“Apparently… I should get decent,” I say. “Unless you want to make this quick.”
“I do not,” he deadpans.
He flinches when I gently pat against his erection. “What about this though?”
“Believe it or not, they do eventually deflate on their own.”
I chuckle. “Rain check, then? Tonight? Can I buy you dinner as a thank-you?”
He bites his bottom lip. “I don’t know. Just ate. I’m kind of full.”
“I’m serious.” I tuck my knees and roll to the left, out from under him. “We can order in. I used to live in Miami when I was little. I know where all the good street food is. Do you like Cubanos?”
“Then let’s go out,” Taio says. “Our first official date kicking off this situationship. Street food should be eaten fresh, on the street. We could do downtown Miami, or walk the beach after.” His eyes dim when I don’t match his innocent enthusiasm. “What’s wrong?”
I scoot to the edge of the bed, wedging my heels into the frame so I can securely refasten the teddy. “I don’t know if we can be in public like that without people being suspicious.”
He shrugs one shoulder. “I’m your bodyguard. I’m supposed to be with you.”
“I know but…I just want you to myself. Where I don’t have to pretend or watch the way I’m touching you or looking at you. Let’s eat in?” I ask again. “Whatever you want. My treat.”
“Sure. I get it.”He says the right words.
Taio climbs off the bed, then circles around to the other side where I’m sitting. He brushes his lips against my forehead.He does the right things.
But judging by the look on his face, I just hurt his feelings.
My heart sinks, the glaring obstacle between us, momentarily muted by a moment of delicious passion.
But now all that’s left are two things:
The obvious truth that we can’t be together. Not in a real way.
And the other obvious truth, which is—I want us to be.
chapter 17
Charlie
February in Miami means bearable heat instead of the August inferno that would otherwise be slow-roasting us all. My dancers have colonized every inch of the pool area, their toned bodies draped across inflatable loungers, kicking up spray in the shallow end, or clustered around the poolside bar like they’re afraid the free booze might evaporate if they don’t claim it quickly enough.
I will fully admit, I’m not above bribery. I ensured the bar was replenished and the margarita machine is functional.
I adjust my oversized sunhat and take a deep breath. I’ve been standing at the edge of the pool deck for five minutes now, rehearsing what I’m going to say, trying to find the right words. The pizza should be here any minute—another bribe, because apparently my leadership style is “feed them until they’re too full to be mad at me.”
“Hey, everyone?” I raise my voice over the splash of water and the thump of whatever playlist someone’s connected to the outdoor speakers. “Can I get your attention for a sec?”
The noise dies down gradually. Heads turn. Devon, my lead male dancer, paddles his float closer to the edge of the pool. Maura and Jasmine pause mid-conversation on the lounge chairs. Marcus—not my manager Marcus, dancer Marcus—sets down his drink and gives me his full attention.
Twelve dancers in total. Twelve people who’ve put their lives on hold for a year and a half to be part of my tour. Twelve people who’ve watched me struggle through choreography, stumble through rehearsals, and generally fail to keep up with the routines they execute flawlessly every night.
Twelve people who probably think I’m a joke.
“So,” I begin, my voice steadier than I expected. “Pizza’s on the way. Bar’s fully stocked. And yes, this is absolutely a bribe.”
A few laughs ripple through the group. Good. Laughter is good.
“I wanted to talk to you all about something. Something I probably should have addressed a long time ago.” I take off my sunhat, because suddenly it feels like a barrier, something to hide behind. “I can’t dance.”
