Page 30 of Something like Desire

“Yes, just like that. You’re naturals,” Roncarlo calls. “Keep it up.”

Zach leads me in the steps, and we twist and turn across the springy floor. Then he leads me closer to Mom and Nicholas, who look at us indignantly.

“Mind giving us a little space?” Nicholas huffs.

Mom blushes and looks down at her dance shoes, in her typical confrontation-hating style. This is perfect.

“Oh, dear. I am so sorry,” Zach calls, adding a singsong quality to his terrible accent. The music continues and the next thing I know, he lets go of my waist and hand and fakes a fall, body-checking his dad in the process.

“This is ridiculous,” Nicholas huffs, brushing off his fitted polo and tailored chinos like he’s trying to get rid of Zach’s cooties. “This lesson was going well before you came in. Mind doing your trialafterwe’re finished?”

“Yes, I do mind,” Zach says loudly, brushing off his one-piece and taking me in his arms again. “Brenda told us we were welcome to try the class. We have the same right to be here as you do.”

Nicholas sighs and shakes his head firmly, scowling at us.

“It’s all right, darling,” Mom whispers softly, squeezing his forearm gently.

“No, it isn’t!” he snaps, turning sharply to face Zach. “That mask’s got you feeling brave, huh? Take it off and look me in the eye, face-to-face.”

“No, no. I really much prefer to keep it on,” Zach says. “I’m actually a bit of a celebrity. If I didn’t wear this mask, the paparazzi would be swarming the place. Trust me.”

The lady with the tutu grins widely in excitement.

“Oooooohhh,” Roncarlo says, clapping his hands in delight. “I wondered about the masks but that makes sense. A celebrity. Remind me to get your autograph before you leave.”

“Celebrity my ass,” Nicholas says under his breath. He goes back to dancing, steering Mom several yards away from us.

Zach spins me around and sidles over, knocking his body into his dad’s with full force. Nicholas falls to the ground. Mom tumbles down on top of him, her arms flailing as she lands awkwardly.

Nicholas quickly helps her to her feet. “What the hell?” he shouts, glaring at Zach. “How clumsy can you be?” Then he storms out of the room. “This was our last lesson, Roncarlo,” he calls over his shoulder.

“Sorry,” Mom says softly, her brow furrowed and shoulders hunched as she follows him out.

Roncarlo wrings his hands and looks terrified he’s disappointed them. “Excuse me a minute.” He pushes open the door.

The other couples huddle together and speak in muffled whispers.

“That was awesome,” Zach says, holding out his hand for a high five. He cracks the door open, just enough for us to hear Nicholas giving Brenda an earful at the front desk. Without a word, Zach links arms with me and steers us back to the closet, where my clothes are waiting.

“We’d better hurry,” he says. “They’ll be looking for us and I don’t want to get caught in their costumes.”

Zach spins around to face the wall, then takes off his blue suit to reveal his T-shirt and shorts. I step out of the leotard and then something about the danger of the situation comes over me and there’s a light flutter in my abdomen. My body buzzes once again at the thought that I’m naked, trusting that Zach, who is practically a stranger, won’t peek.

I stare at his broad back, the lines of muscle definition through his thin T-shirt, as I slowly put my clothes back on, half hoping there will be a reason why he’ll need to turn around.

“Where are they now?” I hear Brenda say from the hallway right outside the door.

“Probably still in the studio,” Roncarlo answers, his voice sounding farther away.

Zach hangs our costumes back on their hangers. He flashes me a smile, gives a quick nod, then presses a finger to his lips. Cracking the door open, he peeks out and gives me a thumbs-up. We creep down the hallway, and as we near the doorway, he suddenly breaks into a jog with me right at his heels.

“Sir, sir, ma’am, excuse me?” Brenda calls from along the corridor where the studios are.

Zach grabs my hand, throws open the front door, and races to his car. He opens the passenger side door, apparently never in too much of a rush to forgo being a gentleman, and I get in. He runs around to the driver’s side, jumps inside, starts the ignition, and drives away.

Brenda pokes her head out of the front door, shielding her eyes from the sun in an attempt to get a good view of us.

I twist around to watch her as we pull out of the parking lot. “What if she writes down your license plate?”