“We’ll see about that. You always did look for the easy way out.”
Natasha opened her mouth to dispute that she’d worked her ass off to get here, then shut it. To get where? Here in Dimitri’s bed with a busted ankle and an embarrassing number of dollars in her bank account?
“Well, heal quickly. Let me know if I should cancel my trip.”
Of course, why should she come to Los Angeles if she wasn’t going to get tickets to the premiere? Why would she come just to visit her daughter?“Seguro.”
An awkward silence stretched between them. Before Esmeralda could say something else shitty, Natasha brought it to an end.“Ciao.”
She hung up.
Natasha tossed the phone into the blankets and squeezed her eyes shut. The truth burned through her. Esmeralda was right. She was a failure. She’d ridden Gina’s coattails through school, their troupe work afterward, and out to Los Angeles. The only reason she had a place to stay now and someone to help her with her ankle was because she was fucking him.
He was being so sweet, though. Thinking to call her friends, bringing her glasses to the hospital, taking care of her . . .
Well, he wasn’t a monster. They were things any decent fuck buddy would do. They didn’t amount to anything more than that, didn’t equate to real feelings.
She threw an arm over her face as tears threatened, hot and intrusive. She didn’t have time to cry, to indulge in hurt feelings because her mommy didn’t love her and the guy she adored would never commit. Yeah, her ankle throbbed like a motherfucker, but that wasn’t a reason to cry, either. She should use this time wisely, like reaching out to people who could cover her other classes or lining up apartment visits. She was running out of time to find a new place to stay.
Turning her head to the side, a blurry orange shape caught her eye. She squinted, and just made out her bottle of meds on the nightstand, next to a water bottle. And her glasses.
Her heart melted a little. Bless him. He’d left everything she needed within reach, so she wouldn’t have to get up.
Slipping on her glasses, she picked up her phone and sent one text.
Hey, I know it’s been a while, but I have a favor to ask. I’m teaching a pole-dancing workout class and I busted my ankle. Can you cover?
She added the necessary details and sent it.
And then, because it was all too much, she took another dose of painkillers and went back to sleep.
19
Natasha was cute when she was angry, and as cabin fever set in, she was plenty pissed. Dimitri had never seen this side of her, and he liked it. It meant she was getting more comfortable around him.
By the third day of her confinement, she was moving around with the crutches, and he’d set her up in the living room so he could talk to her from the kitchen. She sat on the sofa with both feet propped on an ottoman, complaining about the state of the LA housing market.
“How the hell do they get away with charging this much? That isn’t even a legal bedroom. It doesn’t have windows.” She muttered aboutcomemierdasand went back to clicking.
Dimitri poured ice into the blender for the piña coladas. Natasha claimed her ankle didn’t hurt as much, so she’d downgraded from the “horse tranquilizers” the hospital had prescribed, and was on regular painkillers. Still, he was making the drinks without alcohol. “I told you, you don’t need to look for a place right away.”
“I do. I can’t be living here when the show starts.”
Before he could question her further, he heard a car pull up in front of the house. Damn, he really needed to fix the gate. He shot Natasha a quizzical look. “Expecting anyone?”
“No.” She moved to get up, but he gestured for her to stay and went to look out the front windows.
“It’s a goddamn red Tesla. Who do you know who drives a red Tesla?”
“Oh. That’s Kevin.”
Kevin Ray,The Dance Off’s number-one star dancer. Dimitri had known him for years, through the industry and through the show. They weren’t friends, but Kevin was friendly with everyone, so his behavior at the hospital had been weird. He hadn’t imagined Kevin’s dark glares.
“Why is he here?”
Natasha shrugged and set her laptop aside. “I don’t know. Checking on me, I guess. I’ve had my phone off.”
“Really? Why?”
