A niggling memory of his recent social media messages stalled him, but Anita’s laugh, an unintended bark that rang in his ears like chiming Christmas bells, shook it away.
He needed to focus on her. Not thatthatwas difficult. “Or maybe they meant stay away from the cheap liquor? Come on, I’ll get the studio ready for the master class. Why don’t you take some time for yourself?”
Anita paused. “You don’t have to do that, Patrick. This is my studio—it’s my responsibility. You don’t work here anymore.” The soft way she said the last phrase broke his heart a little.
“I know.” He couldn’t tell her how he regretted leaving almost every single moment. He took a deep breath and held her hand in his. It was so warm. Every time he touched her, it felt new and exhilarating. Which was awful at this exact moment because she was so upset, but still. She needed him. He could do this. “I’m still your friend. And I’m here. Let me help.”
“Okay,” she agreed. Several quiet moments passed. If only she would just meet his gaze. “I’ll just run up and take a quick shower. Hanna and Markus will be here in about half an hour.”
“Perfect,” he replied. He swallowed down the unrequited love. “Don’t worry. Everything is going to be all right.”
****
Anita walked down from her apartment, hair freshly washed and blown dry, in a backless black dress with long sleeves and a skirt that hit just below her knees. She hopped down the staircase, pulling on her four-inch black stilettos.
At the bottom of the stairwell, Patrick leaned against the banister, gaze on the studio floor, where Hanna and Markus were preparing for the master class. Warmth flooded through her. He had waited. Just like prom, only she had stupidly never gone to prom with him.
He turned toward her, and his eyes widened. Was it appreciation? A flush rose to her cheeks. God, she was acting like a damn teenager.Get a grip.Just because he was so kind and thoughtful and helpful when she actually needed it.
“You look incredible,” he breathed.
Oh. She blushed, unable to stem the rise of color. His blue eyes sparkled, twin sapphires guiding her home. “I haven’t put my hair up yet.”
“Don’t.” He reached out a hand and lightly touched the end of her locks, blown into soft waves. It really was criminal how handsome he was. “You’re perfect.”
Chapter Nine
Patrick woke up early the next morning, groaning. He had to meet Anita at seven at the studio to practice before she had to leave for church with her parents. He wanted nothing more than to go back to sleep. He wouldn’t say no to a Jacuzzi or a massage, either. No use worrying about things that could not be.
What was actually happening was that someone was trolling him with fake social media accounts. Like he did not have enough to do.
At first it had just been the one cryptic message,MISSING YOU, but now had devolved into more-disturbing missives. Emojis like a peach and a fire strung together with the kissing face. One had just been all hearts and signed with the emoji with Xes for eyes. At times it seemed like someone unfamiliar with how to creep people out on the Internet and, at other times, was directly on point. The latest message last night had just been a photo of a mouth with a painted-red finger poised over it, almost as if he/she—who was he to judge—was either shushing him or about to suck on the finger. Neither was welcome.
Then there were the comments on his blog posts.
OMG Patrick, you are soooooooo funny lol We need to meet IRL
You were there, too????? I thought you would see me
You are so hot I think about you all the—
Maybe if the grammar were better, he would be less freaked out by it all. Or maybe more freaked out.
He had deleted every single message and comment and blocked the accounts, but they kept coming. And coming. Not that he was not used to weird internet traffic, but this was fairly classic cyberstalking.
Which was all he needed while trying to prepare for his first professional competition in over a year, with barely three weeks of practice.
Practice. The studio. Anita sobbing last night and the smell of glass cleaner permeating the air. It couldn’t be related, right? The shit he was dealing with seemed completely, totally unrelated to her drama.
And yet.
Damn it, he had an endorsement deal with a designer menswear company pending, and he could not get bogged down in internet trolls.
Maybe he had gone certifiably insane. He yawned and stretched again, then headed for the shower. Busy, busy, busy.
****
“Nigel!” Patrick exclaimed, opening his arms wide. The older man had not aged at all since Patrick had last seen him over a year ago. He stood about half a foot shorter than Patrick, with bleached blonde spiked hair, thick black eyebrows, and a small diamond stud in one ear. Despite the fact that he had definitely entered his sixth decade, Nigel Walker was still fit and trim and wearing his signature white button-down shirt and black dance trousers.
