Waking Kiss (16 page)

“I want to be prepared.” He was ninety-nine percent of the reason I did this. He still hissed “
Asshole!
” in my nightmares from time to time.

“You stay here too late,” he said. “You look like hell. Raccoon eyes. When you ever sleep?”

I squeezed a toe shoe in my palm. “The same time you sleep. At night.”

He narrowed his eyes. He was in practice sweats—and he was sweaty. “Hey, I need your help. You busy? Can you help me a minute?”

I stared at Fernando Rubio. He was
asking me for help
.

“Sure, I can help you,” I said, trying to sound casual about it. “What do you need?”

“I’m working on steps. I need someone to mark steps with me. You’re the only one here, so come help me.” He scowled at my pile of shoes. “If you have any pointe shoes that don’t sound like hammers, this would be good. Bring them. Come.”

I got to my feet and sorted through my shoes, picking a good pair and dumping the rest into the bin under my carrel. My mind raced in excited shock. Yes, Rubio was mean and rude but I still admired him as an artist—and he wanted me to mark steps with him. He was inviting me into his private creative process.

I had to run to catch up with him in the hall. He led me to the same rehearsal room he’d been in the night me and Liam argued. “You warmed up?” he asked. “Go on. Warm up first.”

I did a few stretches while he paced back and forth, talking through combinations under his breath. At some point I guess he figured I’d warmed up enough because he grabbed my hand and dragged me to the center of the floor. He turned me to face the mirror and described a series of steps in garbled counts and a smattering of Portuguese. “Okay. You do it?”

I tried my best to execute what he wanted. He stopped me halfway though and changed the steps, partnering and coaching me at the same time. This back-and-forth went on for about twenty minutes, but at the end of it he’d developed a pretty cool sequence. “Stay,” he said. “Remember the steps in case I forget.”

He ran over to his book to diagram the combination. I moved through the steps again without him, marking them in my mind. He had a unique talent for choreography. The steps felt energizing, and I enjoyed the flow and sweep of them. When he had everything down I said, “You’re good at this. Have you choreographed before?”

He wore the funniest expression, like he was trying to think of something nasty to say but couldn’t. He shrugged and half-smiled. “Never like this.”

“I think it’s good when dancers choreograph. The steps feel more organic. Natural.”

He stared a minute, then crossed to me. “What you think of this?”

He showed me another, more intricate combination. I mostly liked it. I told him the parts that tripped me up or didn’t flow right. For another fifteen minutes or so he bounced ideas off me and had me try them out. I don’t know when I stopped feeling self-conscious and started to enjoy dancing with him, but for whole long minutes I wasn’t worried about being judged or measuring up to his expectations. I was collaborating as his dance partner. I was living in his world.

“What’s this ballet about?” I asked as he spun me and caught me in the crook of his arm. He released me with a frown.

“I don’t know what it’s about. Why it has to be about something? Why it can’t just be movement? Dancing?”

“It can be,” I said, trying to regain our earlier camaraderie. “That’s what Balanchine did, right? Just dancing?”

If anything, his glare deepened. “I am not Balanchine. I do my own thing.”

I shrugged, doing some
passés
to stay warm. “Well, I think it’s good. Even if it’s not about anything. What kind of music are you going to use?”

“I am still considering.” He pursed his lips. “Or rather, I am still fighting with Yves. I have some ideas.”

“He doesn’t agree with your ideas?”

“Not yet,” he said. “You want to listen?”

He went to the audio station in the back and put on a track that sounded very evocative and lyrical, with faint, thrumming guitar strains and crying violins. For the choreography, his choice was perfect. I started doing the steps to the music because they fit, and he joined me a moment later. We watched ourselves in the mirrored wall, dancing all out, even improvising a few steps at the end. After the music stopped, after he went back to switch off the track, I kept moving, lost in his vision.

“You go to see Liam?”

His question jolted me. I turned and dropped off pointe. “Did he tell you I did?”

“He didn’t tell me nothing. Did you go?”

I poked the tip of my shoe into the floor. “Maybe.”

He snickered. “That means yes. You sleep with him? You play BDSM with him?” The lurid gleam in his eye took me right back to that night he’d groped me and lifted me in the air.

