“—so anyway, that’s where I’m headed,” she concluded.
“That sounds rough.”
“Hey, do you, like, know anything about that?” Kim asked. She tossed the long ponytail over her shoulder so it fell over her back. It reminded him of Anita.
Get her out of your head. She doesn’t want you.
“About?”
“Well, zippers and suitcases and the like.” She laughed, gesturing to her clothes. “I mean, I’ve been wearing this since last night, if you can imagine.”
No, no, he definitely did not want to imagine that. “Um, I mean, I guess so.”I mean, I had done just fine last night when Anita’s zipper was stuck…
He shifted from foot to foot uncomfortably, suddenly far too warm. His brain was a traitor. Maybe he could go to Mexico and get some sort of illegal brain and heart transplant.
Her smile lit up her entire face, and she grabbed his arm. “Perfect! Oh, thank you! It would mean so much to me!”
She continued to babble as she led him away from the elevator and down the hallway. What was happening? He did not want to offend her. She and Melanie were regular clients at the studio. Losing them would mean a loss for Anita.
Still chattering, her nails now firmly digging into his arm, she opened the door to a hotel room and led him inside.
“Kim.” The hackles on the back of his neck raised. “I don’t know—”
But that was all he could say before she pressed a cloth to his face, and he collapsed sideways onto the bed.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Anita politely curtsied to her pro/am partner for the silver Latin competition. Her student was a forty-two-year-old bespectacled man named Dennis who had initially started dance lessons with his fiancée before the latter broke off the engagement. Dennis had decided to keep the lessons as a way to meet other women. So far, though, he had only managed to talk to Anita. She was not particularly concerned—the ballroom community was good for the shy.
“Thanks, Anita,” he said quietly before moving to the table where he had stashed his things. She hoped he hadn’t gone far. He had danced fairly well. There was a high likelihood he would get called back for the finals round. Anita made a mental note to introduce him to one of Rodrigo’s students, Tabitha, a forty-four-year-old single marketing executive who was quite pretty and very accomplished. She had a feeling Dennis and Tabitha would hit it off. They both had similar—and loud—views about suburban Philadelphia real estate.
She grabbed a sip of water, mentally checking off the rest of her students. Distractions. That was what she needed today.
“Calm down.” Rodrigo stretched out in one of the other chairs at their table, arms behind his head, watching the next heat. “Everyone has enough hair spray.”
“Their performances are the best advertisement for the studio. They have to look good.” She completed her mental canvass. All well and good. Everything in order. Not thinking about Patrick. Check. Check. “Don’t you have another heat coming up?”
Rodrigo lazily checked his schedule. “Not for another fifteen minutes. Where’s Patrick?”
Nope. Not thinking about Patrick. Anita’s pulse quickened, but she tried to keep her voice neutral. “Probably sleeping off his idiocy.”
“He’ll need an hour to conceal those bruises.” Rodrigo picked imaginary lint from his long black trousers. “Hope he iced them last night.”
Something deep inside Anita curled and flared at the memory of Patrick’s actions last night. “Hopefully,” she replied coolly. “I have to check on a few things. There’s no reception in here. Can you man the fort for a bit?”
Rodrigo waved a perfectly-manicured hand toward her. Anita grabbed her phone and stepped out of the ballroom.
She nodded at the vendor selling crystal jewelry and hairpieces and paused briefly to peruse the gowns from a local custom dress shop. The dark-green one with royal blue would match her dressing gown. Stalling. Stalling was a perfectly acceptable age-old diversion.
Patrick probably didn’t want to talk to her. Not now, or ever again. He had a right. If he had done the same thing to her, rejected her—
Tears stung. She needed somewhere quiet.
She found an empty practice room and shut the door.
Time to face the music.
She thumbed through the texts, sure one of them would be from him. She just wanted the chance to apologize. That was all. Nothing else.
