His free hand reaches across the table and snags mine. “As a triple pirouette.”
“But you’re a principal dancer for one of the best ballet companies in the world. I know how hard you worked to get there. I can’t let you give that up.” And grow to resent me in a month, a year, or whenever the doubts creep in and he starts to regret the choice he made.
“The way I see it, I’m not giving. I’m gaining.” Without releasing my hand, he slides around the table so he’s sitting next to me. He’s so close. I’m drowning in the fresh, clean scent of his shampoo and the warmth of his fingers in mine. Fuck, I’ve missed him. So much. I’ve been walking around like a zombie, except it’s not my brain that’s been ripped out, it’s my heart.
“I didn’t tell you this before because I didn’t want to get your hopes up if things fell through,” he continues, his voice quiet but earnest. “I didn’t come to New York two weeks ago just to see you. My agent got me an audition. For a brand-new Broadway show.”
“Broadway?”
He nods, excitement dancing in his eyes and softening his strong jaw. “It’s a tribute to some of theater’s great choreographers. Agnes deMille. Jerome Robbins. Gower Champion. Bob Fosse.”
“And you got in?”
“I got in.”
A kernel of hope starts to take root in my chest, making it feel hot and tight. “Are you sure that’s what you want?”
“Hmm . . . let me think. Stay in San Francisco, all alone. Or move to New York to be on Broadway and with my boyfriend.” He lifts my hand to his lips and kisses it. “Seems like a no-brainer to me.”
“It’s a big leap.” What if the show flops? Or he hates the grind of performing eight times a week?
“I’m a dancer. Leaping is my forte.” He smiles fades and he bites his lip, suddenly tentative again. “But now it’s my turn to ask you. Is this what you want? Us, together, for real? If it’s too much, too soon, we can slow down. Manhattan is a big island. We could probably go weeks, if not months, without running into each other.”
“Shut up.” I know a better way to stop his crazy talk. I take his face between my hands and kiss him, hard and fast, not caring if my bastard of a boss or anyone else is watching. “Of course I want this. I’ve wanted it since I saw you walking across the quad, looking like you came straight off the pages of an Abercrombie & Fitch catalog. Wanted it more the more I got to know you. I was just waiting for you to want it, too.”
“Thank fuck.” He lowers his forehead to mine. “Because I don’t know what I would have done if you turned me down.”
“Like that was going to happen.” I go to kiss him again, but my bastard boss picks that inopportune moment to stroll past, giving me the evil eye and tapping his watch. I straighten up and clear my throat.
“I’d better get back to work. This is my last set. Stay and wait for me to finish? I’ll have Denice bring you another old-fashioned.”
Chris wraps an arm around me, hugging me to his side. “You know I will. But make it a club soda. I want to be totally sober so I’ll remember every last second of this night when I wake up with you in the morning.”
Damn.He sure knows how to sweet-talk a guy. My boss is out of sight, so I give Chris that kiss, a long, lingering one that speaks of plans and promises. Then I slide out of the booth and stand, turning back to shoot him one last question before I take my place at the piano. “Got any requests?”
He takes a sip of his drink, and I’m momentarily distracted by the way his Adam’s apple bobs in the strong column of his throat when he swallows. Christ, that’s hot. This set is going to be the fastest one I’ve ever played. Every song at double—maybe even triple—time.
Then he speaks, snapping me out of my temporary trance. “I was hoping you’d go apartment hunting with me tomorrow.”
“Me?” I’m more than willing to tag along, but I’m not sure how much help I’ll be.
“Yeah. I could use your input.” He knocks back the rest of his old-fashioned, almost as if he needs some liquid courage for whatever it is he’s about to say next. “Your place is great, but I’m, uh, looking for something a little bigger. Like large enough for two people. Maybe with a second bedroom where my boyfriend can put his keyboard. In case someday—when he’s ready—he wants to move in.”
Not exactly the sort of request I had in mind, but I’ll take it. More than take it. There’s only one fly in the ointment.
“What about your parents?” I ask. “Won’t they get suspicious if we start living together?”
“They know. I came out to them.” His chest puffs out a little, and mine does too with pride for my brave ballet boy. “I didn’t want to start our relationship with that hanging over our heads. I’m not hiding you. You’re too important to me.”
I’m almost afraid to ask how they took it, but I don’t have to. Chris answers my unspoken question.
“They were surprisingly okay. It helped that my sister was there when I told them. They want to meet you when they come visit.”
Wow. We’re already at the meet-the-parents stage. I’m grinning like an idiot and my heart’s doing a happy little tap dance in my rib cage. “I think I can manage that.”
“Good.” He shoos me toward the Steinway. “Go. The sooner you start playing, the sooner you finish. And the sooner we can get out of here.”
I like the way he thinks. And I’ve got the perfect song to open the set with. Who cares that it’s the last one I played before my break?
I’ll just play it again.