I gave him a quelling look. “Why should I tell you when you won’t even tell me what your ballet is about?”

“I gave you his address, you remember? I introduced you to him.”

“And?” I went to the barre and stretched out my arms. “What we’re doing together is none of your business.”

“Ah. So you are doing something together.”

He smirked at me. I’d been having such a good time dancing with him, I’d almost forgotten what a jackass he could be. “Do you need any more help?” I asked. “It’s getting late.”

“Yes, getting late.” He frowned and waved at me. “We’re done. Enough.”

“I mean, I can stay if you want—”

“No. Go. Is late, Raccoon Eyes. Go home to sleep.”

I started for the door, then turned back to him. “Thanks for letting me work with you tonight. I don’t know if you think about stuff like this, but you’ve always been an inspiration to me. You’re the whole reason I auditioned to join this company, because of your talent and your expertise. You’re an inspiration to a lot of people, and…” He looked away from me, over at the wall. Apparently I was boring him. “Anyway, no matter what your ballet is about, it’s really beautiful and a pleasure to dance. So thanks for letting me help with it tonight.”

I turned to leave, embarrassed by my fawning soliloquy, but his voice stopped me.

“Hey! Ash-lee.” He jogged over to meet me by the door. “I meant to tell you, your shoes. Much better.” He did this awkward little wink and thumbs up. “And maybe…if you stay late again and I need help… If you’re around, maybe you come help me again? Is easier to think of the steps if there is someone to try them.”

Was The Great Rubio really standing in front of me, tapping me as a practice partner? Or was this some bizarre fantasy world? I tore my eyes from the definition of his chest and forced them to his face. “Sure. Of course. I’ll help you anytime, Mr. Rubio. Like I said, I’m a huge believer in your art.”

He wrinkled his nose. “My art, heh? Why you call me Mr. Rubio?”

“It’s in my contract.”

He threw back his head and laughed. “It is not.”

“Yes, it is.”

“Call me Ruby if you want, like Liam.” He waved a hand. “If we’re all going to be friends. Anyway, Ash-lee. You go. I got more work to do. If I need you again, I’ll come find you with your shoes.”

“Or you could call,” I said. “Liam has my number. Or, I could give it to you. We could set up, you know…times to work.”

“Hm.” That was it, just “hm,” and he walked away from me, lost again in his dance.

*** *** ***

The days ticked by, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, with no word from Ashleigh. I was okay with this. I preferred it that way. If she’d glommed onto me and called me constantly, I would have called the whole thing off. What we were doing was really intense, and really intimate by default. I didn’t want her to get the wrong idea—that we were going to start dating, become a couple, get married. My lifestyle wasn’t set up for that kind of commitment, especially to someone with problems like hers.

Then why are you thinking about her all the time?

It wasn’t so much that I was thinking about her, just that I couldn’t get into the idea of hanging out with other women. I’d become too focused on our little sex training program to work my usual game. I ignored the backlog of sexts on my phone, even though it was my habit to flirt just for the fun of it, and maybe hook up a few times a week with an especially persistent slut. I should have been hooking up every night. I had a lot of built-up sexual energy and I didn’t want to unleash it on Ashleigh.

Not yet.

Ruby came over on Saturday to hang out and use my gym, which was another poking reminder of her presence in my life. He handed me an envelope just inside the door.

“Your invite to the New Year’s Gala.”

“Thanks.”

“You coming?”

“I might.”

He smirked at me. “Your girl will be there.”

I headed toward the gym. “I don’t know what girl you’re talking about.”

Ruby let it lie until we were well into our workout, until I was sweating through a series of bench-presses with his ugly face looming over the bar.

“She told me, you know.”

“Are you going to spot me, Rube, or are we going to girl-talk?”

“She told me she came to see you.”

“I think Lousha left some makeup upstairs. Maybe we could do each other’s eyes. Talk about getting our periods.”

Ruby chuckled and pushed down on the bar until I hissed at him to stop. “I know you like Ash-lee,” he taunted. “You never went to see so much ballet.”

I ignored him and readjusted my grip, pressing against his opposing force.

“Aw, come on,” he said, pulling a pout. “You talk to me about the other girls. You tell me everything.”

