The Hookup Handbook(38)
By the time I circle the park and arrive back by my car, I realize I haven’t stopped thinking about her the whole time. Not to mention my dick has become semi-hard again, rubbing against my jeans in a way I’m not really happy with.
I need to see her again and figure out where her head is at. Because clearly, mine is fucking crawling with thoughts of her, and right now, I can’t tell whether that’s a good thing or not.
Chapter Sixteen
Sienna
“Piqué, piqué turn! And repeat!”
Twenty-four tiny ballet slippers follow every step that I call out, moving in perfect time to the music. How many times have we run this dance tonight? Eight? Nine? I’ve lost count, and I’m sure the girls have too. What started out as a fun little pop-music combo during the first class has evolved into a full-length number that’s nearly recital ready.
Nearly. Yes, I’m being a bit of a perfectionist. These girls are only four, after all. Their parents are more worried about getting a cute picture of their daughter in a tutu than they are about seeing a professional-grade performance. I know that.
“Good! Final pose, girls. Ready?”
As the song builds to its big finish, my ballerinas scurry into formation and strike their final pose, forcing big cheesy smiles as they hold their positions. They look like something out of a ballet-costume catalog. Well, except for two troublemakers in the back who fall down on their little ballerina booties, totally pooped. One of them erupts into giggles, which makes the other girls drop their positions to giggle and point.
All right, I guess my little drama queens are done for the day.
“Great work tonight, ladies! Line up super quick at the door. Miss Helen is waiting out in the lobby with your recital costumes. Make sure your parents pick yours up before you go!”
The girls erupt into excited chatter as they swarm the door, giddy to be released, like fireflies in a jar waiting for me to open the lid. I manage to get them into some semblance of a line before I open the door, sending them flying out into the arms of their parents, who are frantically digging through enormous piles of sparkly white leotards and puffy pink tutus with Helen, talking in excited tones.
“Do you need help?” I call out over the sea of scrambling parents, but Helen shakes her head and shoots me a thumbs-up.
“It’s all under control,” she says from behind a pink tulle barricade. She’s a seasoned pro at this stuff. I’m better off staying out of the way.
Mouthing “good luck” to Helen, I retreat into the studio, closing the door between me and the chaos. Cue the exhausted sigh. I love this job more than anything in the world, but four-year-olds are exhausting, no matter how much you love them. The second I get home, I’ve got a bubble bath and a tall glass of wine with my name on it.
Speaking of home, I’d better check on Ryder’s ETA. When he dropped me at the studio on his way to the office, he pinkie-promised me he would be quick, but if I know my brother even a little, he’s guaranteed to be late. I sashay over to the stereo to check my phone, but I haven’t heard from him.
Ugh. I knew I should have just driven myself, but it made sense earlier since he was going right by the studio.
Balancing two jobs has been a little tricky, but I’m trying to save up so eventually I can move out of his apartment and into a place of my own without having to touch my trust fund. Ever since Case and I slept together, I’ve felt like I’m constantly holding my breath around my brother, worried that I’m going to slip up and say something that gives us away. Living under the same roof as him makes a complicated situation nearly impossible.
Well, as long as I’m stuck here, I might as well dance.
As if I haven’t heard this track enough times in the last hour, I cue it up on my phone one last time.
The beat builds to the chorus and my feet slip into every move in double time, then triple time, and suddenly I’m adding leaps and endless fouetté turns across the floor. I’m freestyling and having fun pushing myself. I lift my arms into first position and point my toes with every turn, the crowd responding with thunderous applause.
Wait, that’s not the crowd. That’s just someone knocking.
I fall out of my turn combination and snap my head toward the door. “Come in.” Maybe Helen changed her mind about me lending a helping hand.
In strolls Ryder, looking a bit flustered from having fought through the crowd of crazed dance moms. And who just happens to be behind him, ducking out of the way of a mom wielding a tutu like a weapon?
Case.
My cheeks flush, and at first, I think it must be embarrassment that my too-hot-to-handle boss is seeing me in nothing but a leotard and tights. But then I remember he’s seen me in less. Much, much less. It’s the fact that my brother is standing here, totally oblivious, that has my cheeks practically on fire.
“Is this what you had to pick up at the office, Ryd?” I pull a bobby pin from my hair and gesture toward Case with it, a single blond wave falling loose. Maybe if I take my hair down, it will distract from the fact that I’m as red as a tomato.
“Nah, I had to grab my pay stub. But Case and I are gonna drop you off at home and then go catch up over a few beers.”
I swallow the lump in my throat as I head for the stereo to unplug my phone. The thought of Case and Ryder “catching up” makes my stomach do pirouettes. If Ryder had any idea of what exactly has been going on with his supposed best friend, neither of them would make it through half a beer before a punch got thrown. Case will keep his lips zipped for my sake and his, no doubt, but the thought is still enough to put me on the edge of nausea.