When the shoot ends later that day, I spot August again. Maybe he never left, or maybe he came back. Either way, he’s lurking at the edge of the dog park, perhaps looking for an in.
Captain and the other extras—who performed like perfect pooches—are blowing off some steam post-shoot. My guy races around the park, scampering through a puddle from a spot of brief afternoon rain, then flying through it once more as he and his friends chase tennis balls.
I’ve always been the impulsive one among my friends.
Like I was the night I married August on a dare a few years ago. Once again, impulse grips me. When Captain sprints by the next time, I catch his attention and pat my thigh, a signal for him to stop. I’m several feet from Captain, but I point in the direction of my ex’s back a couple feet away, and I give my dog a hand signal, wiggling my palm back and forth like a seesaw.
Captain understands. He shakes his whole big furry body, sending mud and rainwater all over my ex.
“Good boy,” I say as Captain covers August in mud.
I guess revenge is a dish best served dirty.
29
COME OVER TONIGHT
SAWYER
“Progress. You’re making progress.”
That’s Chloe’s dad’s prognosis of my moves as he teaches the class that night at Anyone Can Dance.
This time? I almost step on her toes, but I’m like Mercury, and the Roman god has nothing on my fleet feet as I step away just in time.
“Not stepping on you tonight,” I say to the gorgeous redhead in my arms.
“I have noticed, and I approve,” she says as I guide her into an underarm turn, her red dress fanning out with every spin.
In this intro class, we go through the basics once more as other couples sway and swing, shimmy and shake. The whole time I can’t take my eyes off Chloe. Her dress clings to her body, whisks against her soft skin, teases at her thigh. It’s sinful. This dress is foreplay in sartorial form. And it nearly distracts me, but my mission—I can’tbelieve I’m saying this, let alone thinking this—is to dance well enough onstage with her.
Forher.
I want the fundraiser to go well for her. So she doesn’t reveal my secret, sure. But mostly because I like making her happy.
When the class ends with no more stubbed toes, her dad turns to Chloe and me and says in his upbeat tone, “You’re almost there. Just need some more practice.” But his hazel eyes twinkle with something like mischief. “First though, I have a surprise for tonight. I want to work on your choreography.”
Right. Of course. That makes sense. I knew we’d need to work on the specific moves for our short dance. But I thought we’d get through the basics first.
“So I’ve graduated from beginner?”
“You’re a fast learner,” Chloe adds.
But her father says nothing. Just flashes an impish grin as he sashays to the door, opening it right as it swings open. And the tall, dashing, utterly debonair man who inquired about dog daycare strides in looking like he’s just stepped off the pages of a goddamn magazine.
My jaw tightens.
“I’m here,” the man says, so charming, so British, so like a fucking magazine model I want to punch him.
Well, what other choice do I have when Mister Perfect walks in?
“Hi, Ian,” Chloe says, waving. “I guess you’re spending a little more time in our town?”
His smile is too magnetic. “I’m thinking about it.”
I’m thinking he should go.
“Luca knows Ian’s brother, and he’s been talking up our little town,” Chloe’s father explains with such affection for both his boyfriend and Darling Springs. And perhaps for his plan too. “I asked Ian to come by and help since he’s an excellent dancer. I thought it’d be better if I could direct the two of you. Since you don’t know the steps yet, Sawyer, this will be an easier way to teach you the dance. You’re a visual kind of person, so you’ll be able to see how the dance should look. You’ll learn faster this way.”
