Alyssa’s head dips like the compliment embarrasses her. “Thank you. Although Lily’s easy to teach.”
“Have you got much longer to go with the lesson?” I ask.
“I can finish up now if you want me to.” Alyssa picks her phone up off the floor, swipes the screen, and the music stops. Does she think I’m kicking her out again?
“There’s no rush. Are you hungry? I’m putting some steaks on the grill. Nothing fancy, but you’re welcome to join us for dinner.” Where the hell did that come from? This is supposed to be about dancing lessons for Lily. But now that the offer is out, I can’t take it back. Not that I want to.
“Oh…arrhh…” Alyssa looks like she’s unsure how to answer. Things have been tense between us, so I can understand why she’s confused by my invitation to dinner. I’m hoping this can be an olive branch for being such an asshole.
“Please stay.” Lily tugs on Alyssa’s hand.
Alyssa’s gaze meets mine. “Only if you’re sure it’s no bother.”
What’s bothering me is not being able to touch her. “Lily would love for you to join us.”Yes, make this about my daughter.
Lily nods vigorously.
Alyssa nibbles her bottom lip. “Okay, thank you.”
“I’ll see you in the kitchen when you’re done.” With that, I leave the room and head downstairs.
In the kitchen, I plant my hands on the cool stone countertop and drop my head between my shoulders. The more I try to keep away from her, the more I’m pulling her in. What the fuck is wrong with me?
As I’m preparing the salad for dinner, I hear the patter of Lily’s feet on the timber floorboards seconds before she barrels into the kitchen. Crashing into me, she throws her arms around my waist. “Thank you, thank you, thank you for letting me have a lesson, Dad.” Seeing the smile on my little girl’s face is worth all the agony I’ve put myself through.
Alyssa, walking at a slower pace than Lily, enters the room. Her leotard is covered up by her clothes. “She did well. A few more lessons and she’ll have caught up with the more advanced kids in the class.”
Lily tilts her face up at me with pleading eyes. “Can Miss Alyssa give me more lessons please?”
“Oh, I didn’t mean to sound like I’m pushing for more.”
“If you’re available, it would make Lily happy. I’ll pay you of course.”
Am I testing my weakness? Having her here to see if I can control myself? For fuck’s sake, I’m not a monk—although my brothers believe I’m living like one. My reason is solid. My celibacy has never been a burden until I laid eyes on Alyssa. Now, everything I’ve promised myself is slipping through my fingers.
“Can you come back tomorrow?” Lily asks as she slides onto a stool at the kitchen counter. Picking up an olive from the salad, she pops it into her mouth.
Alyssa giggles. “I think we should wait a few more days. I’ll talk to your dad about when it’s good for both of us.”
“Okay.” Lily reaches for another olive, and I playfully swat her hand away.
“I’ve set up the outdoor table for dinner. It’s a warm night, and I thought it would be nice to eat outside.”
“Sounds good. Can I help with anything?” Alyssa offers.
“You can carry the salad out, and I’ll grab a couple of beers from the fridge. Oh, unless that’s something you can’t have. I read somewhere that ballerinas have strict diets.”
She picks up the bowl off the counter. “I’d love a beer, thanks. And I’m not a ballerina. Just an all-around dancer.” She chuckles.
I take two beers from the fridge, and we walk to the back patio. Lily follows close behind. I twist the lids off the bottles, and after Alyssa puts the salad on the table, I hand her one. Even pulling back on a beer, dressed like a biker chick, she looks graceful as fuck. My dick twitches behind my jeans. To drag my attention away from how Alyssa makes my body react, I prop my beer on the side of the barbeque and pick up the plate of steaks I brought out earlier. They sizzle as they hit the heat.
When the food is cooked, I dish the steaks onto the plates, and we begin to eat. When I’m done, I push my plate aside, then sit back to watch and listen to Alyssa and Lily interact. Lily is talking about dancing with so much animation. I never realized just how passionate she is about it. She asks Alyssa a million questions about performing on stage, auditions, classes, and if she gets scared dancing in front of hundreds of people.
“You’re such a good dancer,” Lily gushes. “I want to dance where you do.”
Alyssa flashes me a smile, amusement spilling from her eyes. Like she knows that dancing at a strip club is not where I want my daughter to perform. Thankfully she doesn’t mention her job. I’m not sure I’d know how to explain that to an eight-year-old.
“I’m not as good a dancer as my mother,” Alyssa says as she pulls out a phone from her pocket. She swipes the screen a couple of times to pull up a video and holds it out for Lily to see. “This is my mother performingThe Nutcrackerin London.”
