Page 89 of Dance with Me
“You said only one of them ever made it to stage,” she said.
Here it goes.“Yeah. This one.” He took the binder and flipped to one of the concepts in the first half of the book.
She smiled at the page he pointed at. “Oh, I loved this one. It had so much depth.”
His chest swelled to hear her compliment, but the memories dragged him back down. “Alex and I brought it to Broadway. It wasn’t long after the alien movie, so I was riding the fame wave to get it greenlit.”
She gasped. “I remember seeing ads for this. I wanted to go, but it closed before I could save up for the ticket.”
“You wanted to see it?”
“Of course. I had a giant crush on you, remember?”
They’d been so close, in the same city. “Where in the Bronx did you live?”
“Castle Hill. 6 train. You were in Brooklyn, right?”
“Bay Ridge. R train.”
She shook her head and studied the images on the page. “Might as well have been on a different planet, as far as the subway is concerned.”
“We could have passed each other on the street and never known it.”
She gave him a sidelong glance. “I would have recognized you, for sure. But you never would have given me a second look. I was a tall, skinny teenager who hadn’t grown into her features yet.” She cupped her breasts and bounced them. “And I hadn’t bought these yet.”
His cock twitched, ready for another round. “Cut it out, or we’ll never get to sleep.” Collecting the binder, he returned it to the drawer.
“I’ve gotta ask you another question.”
His shoulders tensed. “What?”
“Why haven’t you produced any of the other things in there?”
He busied himself with stuff on the desk so he wouldn’t have to look at her, despite the weirdness of shuffling papers while completely naked. “Like you said, the show closed before you could buy a ticket. It flopped.”
“I heard it was really good. A couple of my classmates went to see it.”
He jerked a shoulder, gathering all the scattered pens into a pottery cup. “Doesn’t matter how good it is if the seats are mostly empty. My name wasn’t a big enough draw.”
Her features twisted into a puzzled scowl.
He sat in the desk chair, the fabric rough against his butt, and looked for another distraction. He started opening and closing the drawers.
“That was, what, ten years ago? You’re plenty famous now. Why didn’t you try again?”
“I did.” He slammed his hand on the desk to emphasize his words, and instantly regretted the outburst.
Natasha just gave him a mild stare, one eyebrow raised. It reminded him of the face his mother made when he was being an ass.
“You wanna try answering that again?” she said, voice bland.
He propped his elbows on the desk and rested his face in his hands. “Yeah, sorry. This is kind of, uh . . .”
“A touchy subject for you? Yeah, I got that.” She went to him, smoothing her hands over his shoulders and kneading the tension. “I’m here,Macho.You can talk to me about this.” She leaned closer, her breasts rubbing his arm, and kissed the back of his left hand where it covered his cheek. “If anyone understands this stuff, it’s me.”
He dropped his hands and looked up at her open, smiling face. She was right. It was why he’d brought this up in the first place—she would get it.
“I did try again,” he admitted. “I took more TV and movie roles, more investment opportunities—like the restaurant—so I wouldn’t be as broke as I was after the show flopped. I worked my ass off as a choreographer and producer for other people. But they were always other people’s projects, other people’s names on the line. Even with the restaurant, I didn’t come out as one of the owners until it started doing well.”
