Page 95 of Lovers' Dance

“You know he probably wants to make another donation,” Dante continued, wriggling about in the chair until he felt comfortable. “Or help out like he usually does.”

“I know. I’ll call him back later.”

Dante beamed at me. “Problem solved then. So, you gonna tell me what’s going on with your sugar daddy?”

I grimaced and turned back to the stage. “He’s thirty-seven and, no, I’m not telling you.”

“We always tell each other everything,” Dante crooned, swinging his arm over my shoulder and pulling me into a half-hug. “It’ll make you feel better if you spill.”

I shoved him off and gestured to the stage, ignoring the tingles his touch left behind. Damn you, Matthew Bradley. If he hadn’t let Aphrodite touch him, we would’ve been sexing all week long. I should’ve stayed a virgin. It was better not knowing what you were missing out on than suffering this constant desire for sexual satisfaction.

“What will make me feel better is deciding which dancers we want and getting them to learn the choreography in a short space of time. We’ve earmarked December 15th as opening night. It’s September already, D.” I groaned out loud, too loud it seemed, because Bri stopped everyone and turned to where we sat.

“Are you not happy with theadages, Madi?” Man, her voice was lovely.

Dante told her to carry on while I had a mini-breakdown flicking through the resumes in my lap.

“Stop worrying, Madi. You always worry whenever we have an upcoming production.” Dante suddenly narrowed his eyes at me. I leaned back a bit, not liking the expression on his striking features. He licked his lips, then said, “It’s your birthday in a few weeks.”

“I know,” I muttered unhappily. Shit. It came around so fast.

“The usual plans?” he asked, already knowing the answer.

I nodded and a bitter smile curled up my mouth. “Yep, we get wasted on my birthday, then we dance all day long the following day—”

“I’ll take you to the cemetery the day after that,” he said solemnly. That bit had been added since our move to the UK. Three years ago, I had visited my parents’ grave for the first time since their funeral. It had been hard.

I nodded again before staring at the crowded stage. When Dante and I first became friends all those years ago, he used to ask why I never wanted a birthday party. Jamal, my older cousin, who used to hang with Dante, explained to him that I didn’t like my birthday because it made people die, and it was best to stay away from me around that time, in case my death cooties got hungry and needed to kill someone else.Nice, right?Funny thing was, Jamal didn’t need to tease me about it. I already believed wholeheartedly that I was some sort of evil child who couldn’t save her parents and was wholly responsible for the entire accident. Aunt Cleo had wanted me to see a psychiatrist, Uncle David didn’t. He said it was a waste of money, and I would grow out of it. Anyway, once Dante learned about my parents’ death, he made it his business to invite me to his treehouse on the anniversary of their death. We would drink Kool-aid his mom had made and eat peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, then practice our ballet moves until our feet hurt. He made an unbearable time bearable.

“You don’t have to come,” I said.

“I’m coming,” he stated, reaching out to tweak my chin. “We’ve always been together on that day and that’s not going to change.”

“What about Christine? What if she has plans for that day?” I asked curiously. Last year, there hadn’t been a Christine. There was a Laura who got dumped a month before my birthday and a Beverly two weeks after my birthday, who hadn’t made it to Christmas. Dante was hot, women wanted him. All the freaking time.

“Girl, please.” Dante scoffed. “As if she’s gonna tell me what I can or can’t do with my main girl.”

I grinned at the ‘main girl’ title, pushing away the depressing thoughts of my parents and punched him lightly on the arm. The butterflies were there in my stomach—maybe not as many as before Matt—but there was definite fluttering taking place.

“Let’s concentrate, Dante.” I got serious. “I like her, him and him. Mark them down as potentials and stop pulling my ear. What are you? Five? For crying out loud, act right.”

My cell buzzed on the seat next to me and a cursory glance confirmed it was Matt.

“Answer the damn thing, sweet cheeks,” Dante said as he stood up and stretched, giving me a nice view of a fit male specimen. “I’m calling a break now, and call Kincaid when you get a chance today.”

I nodded, eyes glued to my cell as Dante walked off towards the stage. Should I answer? I was pissed off, but my damned hand didn’t want to listen to my brain. Before I realized what I’d done, I could hear Matt’s frustrated voice coming out from the cell pressed to my ear.

“Poppet? Are you there? Hello?”

I took a shaky breath, unable to respond, and Matt must have heard it because there was a short pause on his end before he said softly, “Madi, darling, talk to me.”

The ability to use words continued to elude me.

He continued in that deep, masculine voice of his. “I miss you, poppet, and I’m so fucking sorry. Please, say something. I need to hear your voice.”

My mouth opened slightly. I shut it. All I could see was that blonde goddess, picturing her touching something that should only belong to me.

“Madison,” Matt said sternly, and my anger bubbled over. He wanted me to talk; fine, I’d talk.

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