The Opposite of Wild (14 page)

“Ryan O’Hare, come here this instant, young man.”

He groaned at “young man,” crossed the kitchen, and stood in front of her. “Yes?”

She hugged him, then took his hand. He let her lead him in a small waltz around her kitchen. “You’re my favorite, you know.”

He laughed. “You say that to all of us.”

“You should go for it with Liz,” she advised.

He grimaced. “No advice on my love life, please.”

“She’d make a good wife and mother,” Gran replied as they turned in another circle.

“Whoa. I’m not looking for that kind of responsibility.”

Gran stepped on his foot, probably on purpose. “It’s not about responsibility,” she huffed. “I want you to be happy.”

“I am happy.” Ryan stopped dancing and looked in her bright blue eyes. “Are you happy?”

“I am. And I plan on getting even happier.” She smiled, and he had the uneasy feeling she was hiding something.

He paused.
Is she sneaking happy pills? Abusing some prescription pain meds from her accident?
Better to know and intervene. “How are you going to get happier?”

“Let’s just say I’ve met the instructor, and he seemed delightful.”

He breathed a sigh of relief. “Good. Hope you learn a lot.” He turned to go. Behind him, he heard Gran giggle. He paused. Maybe he should go to their dance class, make sure she was okay. Nah, what could possibly happen?

~ ~ ~

Liz drove straight to Book It to tell Rachel the good news about this first step into their new swinging single life. The bell jingled as she sailed in, finding Rachel in her office working on her laptop.

She picked up Rachel’s cell from where she’d left it on the desk. “Hello, Universe, thanks for the call. We’ll be there.”

Rachel eyed her. “Where exactly will we be?”

“We’re going to a ballroom dance lesson tonight with Maggie. She said it’s a good place to meet someone. You did say it was time.”

Rachel took off her black-rimmed glasses and cleaned them on the bottom of her blinged-out
Reader
T-shirt, another of her own creations. The letters were done in rhinestones on a black shirt.
Snazzy
. She put her glasses back on. “I meant it was time for you. To be honest, I’m still not ready. I have terrible taste in men. Obviously. I didn’t know Drew was a psycho-stalker.”

“Not all guys are stalkers,” Liz said. “And I’ll be there to help you pick out the good guys.”

“How many good guys do you think go to a ballroom dance lesson?” Rachel asked.

Liz thought for a moment. “Actually our odds are pretty good. Probably just guys that are confident enough to brave a room full of women.” She warmed to the idea. “And they’re probably looking for a relationship if they’re willing to do that. This could be very good.”

“I don’t know—”

“Come on, it’ll be fun, or at least interesting. Maggie’s never taken me to anything remotely boring.”

Rachel still looked uncertain.

“You owe me,” Liz said, pulling rank.

“How do I owe you?” Rachel sputtered.

“For inviting Ryan to my birthday party.”

“You wanted him there.”

“I did not!” Liz protested hotly.

Rachel rolled her eyes. “Fine, I’ll go. But there better be hot guys there!”

Chapter Thirteen

Liz, Maggie, and Rachel entered the Jorge Chavez Dance Studio and took in their fellow dancers. Six women ranging from sixties to seventies, Liz guessed, and a short old man with balding white hair and a beard that he kept way too long, probably to compensate for what he’d lost on top. He was all smiles, liking his chances with this ratio of male to females.

He bore an unfortunate resemblance to a gnome.

“I’m going to kill you,” Rachel hissed.

Liz patted her arm. “Maybe this isn’t everyone,” she whispered. “We’ve still got ten minutes until class starts.”

Rachel shot her a look that promised retribution.

“Come on, girls,” Maggie said. “Don’t just stand there. Let’s go meet the instructor, Jorge.” She glided by in a flowing blue floral skirt that ended just below the knees, paired with a white blouse with cap sleeves. She’d used gel to push her hair into white spikes on top “a la Judi Dench,” as she said.

Liz looked down at her usual button-down shirt and tailored pants and wished she’d thought to buy a flowing skirt. It would spin and twirl so nicely when dancing. She mentally added it to her to-do list, though she’d wait for it to go on sale at summer’s end. Rachel wore a red V-neck short-sleeve sweater that showed off her cleavage, paired with a denim skirt that was definitely too tight to twirl when she danced.

