Page 20 of Crash
Monday afternoon signals the end of one of the most amazing weekends I’ve ever had. Including the ski trip with my boys after we completed our training and passed the exams, granting us our licensure. But this one left me feeling like I was heading in the right direction. Tessa and I even talked about merging our lives one day, but not too soon. We want to take the time to build up that slow burn. Next weekend she’s cooking dinner while I’m staying at her place. I told her I want to see her old dance recitals from when she was younger to the auditions for backup dancers to be in music videos.
Today she is teaching her lovable brats, as she calls them. Her day job is instructing dance to children of all ages, shapes, sizes, gender, et cetera. She has a strictNo discrimination today, Satanrule at her studio. If you want to dance in a unicorn outfit, she will find one to match and join you. That’s why the show Friday and the meeting today is so important to her. She’s hoping the funds from the burlesque-style traveling show will help her open a larger studio to accommodate her growing waiting list. I walked into her building in the middle of her three-year-old's class. A group of mom’s are scoping me as I stand to the side.
“Okay, now up on your toes. Stretch as high as your arms will let you,” she instructs, as she walks by each student, helping them with their balance.
She has her hair pulled back tightly into a bun. With all the hair on her head, I don’t know how she makes it seem so small. A black leotard with skin-toned leggings, and a long pink skirt or tutu, I think that’s what they call them, completes her outfit. Her slippers match, but they're decorated with emojis. She spots me and waves as she circles back to the front, giving out the next instruction before dismissing the class.
“Austin, what are you doing here?” she asks, and rushes to greet me.
I give her a kiss, and the kids giggle andoooat our PDA. Some of the mom’s scoff and roll eyes.
“I just wanted to see my love and wish her good luck at the meeting. I know you are going to knock them dead.”
“My tummy is all in knots just thinking about it. I already have five cities ready to book once I get the go-ahead. This money will help out in so many ways.
“Excuse me, Miss Tessa, is that your boyfriend?” a little tyke asks, while giving me the full once-over.
“Why yes, Hailey. He is my boyfriend and he also drives the ambulances.”
Other kids hear her, and they run with all the questions abounding.
“Do you drive fast?”
“Why are they so loud?”
“Why can’t the lights be pink?”
The parents of the little one’s help corral them, saving me in the interim. Tessa laughs when she sees me not handling the situation.
“You are so cute when you’re uncomfortable,” she says, through her giggles.
I pull her into my arms and quiet her sounds. “Did you sleep well last night?”
She tucks her bottom lip in between her teeth. “Not really. I didn’t have a certain body next to me. I was missing you.”
“Same here. Well, I’m heading in to work. Thought I’d stop by and say hey.” I inhale sharply at the thought of what her and that mouth can do. Not to mention wondering what is on her mind each time she does that.
“Hey,” she replies. “Be safe on the streets today.”
“I will. Call you tonight when my shift ends.”
“Okay.” I give her a few pecks before leaving.
As I walk away, I turn and see her practicing some moves that involve her standing on her tiptoes while stretching the other leg across the wooden bar. Her toes are pointed, and I can see the flex in her calf muscles. I follow the shape of her legs up to her ass and I swear I want to call into work, lock this door, close all the shades, and bend her flexible body all over this place.
“Hey, man, you’re blocking the door,” a young, very annoyed, and filled-with-attitude little girl says entering the building. She has a backpack and a duffle bag with her earphones loudly blasting a hip-hop song. “Hey, Ms. T.,” the young adolescent says when she approaches Tessa.
This is the perfect moment to escape as a drove of others show up for class. I peer through the window as I walk to my car and see Tessa removing her skirt and shoes opting for a pair of sneakers.
“Hey, perv,” my sister says, sneaking up on me in my moment of weakness. “Do you always have to ogle at her now that you two are fucking?” That comment warrants a slug to her arm.
“We’re not fucking. She’s my girlfriend.”
“One, your room smelled like hot sex on a platter when I stopped by, and two, no matter what your relationship status is, you two are still fucking.” She returns the slug with one of her own. “Shouldn’t you be at work?”
“I’m going there now. Why are you here?”
“I’m helping with the teen group today so Tessa can get to the meeting.”