“You work with this one.”

“Ah. You ‘respect’ this one.
Maniero
,” he drawled in Portuguese.

“You’re getting on my nerves.” I frowned and powered through another few reps. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d guess that
you
were interested in her.”

Ruby shrugged. “I practiced with her. She helped me, a few nights ago.”

I rattled the barbell into the uprights and sat up. “You practiced what with her? Where?”

“This ballet I’m working on. She’s the only one there so late. Still banging her shoes, but less hard now.” He gave me a speculative look. “You sleep with her, yes? She has that…” He wiggled his fingers around his head. “That fuck-my-face look.”

“Stop. I’m not going to tell you anything.”

“Maybe I find out myself, now that you’ve brought her into the lifestyle.”

“She wouldn’t touch you with a ten foot pole.”

“No?” His demonic features twisted into a grin. “She told me I’m her inspiration. She admires me.”

I leaned on my knees and faced him as he went to work with a couple of dumbbells. “What do you want me to say? ‘Don’t touch her, you dirty bastard?’ ‘Hey, no, she’s mine?’ I know you’re not interested in her. She’s not your type. If you’re curious about how she plays or how she fucks, I don’t know. I don’t know how she fucks yet. I haven’t fucked her, okay? We haven’t scened yet, not really. She’s new to the lifestyle stuff.”

Ruby dropped the weights and rolled his shoulders. “You haven’t fucked her? What do you like about her then?”

“Her body.” That was something he’d understand.

“I know a lot of girls with bodies like that,” he scoffed. “Not sexy. No boobs. No fat to grab on to.”

“I like her face too. She’s pretty.”

Ruby pursed his lips and ignored me, picking up the weights again. He was more of a drama queen than any of the women I hung out with. I got on the treadmill and tuned him out, settling in for a long run.

“You think she dance good?” he asked a few minutes later. “Ash-lee?”

“You’re the dancer. You tell me. You think she dance good?” I parroted his words, nailing the accent.

His brows drew together. “She dances different,” he finally said. He put down the weights and started pulling poses in the mirror. “She dances like, uh…” He made a motion, a gripping gesture at his center. “She dances like something eating at her. Like she have sharks circling under her in a tank.”

It was something I normally would have laughed at, especially with his grasping illustration, but I knew too well what fueled that intensity.

“You should help her out,” I said. “Help her get ahead in the company. Put in a word.”

“You could put in a word better than me. You give so much money to City Ballet. Go to Yves, tell him to promote her to soloist. He’ll do anything for a price.”

I thought about it, biting my lip. “She would hate that, if I bought her a promotion. She can do it on her own. She has the talent.”

“Pfft. She has a lot to learn. She pay her dues, like everyone else.”

“Did you pay your dues? It’s been easy for you.”

“Yeah, because I’m special. For her, it’s work. For most dancers, work.”

“But you can work with her. You can practice with her.” I was getting winded, but I kept pushing. “What if you used her in that ballet you’re working on? Like, officially cast her as your partner in the spring showcase? It would be great visibility for her.”

“Ugh.” He waved a hand. “I don’t even know if I’m doing it. I don’t know.”

That was my cue to tell him that of course he had to do it, and of course everyone would be devastated if he didn’t. Instead I said, “I’ll pay you to put her in your ballet.”

He narrowed his eyes. “What?”

“I’ll pay you, what…what’s your price for a ballet sponsor? A thousand pounds?”

He made a face like I was insulting him.

“Ten thousand pounds, then. Any more and you’re just being a bitch, because you’re going to do the ballet anyway. We both know you are.”

He still pretended to balk. “I was going to ask Heather to do it.”

“Heather is jaded and plastic. Plus you look shitty together.”

“Suzanne then.”

“You’re an asshole. Thirty thousand pounds. And you can’t tell Ashleigh.”

“Can’t tell her she’s in it?”

“Can’t tell her about the money. That I paid you to cast her.”

Ruby did a few standing jumps and went up onto his hands, something he frequently did when he was thinking something over. “You know,” he said, looking at me from upside-down, “it’s only a short piece. Twenty-five thousand, okay? I buy a new car, maybe.”