Page 23 of Floored (Frenched 3)
“Me? No. I have to work here tonight.”
“I thought the class ended at nine.”
“It does, but I’m staying late to finish ripping out the old floor downstairs. It’s warped. We started today but didn’t finish, and the guys are coming to lay the new sub floor on Friday so I can put a new dance surface on top of it over the holiday weekend. I’ll probably have to work tomorrow too.” I was talking too fast, saying too much. Krista yawned.
“On Thanksgiving?”
I shrugged. “Have to do it when the students aren’t here.”
“Do you need help?”
“Charlie, I thought we were going to dinner at Ottava Via after this. You promised if I came here, you’d take me there.” Krista pouted prettily.
“Relax. I will.” Charlie looked at me. “I could help you tomorrow, if you want.”
“No, that’s all right. Enjoy Ottava Via. I love that place.”
“Me too.” He gave me The Smile. “What do you know, something to add to the list. Right after beer.”
I had to smile back, and something fluttered in my stomach that scared me like crazy.
Because it wasn’t sexual. It was genuine affection.
Oh dear. Oh dear. No, no, no. My brain sounded a red alert, telling me to flee before my emotions got away from me. But my feet felt weighted to the ground next to him, even as my heart threatened to balloon up out of my body.
Thankfully, someone else called my name for help right then, and I turned away from them. I taught the rest of lesson in a blur, thankful it was a crowded night and a lot of other couples wanted my attention. Staying busy kept me from staring at Charlie and Krista, wondering if he was banging her already or if he’d take her home and bang her for the first time tonight. Would I cross his mind while they were doing it?
Then I got angry. What the hell was he doing bringing a date to my dance class? Why show up at all, unless it was to see me again? And if he did want to see me again, why not just ask me for coffee like last time? Then again, maybe he didn’t care about seeing me. Maybe he just wanted to bring Krista with a K to a dance class.
God knows she needed it.
After the lesson, I left the music on for open dancing and circulated throughout, helping the men with two left feet and the women who loved them get more comfortable being on the dance floor. “Remember,” I said to one overzealous twenty-something with a bow tie, suspenders, and a bad habit of doing what I call the Mixmaster with his partner’s arm while she was trying to turn. “You don’t need to be fancy. Just lift that arm, lead gently with the hand on her back, and she’ll follow.”
Charlie and Krista must have slipped out during the open dancing portion of the night, because at one point I glanced over to where they’d been standing, and noticed they were gone. I exhaled, feeling both relief and disappointment. Oh well, I guess that’s that.
After the last student had left, I sent my assistant home and locked myself in. The new vinyl flooring for the downstairs room had finally arrived—paid for by a loan from dear old dad as an early Christmas gift—and this weekend was the perfect chance for me to get it down. But first I had to tear out the old wood. Nick and Lucas had started the process for me earlier today, and although they’d implored me to wait until they could come back to help, I wanted to get it done. They could help me lay the new plywood subfloor on Friday or Saturday, and I’d also need help unpacking the huge, heavy vinyl rolls.
I changed from my skirt, blouse, and heels into a tank top, leggings, and sneakers, piled my hair on top of my head, and pulled on the work gloves Nick had left for me.
Two hours later, I collapsed in a heap, leaning back against the wall. Maybe the guys had been right and I should have waited for them. Rusty nails littered the ground, the dust was enough to choke an army, and my arms were sore from breaking and yanking out the old oak 2 x 4’s. Tired and thirsty, I considered calling it a night and coming back in the morning, even though I was only about half done. But then I remembered I was scheduled to serve at the soup kitchen tomorrow before two o’clock dinner at my mother’s. I’d have to come back tomorrow night. Groaning, I’d gotten to my feet, planning to attack a few more boards when I heard pounding on the studio’s front door.
Immediately my heart jumped into my throat. Who the hell was here so late at night? I glanced at the clock over the stereo—it was after eleven. The studio was located in a strip mall of stores that were closed already, and I’d turned out the lights in the front. No one knew I was here except—
Bang bang bang!
I picked up my phone and a solid 2 x 4 before slipping into the dark hallway and tiptoeing up to the front. The door was glass, so as soon as I got close, I’d be able to see who it was if I turned on the light above the entrance. Hunching over so whoever it was wouldn’t see me first, I got behind the desk and flipped the switch. Then I peeked.
Charlie.
Heart thudding in relief and surprise, I moved around the desk, unlocked the door and opened it. Cold, wintry air rushed in with him, and the smell of Autumn Orgasm smote me once more. “Hey. What are you doing here?”
“I came to help.” He held up a white bag in one hand and a six pack of beer in the other. “And I brought you something.”
“From Ottava Via?”
“No, from a little Irish pub I like near there. Ottava Via was really crowded, and I didn’t feel like waiting around with Krista.”
My feet itched to do a little happy dance. “Did you tell her that?”
