Page 24 of Every Time We Touch

“Thank fuck for that,” Jen says, ignoring my question. “I’m not sure I could deal with having a half-sibling who is younger than Lily.” Another delicious grin spreads on her lips. “I was talking to Austin and Juan this weekend and we established that your age gap with my dad is just on the right side of acceptable.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yeah. It’s Dad’s age, so seventy, divided by two, plus seven. That’s forty-two, so you’re just in the clear.”

“If you put it like that.” I can hardly hold it against Eric’s kids that they’re having these kinds of conversations. “Who came up with this formula for being acceptable?”

Jen shakes her head. “No idea, but we used it when Austin started dating Juan as well.” She cocks her head. “Juan said he had to cancel his lesson with you.”

Possibly because of the present company I’m in, I’d all but forgotten about another St James-adjacent person having booked a lesson. My beginner group classes are in demand enough that a free spot fills up quickly and I don’t always notice when someone doesn’t show up.

“He had to cover for someone at the LGBT Center,” Jen says.

Marisol brings over our drinks.

“You still haven’t answered my question,” I say.

“Which one?” Looking completely relaxed—and all the more scrumptious for it—Jen leans back and sips from her beer bottle.

“Kids? You?”

“Oh.” She puts her bottle down. “No. I love being an aunt, but I’ve not had that many relationships and single motherhood…” She dramatically huffs some air out of her lungs. “That’s not for me.”

“How’s that confidence boost coming along?” I’ve had snippets of our conversations running through my head all week.

“Terrible when I couldn’t make it down the stairs.” She twirls the bottle between her long fingers. “But better now, I guess.” She smiles again. “That I appear to be teacher’s pet.”

Luckily, the food is brought over and I hope the arranging of plates on our table takes Jen’s attention away from my flushed cheeks.

“Hmmm,” Jen groans. “I love this dish so much.”

“Have you asked anyone out yet?” I’m usually not this forward with students, let alone new ones, but Jen isn’t just a student. She already feels more like a friend to me than Eric’s daughter.

“I need a few more confidence boosting lessons before I do that.” Jen lets her fork rest on her plate. “I’m in no rush.” She looks at her fork, then at me again. “I’m sorry if this is inappropriate, but I had a chat with Dad last week. He said things between you two are still, um, quite casual.”

“I guess so.” Interesting that Eric put it like that when talking to his daughter.

“Is it more like a situationship? Or are you looking for more?” Jen gazes at me through narrowed eyes as she puts another piece of chicken in her mouth.

“I’m pretty sure Eric is not familiar with the term ‘situationship.’” This isn’t a conversation I want to have with Jennifer, so I’m hoping for an easy way out.

Jen laughs, quickly covering her mouth with her hand, and it’s ridiculously cute. After she’s swallowed, she says, “We try to keep him up on the lingo, but, you know.” She takes another sip of beer. “I’m hardly down with how Gen Z speaks myself.”

“Same.” Even though the food is delicious, I find it hard to focus on it. “Last week, a girl in my hip-hop class was talking about a ‘soft launch’ and I kept wondering what product a girl her age could possibly be launching, but it turned out she was actually talking about revealing her new relationship on Instagram.” I shake my head. “I can’t keep up with that kind of stuff anymore.”

“You teach hip-hop as well?” Jen’s voice is so full of obvious awe, it makes me blush again. Damn it.

I just nod.

“I should have picked that.” She cocks her head. “That wasn’t on your website.”

“It’s more an informal class with a bunch of kids I’ve been teaching the classics since they were little.” I’d love to see Jen try her hand—well, her body—at some hip-hop dancing. But I wouldn’t be able to hold her like I do in the tango.

“Is there any video footage of you dancing hip-hop?” Jen asks.

“Sure.” I often record myself when putting together a routine. “Why?” If she can ask, so can I.

“Um.” She chuckles awkwardly. “For… my motivation.” She nods, as though pleased with the reply she came up with.