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“Seems like the two of you make quite the pair,” Magnum said, rubbing the back of his neck and looking at Miller.
“I’m sure Jenna put you up to saying that, so quit playing match-maker unless you want me to set you up with one of my single friends.”
“Point taken,” Miller said, raising his hands in defeat. “I am happy living the bachelor life and have no desire to change it.”
“Same here,” Maverick added, focusing on the chocolate chips in his muffin.
“Alright, good. Now, wow me.”
They both gave me shit-eating grins and finished their muffins in record time before launching into the rest of the presentation.
An hour later, we’d gone over the majority of the details and I stood, stuffing my phone into my pocket and stretched my arms above my head, checking the time. “I have to head out for another meeting, but give me a call when you know when you can start.”
“You got it, Red. And you can always give us Simon’s phone number in case we need more ideas.”
“Or proof of life.”
“Because we love you and everything, but you are fucking scary.”
“And intimidating.”
“And hot.”
“Oh yeah, totally hot. Whenever you’re ready to give up Draco and settle down with one of us, we’ll be here. We’d change our single ways for you.”
“Come on, you two. Flattery like that will get you everywhere with me,” I said as we made our way back to the front of the building. It was impossible not to smile around the middle Hansen brothers. “You should really get a receptionist or secretary out here to make the area more inviting.”
“Yeah, we know,” Maverick grumbled, running his hand through his hair and glaring at Miller who focused on the Ficus by the door. Figuring I’d hit a sore spot, I dropped it and left with the promise of a phone call toward the end of the week to solidify the timetable. One wave later, and I peeled out of the parking lot, heading to see Simon.
The lights were off in the dance studio, and if it weren’t for the Re-Grand Opening in January sign out front, it would look like it was closed for the afternoon. There couldn’t have been a better place to practice since the studio was undergoing a complete remodel. I’d reached out to the owner on a whim, and she said we were more than welcome to use the space until the contest ended. The construction crew had finished buffing the floors and installing the mirrors in a smaller practice room, but the electrical work was a little shoddy, so we couldn’t stay long after dark.
I let myself in through the back door with my duffle slung over my shoulder, stepping over toolboxes and supplies as I went. The hallway lights flickered overhead like they were one spark away from setting the whole place on fire but thankfully stayed on as I set my bag down in the finished room and toed off my Keds. Mid-day sunlight streamed down the hallway, but our space was safe from any prying eyes walking past.
I gave myself extra time to warm up before Simon got here, queuing up a playlist and closing my eyes as I moved to the music. Gretchen Wilson pulsed through my phone, and I sat down facing the mirrors, going through basic stretches to loosen my muscles. Dancing with someone was one thing, but teaching them was completely different. It required trust and touching. Lots of touching.
I stood up and bounced on the balls of my feet as the song changed to a classic by Frank Sinatra. It brought back memories of dancing on my grandfather’s feet as I closed my eyes and raised my arms, swaying with the jazz beat and doing a basic step-together-step move. We could start here and maybe Shag or Charleston depending on his skills. He said he couldn’t dance, but I had a feeling Simon was a wealth of hidden talent.
Simon: Be there in five, honey. Ready to teach me?
Me: I’ll bet you’re a fast learner.
Simon: Famous last words.
Me: Yours or mine?
Simon: Touché.
Pop Rock had turned to honey over the last week, and I couldn’t bring myself to question the term of endearment. He’d quickly become my daily distraction, filling my phone with witty messages, sarcastic comments, and flirty innuendos. Those exchanges laced with sexual tension took up way too much space in my head based on the number of times we’d actually spent in the same room. It wasn’t normal or healthy, and if I kept this up I’d earn a segment on reality television.
I tried to remind myself we were the product of our circumstances, trying to make the best of things while still in the beginning stages of a friendship. The most contact we’d had was this past Sunday, flaring between annoyed indifference and scorching heat.
But over these last days of not seeing Simon, I’d become irrationally fixated on feeling his long fingers graze my skin again. So much so that I covered as much as possible today, going with an oversized purple sweatshirt with the collar hanging off one shoulder and the saying, Dance Like Nobody’s Watching, splashed across the front. That, paired with a sports bra, yoga pants, and the Keds lying by my bag should help me keep my teenage hormones in check.
I refused to acknowledge the yoga pants were specially ordered and had that ruching, making my ass look fabulous. It was a lucky coincidence the pants arrived yesterday, and I most definitely did not make an extra trip to the post office to pick them up.
Ugh.Who the fuck was I kidding?
Simon: Here, honey.