They followed Maggie across a shiny hardwood dance floor. The room was large and mirrored on three sides. In the center of the dance floor, a fiftyish man with slicked-back black hair, a black tank top, and tight black pants danced a complicated spin and dip move with a twenty-something woman wearing what looked like a real ballroom dance outfit—a one piece skin-tight red dress with a flared skirt. The dress was sleeveless and had large keyholes on the sides, showing even more skin. Her shoes were red leather strappy heels. How did the woman dance in those things? Liz much preferred her practical ballet flats.

Jorge looked up at Maggie and set his dance partner back upright. His teeth gleamed white against his golden tan when he smiled. “Maggie,” he crooned in a slight Spanish accent that was just this side of romantic. “You came. Lovely to see you.” He kissed Maggie’s hand, and she preened under his attention. Jorge turned to Liz and Rachel. “And who is this?”

Maggie introduced them with a huge smile.

“Lovely to meet you, Liz.” He leaned in slightly, smiling.

Liz held her hands behind her back to avoid any hand kissing. “Nice to meet you.”

He glanced at her posture, but remained unruffled. “Rachel.” He kissed her hand. Rachel waggled her eyebrows at Liz. “And this is my assistant, Arianna.”

“Welcome,” Arianna replied. “If you enjoy the trial class, please see me after about signing up for lessons.”

“We’ll be with you shortly,” Jorge said. “Please have a seat.” He gestured toward the row of folding chairs on one side of the dance floor, and Liz hurried toward them, with Rachel trailing behind.

Maggie was still talking and smiling at Jorge by the time Liz sat down. Then she gave a little wave and, with a slow swaying of her hips, positively
sashayed
to the chairs. Sashayed! And Jorge noticed, pausing in his conversation with Arianna to watch.

“Maggie,” Liz whispered when Maggie sat down. “Exactly how do you know Jorge?”

“Isn’t he handsome? A fine man.
Very fine
.” Maggie fanned herself with her hand.

“Yes, he’s handsome. But how do you know him?”

“He’s my neighbor’s nephew. I met him when he stopped by to do some yard work for her. And does he have muscles!”

Jorge looked up at that and winked.

Maggie blushed.

Omigod.

“Oh, great,” Rachel muttered on the other side of Liz. “The one cute guy here has the hots for her.”

“He heard you,” Liz warned Maggie. “Keep your voice down.”

“I know,” Maggie replied. “I wanted him to hear me. Don’t keep your light under a bushel. Let it shine, girl. Let it
shine
.” She said this while eying Jorge like he was some candy she couldn’t wait to unwrap.

And devour.

Liz couldn’t believe she was witnessing this. Was Maggie really going to get lucky before she was? The last time she’d had sex was with her cheating ex-fiancé, who thought foreplay was squeezing her butt while whispering, “Let’s do it,” in her ear.

A few more senior citizens arrived. Oh, wow, pinchy-lipped Diane and sweet Pam from knitting class were here. Liz gave them a little wave.

“Oh, I told Pam about the class,” Maggie said. “Didn’t know she’d bring Diane,” she added under her breath. “Hi, ladies!”

Diane stared while Pam smiled and waved enthusiastically.

Liz took stock. Ten women, plus the three of them, made thirteen women and one gnome. She exchanged a grim look with Rachel.

As luck would have it, the gnome was named Richard. “Call me Dick,” he told Liz, “everyone does.” He seemed to think he and Liz belonged together because their names matched Liz Taylor and Richard Burton. Never mind the fact that she was blond, whereas the famous Liz had been brunette. And then there was the non-gnome appearance of Richard Burton. None of this deterred him. He claimed her for every dance.

Maggie had no sympathy to spare. She was too busy purposely doing the moves wrong, so Jorge would feel the need to correct her.

“You must get the rhythm of it,” Jorge said, rolling the r in rhythm. He stood behind Maggie now, hands on her hips, guiding her in a box step. “And one, two, three.” She got the hang of it pretty quick, and he turned her around for a forward-facing waltz. “And one, two, three.”

“I think I’ve got it now, Jorge,” Maggie said, gazing up at him under her lashes. “You’re such a good teacher.”

They continued to dance.

He smiled lecherously while she giggled flirtatiously.

It was nauseating.

If Ryan saw the way they were carrying on, he would kick some ass. Poor Rachel was dancing with Miss Pinched Lips Diane. Pam was dancing and chatting with a tall, willowy woman, looking like she was thoroughly enjoying herself.

