“Thanks for taking the extra time with her,” Wayne said.
“It’s my pleasure,” she told him while removing her ballet shoes and rolling her toes on the floor. “She’s got a lot of promise. It’s just a matter of muscle memory.”
Wayne glanced back at Elizabeth, who was packing her dance things away in a duffel bag. “She loves coming here. Ever since her mother and I divorced, she’s struggled to find something to hold on to.”
If there was anything Stella understood, it was the need for something firm to grab ahold of. In a world where things came and went, foundations crumbled, and promises were broken, finding the one thing that could offer comfort like nothing else could be a real challenge.
Stella nodded. “Any time she needs extra help, I’m here.”
Wayne jingled the change in his pocket. “Listen, she and I are going to grab some dinner at the new pizza place by the lake. They serve out of an Airstream trailer, but it’s supposed to be really good.”
Just like every week, the man tried to ask her out. He was perfectly nice and his invitations were always so innocent, and Stella always felt like she was kicking a puppy when she turned him down. Even though she was in no position to be picky, because men weren’t exactly beating down her door, Wayne just didn’t float her boat. Didn’t make her hot. Didn’t make her sweat.
No, that honor was held for the man whose gaze was burning a hole in the back of Wayne’s head.
A part of her, a very small and sadistic part, was tempted to take Wayne up on his offer, just to make Brandon see what he was missing out on.
But then the human side of her knew that wouldn’t be fair to Elizabeth’s father. He really was a nice man and deserved to have a woman who reciprocated his feelings.
Stella plastered the same polite smile on her face that she gave him every week. “That’s a really nice offer, but I have some choreography for an older class that I have to work on.” Not true, but she’d already gone through every other excuse with him, so she had to resort to making things up.
Against her inner voice trying to ensue some common sense, Stella snuck another peek at Brandon.
Yep. Still there.
Wayne chuckled, making her remember she was in the middle of a conversation with a perfectly nice man. “You know, you keep turning me down enough, I’m going to think you’re not interested.”
Good God, did he have to make it so awkward? How was she supposed to respond to that?
She swallowed, trying to channel every ounce of charm she possessed. The last thing she needed was for him to pull Elizabeth from her class. “It’s not that. I just have a strict rule of not dating parents of my students,” she explained. “It can complicate the situation.”
Wayne nodded and offered a smile, one that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Understandable. But if you ever change your policy, give me a call.” He fished a business card out of his wallet and handed it to her.
She accepted the card and glanced at it.
Wayne Dale, Attorney at Law.
Her black leotard and black bike shorts, which were pulled over her pink ballet tights, didn’t have pockets, so she held on to the card with one hand while still grasping her ballet shoes in the other. “Thanks,” she told him. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
With one last smile, he turned and strolled out of the room, taking Elizabeth with him.
Then she was alone, standing in the middle of the room, Brandon still leaning in the doorway. They stared at each other and something zinged through Stella’s system, the same thrill she experienced when plummeting down that first drop of a roller coaster and her stomach took a nosedive. The room, normally filled with classical music and moving bodies, was now too quiet and too large, swallowing her up. Then Brandon moved, pushing away from the doorjamb with an effortless grace he shouldn’t possess, and strolled toward her. Her heart thumped harder with each step he took, reminding her of how small she was.
“I hope you let the bastard down easy,” Brandon commented in a voice that was deep. Deeper and grittier than normal.
“What do you mean?” she queried instead of clueing him in.
Brandon glanced back at the now empty observation room. “The guy had rejection written all over his face.”
The pang of guilt she felt when turning Wayne down pinched her stomach. “Would you rather I had accepted his invitation?”
Brandon slid his hands into his pockets and gazed at her with hooded eyes. “Depends on what the invitation was for.”
She held up the business card. “He just offered his services.”
“I’ll just bet he did,” Brandon commented, then took the card from her. Without breaking eye contact with her, he crumpled the card up and tossed it toward the trashcan in the corner of the room. And landed the shot like he was an NBA star.
Seriously, did the man suck at anything?
“Hey,” she protested. “Maybe I wanted to keep that.”
“You’re not going to go out with that guy.”
Damn, the man was good. She crossed her arms over her chest, allowing the ballet shoes to dangle from her fingertips. “How do you know that’s what he wanted? Maybe I’m in need of a good lawyer.”
One of his dark brows lifted. “You planning on suing someone?”
She narrowed her eyes. “Only people who stick their nose where it doesn’t belong.”
He chuckled, a sound that danced over her skin like a cool breeze on a hot day. “Touché.” His gaze, as hot as the rest of him, skittered over her body, touching on her thighs before assessing the rest of her that was covered in spandex and tight-as-shit cotton. “But you can’t dress like that and not expect a guy to notice.”
Was he saying that he noticed? She glanced down at herself, and the bike shorts that were barely longer than a bathing suit bottom. Okay, yeah, most men would look at a woman dressed like she was. But she was a ballet instructor. She couldn’t very well instruct and lead by example in a pair of sweats.
“What’s wrong with how I’m dressed?” she wanted to know. “It’s standard dance attire.”
Brandon rocked back on his heels. “I’m just saying. Doesn’t leave a whole lot to the imagination.”
Since when did he care?
“I didn’t realize you have a problem with how I dress,” she said.
His pupils filled his coffee-colored eyes. “Didn’t say I had a problem with it. But you slap a pair of spandex on legs like that, and men will take notice.”
The heat in her midsection spread, then warred with irritation over his suggestion. Was he jealous? Teasing? Or was he just used to telling people what to do? Having his way?
She tilted her head to one side and decided to give him a dose of his own medicine. Make him squirm for a while. “Are you saying you notice?”
Something flashed across his eyes, but it was gone so fast that Stella wasn’t sure if she’d imagined it or not. “Well, I’m not blind.”