Chapter 5

Five

SARA

Like a silly school girl,I giggled on my walk back to the dance company from the coffee house.

The usual…he’d said to the barista. Mr. Iced Double was a regular and I literally had to hold back a chortle the instant I heard her say ‘Till tomorrow, Mr. Wright.

Mr. Wright. He couldn’t have been any more of a walking cliché if he tried. With his ludicrously perfect smile, body built like a tight-end, and a voice that could hypnotize, I mean, who wouldn’t drool for the guy? He strutted like a lion claiming his territory, and everyone around him practically parted the seas to let him pass.

I didn’t realize how hard I’d been staring at his broad shoulders and sculpted backside until he turned around, almost catching me staring at him. I shielded my gaze like a dumbass because the guy made me so nervous my thoughts turned to mashed potatoes in his presence.

Couldn’t deny that a part of me caved when he didn’t recognize me from the other day. Though, maybe if I hadn’t pretended like he didn’t exist, he may have dared to ask me for my number. I shook my head at the dumb thought. The guy was so out of my league.

Still, I couldn’t keep my eyes from putting a GPS lock on his bodacious body as he dashed out the door in some type of hurry.

A long breath puffed from my chest, wondering where he was headed to or if perhaps I’d have another chance to see him soon.

Soon…because I was clearly already contemplating continuing to stalk him.

* * *

Back at the company, Rebecca ran down the hallway, hair flying, eyes bulging, chasing after three more dancers who were threatening to leave if Alexei didn’t change. “You’re damned lucky to be dancing at all in this city, you ungrateful brats. With Alexei Voronov, mind you.”

After demoralizing Jess, Estella, and Danny, she made me clean up the mess. It wasn’t unusual. While I was her assistant, everyone knew I didn’t necessarily hold any loyalties to her, so the dancers used me as their pincushion to vent their frustrations.

I played peacemaker—for their sake, not Rebecca’s. I knew the endless hours they devoted to rehearsals. Food and sleep were a luxury. These dancers ate and breathed their routines as if their lives depended on it. I wasn’t going to allow them to throw their dreams away because of one arrogant, heartless choreographer who arrived late when God handed out souls.

Two hours after stroking their egos and promising them Alexei wasn’t always going to be our head choreographer, I managed to convince Jess and Danny this job was only a stepping stone to an even bigger and brighter future. They agreed to stay.

Two down. One to go.

Before calling Estella into my office, I trudged into the kitchen to fetch some of our notoriously stale, afternoon coffee. With lead-laced limbs, I sluggishly reached for the pot, poured myself a cup, and plopped on a chair at one of the tiny lunch tables, hoping to relieve my body of the strain of Rebecca’s and Alexie’s baleful antics. I needed to summon happy thoughts—anything to help dissolve the mind-twisting problems of the company’s circus. As my brain painted a beach getaway in Tahiti, a pair of olive-colored eyes materialized in front of me.

“Girl, what you smiling at, ’cause it sure ain’t about that shit you’re drinking?” Martha’s voice startled me out of my day dream.

“Oh, hey,” I said, shaking my head. “I wasn’t smiling.”

“Yes. You were. Like a big-ass grin. What’s his name?”

“Whose name?”

“The guy who’s got you all stupefied, that’s who.”

Jeez, is it that obvious?

I smoothed down my hair and took a sip of the battery acid in my cup. Avoiding her gaze, I said, “You’re too funny. You know I don’t believe in men.”

Martha let out a belly laugh as she walked to the fridge and retrieved a yogurt. She took a seat next to me and peeled off the top to her afternoon snack. Martha’s mocha-colored eyes twinkled and her black curly hair cascaded to her shoulders. She looked me straight in the eyes and did her famous head-jiggy, the one she gave people trying to sidestep an issue. “Honey, you ain’t fooling nobody. You’ve been acting strange since last Friday.”

“Define strange,” I said.

“For starters, you’ve been walking around all spacey and now you’re drinking…that.” She nodded toward my cup.

“Well, I need caffeine, and right now I don’t give a rat’s ass how it tastes.” I smiled then added, “And I’m not spacey.”

She rolled her eyes.

“What?”

“Fine. Don’t tell me. I’ll figure it out. Is it the new delivery guy? He’s kinda cute, although a bit bony for my tastes. You know I like my men plump and juicy,” she reminded me as she licked her spoon.

“No. It’s not Adam.”

“Ooh, you know his name,” she chirped.

“Everyone knows his name, so stop it. There’s no guy. You know I’d tell you if there was.”

“Right. Anyway, back to work.” She threw the yogurt cup in the trash and winked at me before leaving the kitchen. “Say hi to Adam for me.”

I laughed.

His name is Mr. Iced Double.