Liz worked on moving her way over to Jorge and Maggie, but Dick was difficult to redirect. She endured a tango that involved Dick’s face pressing too close to her breasts—an unfortunate combination of his stature and his enthusiasm.

Miss Pinched Lips glided with Rachel to Liz’s side, only to dip Rachel suddenly and hiss at Liz, “You think because you’re young and pretty you can just steal the only man.”

Liz’s mouth opened in shock.

“Hey, let me up!” Rachel yelled.

The sour woman pulled Rachel upright and whirled away.

Finally,
finally
her time with the gnome ended as Jorge announced the end of class
.

“Never again,” Rachel said to Liz as they exited the dance floor.

“Maybe a different class would have some guys our age,” Liz offered. As long as the gnome wasn’t there, it could be good. She actually liked the dancing part. With the right partner…

Rachel stared at her. “Read my lips,
never again
.”

Dick headed straight for Liz, and she braced herself. He pressed a business card into her hand. It read: Dick Wittleman, Connoisseur of the Finer Things. She shuddered to think of what “finer things” he meant.

“Here’s my number,” he said. “Call me.”

“Oh! I have a boyfriend,” Liz said. It was the only way she could think of to tell him not now, not ever. “But, um, nice meeting you. I’d better catch up with my friend.” She grabbed Rachel, whose shoulders were shaking with suppressed laughter, and speedwalked to the desk, where Maggie was talking to Arianna.

Apparently, Maggie was signing up for ballroom dance
and
a series of four private lessons from Jorge. Liz didn’t even want to know what might go on in those private lessons. Maggie was a speeding dynamo of determination and newfound libido.

~ ~ ~

Maggie called the next morning to see how Liz liked the dance class. “I liked the dancing,” Liz answered truthfully, “but my dance partner was a little pushy. I don’t think I’m going to sign up for lessons.”

“Now don’t you let Dick deter you,” Maggie replied. “Dance with someone else next time.”

“You mean one of the other women?”

There was a pause. “I’ll get my boys to come along. You’re right; we need more men in there.”

“No! I mean, you don’t have to do that. I’m sure they don’t want to go dancing anyway—”

“They’d do it for me.”

Liz’s heart squeezed. She loved Maggie’s confidence in her grandsons.

“And if they’re all
busy
,” Maggie said, “could you still drive me? My night vision is terrible. I shouldn’t be on the road.”

“Oh, of course! I want you to be safe.”

“Good deal, then. I’ll see you next Thursday.”

“Okay,” she replied with a sinking feeling. What had she just agreed to? She knew once she got there, Maggie would insist she come inside. Would she be forced to dance with Miss Pinchy Lips or Dick? Or one of the O’Hare guys?

Relax
, she told herself, Shane was the most likely one to go. And Shane was the kind of guy she should be with anyway. It would be fun to dance with him. He never made her feel off-center and jittery. She never made a fool of herself in front of him.

That’s what she told herself all the way until Monday at lunch when Ryan walked into Garner’s Sports Bar & Grill, where she was having her mother’s famous gazpacho with a taco salad.

He slid into the booth across from her, looking hot and dangerous with hair that was a little too long, a stubbled jaw, and a white T-shirt that showed off his tan.
And his muscles, don’t forget his muscles
. Her heart picked up a rapid beat.

“Heard you and Gran are going to ballroom dance class again,” he said.

She blinked.
Is that a problem for you? It’s just dancing
. “Yes.”

He signaled the waiter. “Cheeseburger, fries, and a vanilla shake. Thanks.”

How does he eat like that and still look lean and muscled? Totally unfair.

“So…you and Shane, huh?” he asked.

She set down her fork. “What do you mean?”

“Gran said he’s going to be your dance partner.” He watched her expectantly.

“Oh! I didn’t know. She mentioned she was going to ask you guys to come along—all three of you. I didn’t know who was going.” She smoothed her napkin in her lap, reaching for a measure of calm.
Why should I be nervous? I’ve done nothing wrong
.

He leaned back and stretched out his legs, relaxed as could be. “I’ve got a stakeout that night. Trav has a new client appointment.”

She registered “stakeout” and tried to imagine him spying on cheating husbands and wives. The image just didn’t fit right with what she knew about him. He studied her with a disconcerting intensity, seeming to want more from her.