Page 55 of The Dance
My gaze moved down to her tight sweater-covered chest without me realizing it. “No, you’re not.” I took a quick sip of the hot coffee and averted my eyes. I didn’t mean to utter those three words, but it was true. Stacey was no longer a kid. The last seven years had been good to her, and the teenage feelings I had for her back then were still just as strong.
Even though our parents never got married, I stayed away from Stacey after they broke up because I knew in my heart her feelings weren’t the same. For one, she thought I was a dork. Maybe it was because I liked numbers and school and reading and Magic the Gathering.
But I wasn’t anymore.
Or at least I didn’t flaunt it.
It wasn’t because I was ashamed of what I enjoyed when I was a kid, but because my life was just different. I still liked numbers and reading, and I wouldn’t mind putting a deck together for Magic the Gathering, but my priorities weren’t collecting playing cards and wasting time. My focus was on building Sweethearts so I could retire before I was thirty. Then I would buy all the Magic cards and play in tournaments.
I cleared my throat. “So, what have you been up to? Did you go to college?”
Stacey nodded. “Went to the University of Houston and majored in business with a minor in dance.”
I knew all of that, but I didn’t know what happened after college. Before she graduated, she stopped posting on her social media as though she’d vanished.
“Do you have an office job, or are you a backup dancer for Britney?”
She looked down at her lap and muttered, “Neither.”
“No?”
“Been to a few auditions, but nothing has come of it.”
“I might be able to help you with that.”
Her gaze moved up to mine, and her brown eyes widened. “Really?”
I took a sip of my Americano. “I might have a connection with Maze.”
Stacey’s eyes widened even more. “Really?”
“Let me see what I can do. Give me your number.” I handed her my cell.
Once she added her number, she handed me back my phone and chuckled. “I have to admit, I never thought you would have a connection with a pop star.”
“There’s a lot you don’t know about me.”
“Yeah?” She leaned forward, smiling, and resting her crossed arms on the table. “Like what?”
There was a list of things I could tell her:
I loved helping her with her homework when we were younger.
A lot of nights, I would jerk off, picturing her in the next room under her covers and fingering herself.
I still had the pocket protector she got me for Christmas.
I’d been in love with her before our parents started dating.
I wanted to go to prom with her but acted as though I wanted her best friend to make her jealous—which didn’t work, and I never went to prom.
“I own my own company,” I said instead.
“You do? What is it?”
Before I could reply, my cell dinged with a text. It was my father. “I better go. My dad is waiting for me.”
Stacey blinked. “Yes, of course. It was good seeing you.”
