking one of my own, “Why wouldn’t it be?”
He waits for me to shimmy my skirt down to a respectable level. “This is new.”
“Yeah, and…?”
