Page 22 of Nutcracker with Benefits
It swings open, revealing that last person I expected to see; Nikita Howley, the dancer from that reality show.
“Nash,” she says, opening her arms to welcome him in a hug and kiss his cheek. The familiarness sparks some jealousy from out of nowhere, and I tamp it down. “Early, as always. And hello.” Nikita turns her attention to me. “You must be Clara. So nice to meet you.”
While I hadn’t watched Dancing with the Stars, I know who Nikita is. She’s been on the show for years and is an expert in tango, having been born in Argentina and danced professionally her whole life.
We shake hands. “Nice to meet you, too,” I say.
“Come in, please.” Nikita waves us in. Her accent is thick and rich, and she’s dressed to dance in a black dress that clings and is short enough to reveal muscular thighs. It’s got an asymmetrical train that dangles down and whips around as she guides us through the entryway and into a dance studio. I notice that her hair is in a tight bun just behind her right ear, like mine.
“Are we really dancing?” I ask.
“Ah, don’t say it with so much fear, darling,” Nikita says. “You are in good hands with Nash.” She pats his chest, and…did Nash just lean into it? “Kara dropped off your clothes, so Clara you are in this room and Nash in the one next to it.” She points at the two doors off to the side. “You’ll find everything you need, but shout if you need help.”
Bewildered, I glance at Nash, who’s grinning.
“What have you gotten me into?”
“I think it’s you who’s gotten us into this, really.”
I snort, pushing the door open. It’s a bathroom, but a really nice one. There’s a chaise lounge and hooks on the walls for clothes, and it’s all a lush red with gold trim. It even smells good, lightly floral, and there’s a full-length mirror and a toilet.
Two black garment bags hang from one of the hooks and, like Alice in Wonderland, Kara has marked one of them as “Open Me First”. I do, and inside is a dress similar to Nikita’s but royal blue. The train is a little different, and while Nikita’s was strappy, mine has a one-shouldered long-sleeve top.
When I exit the room, in my dress and black dancing shoes—sturdy heels with a strap at the ankle—Nash is already out chatting with Nikita. I feel that sharp envy coil in my belly again. They obviously know each other and have repartee. They look good together.
And, well, she lives here, in the city, not far from Nash’s apartment.
And the article said…
I shake that thought out of my head. You can’t believe everything you read.
When my door clicks shut, Nash turns to me, and suddenly, I’m not jealous. His gaze meanders down my body over the tight dress, the length of my legs. It’s cold in here, but when Nash’s eyes come back to mine, they burn.
Nikita claps briskly. “Clara.” She strides over and clasps my cheeks. “Perfection. Now, Nash and I will demonstrate.”
Nash and Nikita face each other and Nash transforms. His posture straightens, he steps carefully up to Nikita, and they embrace, Nash’s right arm around her back, high, his hand a few inches away from some side boob. His left hand cups her right, holding it up, their chests close together.
“Now, we learn the basic step. One, two, three…”
With each count, Nash and her step together, slowly and carefully, around the room. After a few counts of eight, Nikita stops counting out loud and starts talking to me about what her feet are doing.
It’s hard to focus on her feet, especially when I catch sight of Nash’s face. During the coffee tasting, he did a lot of smiling and nodding, but I gathered that a lot of the nuanced flavors were out of reach.
Here, Nash moves confidently, comfortably. He looks like he’s enjoying himself, which is ironic because I’m slightly terrified.
“Now, your turn,” Nikita says.
“Oh, I haven’t really been—”
“Do not worry. This is part of the dance. You try it, and with a good partner like Nash, you will catch on quickly. And today, it’s just for fun. I won’t be so serious about technique. We just have a good time, okay?”
Here goes nothing, I think and square my shoulders. Nikita and I stand together, and she walks me through the steps. The first one isn’t so bad—a step to the side, I can handle—but then it gets complicated with what Nikita calls a cruzada—a cross step—and I flub it a few times.
After the fifth flub, Nikita tells me it’s time to dance with Nash.
“This is the beauty of dancing. You will make mistakes, you will stumble, but your partner will be right here waiting for you. You come back to him every time.”
Nash grins, I’m not sure if it’s because of my discomfort or in spite of it, but he takes my right hand and wraps his arm around me, just like he did with Nikita.
