Bowie had always been a touchy-feely person. Most dancers were by nature. They touched each other intimately so often there was a natural familiarity that made even changing in front of each other seem normal. Bowie had loved that about himself. He’d loved that aspect of his life.
Cuddling with Odette while watching movies in their room, casually flirting with a boy, making out, having sex if he felt so inclined. A shrink would probably say he craved that closeness because he had distant parents, but he hadn’t cared why because he’d enjoyed it.
Now, that was all gone.
Odette assured him his aversion to the proximity he used to love was only temporary, though he had no idea what her frame of reference might be. He prayed she was right. He couldn’t partner somebody he couldn’t touch. He was just grateful he hadn’t been asked. He was probably such a mess, Diego hadn’t wanted to risk any other dancer’s safety. He ran a hand through his hair, wanting to scream or punch something. One day back and he was already a liability.
He snatched the zipper closed on his gym bag, slinging it over his shoulder.
“Mr. Baker. A word.”
Bowie’s heart sank. “Are you going to keep calling me Mr. Baker now?”
Diego had once been a world-class ballet dancer. Now, he was their drill sergeant, though his official title was choreographer. He was still a good looking man, even in his late forties. He was a little pudgy around the middle and graying at the temples, but many a ballerina had tried and failed to nail him down. Bowie had always secretly wondered if he was gay, but never enough to test those waters. He wasn’t into old guys.
Diego gave him a genuine smile. “You were zoning out. Unfocused. I just wanted your attention.”
“Well, you got it. And I got everybody else’s,” Bowie muttered, shifting his bag.
Diego chuckled. “You’re exaggerating. Ballet dancers are excessively narcissistic. They were more likely just tired of hearing your name instead of their own.” His tone implied he was kidding, but there was truth in jest. As quickly as it arrived, all traces of humor disappeared from Diego’s face, his tone not unkind. “Bowie…I can’t imagine what you’ve been through. We all feel for you. We do.”
“Thanks?” Bowie asked, not liking where this was going.
Diego’s expression became grim. “I know it’s only your first day back, but you clearly need more time in the studio. It’s only natural that you took time off to heal your body, but now it’s time to get back to work. When you’re in here, you need to leave your personal life at the door. Take those emotions, whatever they are, and put them in your dancing. Don’t let this ruin your career.”
Bowie clenched his jaw tight, fearing his lower lip might start to wobble as tears pricked the back of his eyes. “Got it.”
He turned on his heel and made his way from the building as fast as possible. He needed some air. He needed to not fall apart in front of the other dancers still laughing and joking in the halls. He could feel their eyes on him as they passed. Diego was wrong, they were all focused on him, half of them hoping he’d fail so they had a shot at his position, the other already imagining using him as a cautionary tale at cocktail parties.Did you hear about the boy who got raped by a potential sponsor? Ruined his whole life.
Maybe it was his conversation with Diego still bouncing in his head, maybe for just a split second he forgot why his life was a mess now, but his situation came back in stark relief the moment fresh air touched his skin, and he glanced up to see a black town car parked across the street in a tow away zone and Giancarlo Giordano staring at him through the open window of the backseat.
He stumbled, his steps slowing once he hit the sidewalk. Should he call an Uber? Take the bus? Pretend he just didn’t see him? What the fuck was his deal? He’d already gotten away with it. Why did he need to fucking terrorize him as well?
“So, you’re a dancer, huh?”
Bowie whipped around, his hand going to his chest as his pulse rocketed into the stratosphere. That was when he realized he was looking into the eyes of Javier de la Fuente, child victim advocate. He was leaning against the building, one sneakered foot kicked back against the wall, his hands in his pockets. He was talking to Bowie, but his gaze was locked on the man across the street.
The window of the town car rolled up, the man disappearing behind tinted glass before the car pulled from the curb. Bowie let out a breath and started to walk, not answering the man’s question, too flustered by his almost magical appearance. It wasn’t long before Javier was walking along beside him. “You never called,” he murmured.
His voice had this warm raspy quality, and he had this tone like he was amused by life, or maybe just by Bowie.
“Yet, here you are,” Bowie muttered, trying to sound prissy but coming across flustered even to his own ears.
Javier chuckled and the sound flowed along Bowie’s skin like warm water. “I just wanted to check on you. Last time I saw you, you seemed…distraught.”
Bowie tightened his double fisted grip on his bag strap, glancing at Javier quickly. “Well, I’m better now.”
Once more, he gave the barest hint of a smile, like he found Bowie funny. “Yeah, angel. You seem easy like Sunday morning.”
Javier continued to walk beside the boy who held the strap of his lavender colored gym bag in a death grip, not because he appeared afraid Javier might rob him but more because he seemed desperate for something to do with his hands. As they walked, Bowie’s gaze slid towards him then quickly away again every few seconds.
Javier arched a brow, his hands still in his pockets, noting that their pace had slowed. “Am I making you nervous?”
Bowie’s pink tongue darted out to wet his full lower lip. “I just don’t know why you’re here. I didn’t call you. Is it customary to stalk the victims you’re supposed to advocate for?”
“You just said you didn’t call me. So, I’m not advocating for you. I’m just here, walking.”
Bowie’s look caught and held this time, appearing confused and slightly irritated. “So, you only stalk the people who don’t want your help? That’s a really weird business model for a charity.”
