Well, Heather thought,that’s one way to start your first day as a world class artist: walking in on an ass-naked coworker.
Even through her embarrassment Heather couldn’t help but notice it was a very nice ass. She’d only caught a glimpse before she’d spun and covered her eyes, but what she’d seen had been impressive, even by ballet standards, sitting high and round above hamstrings so defined they looked like bridge cables under his tanned skin. Whoever this guy turned out to be, she’d never be able to forget that under those sweatpants he had a perfectly sculpted butt.
Now, he was staring at her, and she willed herself to stop thinking about his ass and provide him with an explanation for her presence in what was very clearly not the women’s locker room. Face hot, she forced herself to speak.
“I’m so sorry,” she managed. “It’s my first day here, and I was in a rush. I didn’t look closely enough at the sign on the door.”
“It’s okay,” he said, his awkward attempt at a smile making deep crinkles appear around his green eyes. “The women’s locker room is next door.” He tipped his head toward the wall and looked at her expectantly. When she continued to stand there, her feet frozen to the floor, he fidgeted in the awkward silence and ran a hand through his thick, light brown curls. Without meaning to, she followed his hand with her eyes, kept watching as it settled casually on his hip.
“Right!” she blurted, realizing only once the word was out of her mouth that she’d spoken way too loud. “Yes, sorry, I will...go there,” she finished weakly.
“All right, then,” he said with another smile, genuine this time, like he was suppressing a laugh. His eyes sparkled with mirth, and the effect was so attractive she almost forgot to be embarrassed. Almost.
Heather’s face burned again, and she gave her head a tiny shake. It was hopeless. Between the jet lag and the surprise—and surprisingly perfect—butt, she felt like her brain had been totally scrambled.
“I’m going now,” she announced needlessly as she turned her back on him and scurried out of the room as fast as she could.
She waited until she was safely next door in the women’s locker room before she groaned in horror.
“Not off to a great start,” she muttered as she dropped her bag on a bench and hurried to one of the several mirrors to check her hair one last time.
“What’s not off to a great start?” came a voice from the other side of the lockers.
Heather suppressed another groan. Why hadn’t she checked the room was empty? She was still scrambling for a plausible reply when a petite dancer came around the corner, her shiny black hair in a low bun.
“Holy shit,” the woman said. She was half a head shorter than Heather, who was surprised to hear so deep a voice come out of so small a person. “Are you Heather Hays?”
“Uh, yes?” Heather asked. “Yes,” she repeated, more firmly this time.
“Wow,” the woman said, looking at Heather, plainly impressed. “Shaz hinted the new guest artist was a star, but I didn’t think she meant astar.”
Heather’s already flushed cheeks went even hotter. “I’m not—I mean, I’m just...I’m Heather. What’s your name?”
“Alice Ho,” the woman said, holding out her hand and delivering an enthusiastic handshake.
“Nice to meet you,” Heather said.
“Nice to meetyou,” Alice grinned. “Everything okay?”
“Oh, yeah, I’m just jet-lagged and a little out of it, and my bun’s loose,” Heather said quickly. She was not about to tell Alice about the incident in the men’s room.
“I’ve got spare pins, if you need ’em,” Alice gestured over her shoulder.
“Thanks, I’m okay. I just need a second.”
“All right, well, there’s pins and hairspray in my locker. And tampons. Yellow one in the middle. It’s never locked, so help yourself, everyone else does.”
Heather gave Alice a grateful smile as the other woman pulled the door open and left. If only Alice had been the first person she’d met at ANB and not Butt Guy, she thought as she walked to one of the full-length mirrors and adjusted a few bobby pins. She wobbled her head back and forth, testing the security of her bun, and then the wobble turned into a dispirited shake. Five minutes at ANB and she’d already embarrassed herself.
She stared at her reflection, taking in her slightly puffy eyes and pale cheeks, and tried to recapture some of the confidence she’d felt when she’d arrived this morning, before barging into the men’s room. She was Heather Hays, world-class artist.A star, Alice had said. Heatherdidn’t think of herself that way, but she knew even stars weren’t allowed to be late to class, especially on their first day. Satisfied she looked neat enough, she headed out into the corridor and into Studio B.
Just inside, a man she recognized from her research as Peter stood by the grand piano, shuffling through papers on the glossy black wood. He looked up when she entered, and his face broke into a toothy smile.
“Heather, welcome!” he called, opening his arms and gliding toward her across the rubbery black dance mat. In his accent, her name sounded likeHeathah, like she was from Boston. He had a tall, upright frame, and he was thicker around the middle and thinner on top than he had been when he was one of ANB’s principal dancers. He wore a tight black T-shirt tucked into snug black jeans, with a pair of chunky dance sneakers that told Heather he’d be teaching company class this morning.
Peter gave her two quick air kisses by way of greeting, then stepped back and gestured around at the large, airy studio. “Welcome to ANB. I’m delighted you’re here.”Hee-yah, it sounded like.
“I’m delighted to be here,” Heather smiled back, taking in the high ceilings and the glittering water beckoning just outside the window. This was nothing like the studios at Lincoln Center, where the largest rehearsal rooms were half underground and the thick stone edifice blocked out all but the brightest sunlight.