I poured the remaining coffee down the drain and went searching for number three—the beautiful, brunette starlet, Estella. She proved harder to convince and after much deliverance, I was forced to use my last card. “As a Russian immigrant with a pending legal status, finding another dancing job in the city could be difficult, Estella. I guess, you could try your luck back home.”

She sat in front of my desk, eyes filled with brimstone, arms crossed in frustration, aware we had her pinned.

It was a low blow, but Rebecca made me use it to our advantage. When Estella sent us her portfolio, we knew we’d hit the jackpot. We immediately offered to sponsor her green card, contingent upon her staying with the company at least for a year after obtaining legal status. Estella would have been picked up by any dance company in Europe, but we knew she wanted to come to the U.S. to be close to her family.

Having to practically coerce her made my stomach churn with disgust. I really despised Rebecca for making me use Estella’s family against her, but reminding her of the promise she made helped change her mind. By the time the day ended, I’d saved the company from having one amazing show but no performers. I could have patted myself on the back, instead I felt like I’d sold my soul to the devil.

On my way home that night, I passed Rockefeller Plaza. It wasn’t my normal route, and I tried to convince myself it was just a coincidence I’d taken a different way home, but lying to myself was lame. As soon as I spotted the coffeehouse, my chest tightened as thoughts of Mr. Iced Double rushed in. What would be the chances he’d stop for a cup of Joe after work? Maybe if I ran into him again I’d finally have the guts to say hi. Perhaps he’d see me and this time ask for my number?

Summoning courage, I pushed through The Int’l House of Java’s doors and noticed Pretty Little Emily was still tending the counter. I ran my fingers across my brow, smoothing away the tension.

“May I take your order?” she asked as I reached the counter. Her eyebrows pinched in the middle as she tipped her salon-perfect, blonde bob, making it swoosh at her neck.

“I’ll have a medium cappuccino with skim milk. Two raw sugars and cinnamon powder, please,” I replied.

“Will that be all?”

“Um…”

“Hey, Bob,” a man said behind me. “Yeah, it’s a done deal…I’m serious…drinks at The Pussy Cat’s Meow tonight. Eight. See ya later, man.”

Iced Double.

My body temperature immediately skyrocketed from cool to scorching. “Actually, just the coffee,” I said to Ms. Googly-Eyes.

The counter girl looked up, a smile stretching past her cheekbones. “Evening, Mr. Wright.”

My hands trembled and my clothes dampened from all the perspiration.

Sweating like a hog. Oh, yeah, this is attractive.

Not wanting to trip again, I carefully pivoted, but my heel twisted anyway and I went flying.

As I shut my eyes, bracing for the face-plant, Iced Double said, “Whoa, careful there.”

When I opened my eyes, my face inches away from his mystic green gaze and luscious lips, I turned to stone in his strong arms.

“You okay?” A short smile pulled at the corners of his mouth as he held me.

“Um … yeah. Th-thank…you,” I stammered.

His crooked smile only widened, melting me in his arms. Goosebumps flared throughout my skin as he settled me back on my feet. I steadied myself, straightened my twill dress, and glanced up as his twinkling gaze once again. Heavens. The man was tall.

“Looks like you keep falling for me,” he said with a chuckle, his smile broadening as he waited for me to respond.

My brain failed to compute what happened. My thoughts were a jumbled mess.

Say something witty, you klutz.

All I could muster was a shrug and an awkward laugh.

He frowned.

Iced Double had flirted with me and I’d basically brushed him off.

His glorious smile faded. “Okay…” he droned, nodding goodbye. Then he turned back to the counter to order his espresso.

Mortified, I lowered my head, grabbed my coffee from the counter, and scurried away.

Shit. Shit. Shit. That was not how I’d intended things to go.

Mental note to self—start wearing flats.

Feeling utterly foolish, I stomped out of there determined to never return.

This time, I really mean it.

But when did people actually have a say in how things panned out? And why couldn’t I stop thinking about this guy? About wanting to get to know him better? About wanting to experience what it would be like to be kissed by him?

Sara, the hopeless romantic…

Scratch that. I didn’t believe in that crap. Not anymore. I was Sara, the one with no hope of ever finding true love.

Yet, if that’s what I truly believed, why did I pull out my phone to text Jen?

Me: Hey, any plans tonight?

Jen: Working a double. Why?

Me: Just wondering

Jen: Why?

Me: No reason. Gotta go.

I didn’t like lying to Jen, but I also wasn’t up for a lecture. Contemplating a stop by The Pussy Cat’s Meow, a nightclub downtown? All by myself? To look for a guy I didn’t even know?

Yeah. I’d gone from not believing in soulmates to becoming a total psycho.