She chuckles, and I like the way her nose crinkles and her petite shoulders rise, showing off her frail frame dressed in another lighter pink ensemble—a spaghetti strap form-fitting dress.
I lean more comfortably against the bar, closing the space between us when I notice the fucker sitting next to my Rosie seems to also find her cute. He won’t stop checking her out. From head to toe, he looks her over and over and over again. I hate to do it, but I return my hand to her back, sliding my fingers to wrap around the opposite side of her waist, so the asswipe knows she’s mine for the night.
I’d love for us to be alone. “Let’s go out on the dance floor.”
“Taylor,” she puffs some air letting her lips flap. “It’s not appropriate for us to hang out. We talked about this and I’m serious when I say I can’t dance.”
“I’m sure,” I acknowledge, grabbing her drink and taking a whiff. “You haven’t let anyone buy you a real drink yet. Hey bartender!” I yell.
“No, you can’t do that. I don’t drink.” She waves to halt the bartender, which causes her to nearly fall off the stool and claw at my bicep.
I grab her fingers interlacing them with mine and get behind her, caging her in. I can’t have her falling over. It would be a shame if she did a flop since it appears she hasn’t even had any alcohol yet.
“What can I get you?” The bartender is all smiles.
“I’ll take a Jack and Coke and she’ll have a uh...” I put my lips to her ear. “What do you want, Rosie? I’m buying.”
She shakes her head. “I told you. I don’t drink.”
Jesus, this girl. “You don’t dance. You don’t drink. You don’t go out—sooner or later, your fake excuses are not going to work.”
“I swear. They’re not excuses.” She slumps forward and now I feel bad because the bartender is looking at me like I’m a schmuck and I’m probably behaving like one, but fuck this girl is so frustrating.
“Get her a martini,” I holler. “On second thought, make her a cosmopolitan. She likes pink. It’ll match her dress.”
At least I get a half-grin from her this time. Always with the pink this one... and the umbrella, too. I notice the darn thing is hanging from her knee.
Somebody’s afraid to get wet. Too bad for her, getting her wet—soaked—is my mission for the night.
The bartender nods, giving my Rosie an obvious wink, which pisses me off a little. “So, what was up with that kiss between you and the bartender earlier?”
“What did Ben say?” she asks innocently.
“He said the two of you were practicing.”
She perks up, bewildered.
“Yeah,” I continue, “he said you guys are best friends or something? He mentioned you hadn’t been kissed in a long time and you were worried that you’d forgotten how to do it.”
“Ben did not say that.”
“I did,” says the bartender returning with our drinks (and I’m pretty sure that’s not a cosmo he’s brought her but she drinks it).
I reach for my wallet.
“No, no.” He waves his hand. “It’s on the house. Just take good care of her,” he says with another wink at the woman wedged between my arms.
“I will,” I acknowledge, pressing my body against her back, “as soon as I sanitize her mouth to be free of your spit.”
Ben and I both laugh but stop, seeing the object of our discussion is not amused with her face in her palms. Goddamn, I have no idea how to get this girl to loosen up.
A hip-hop song with a Latin beat plays and I realize this is the song, the song that is going to get my Rosie all riled up as soon as I sweep her off her feet and show her how I really like to get it on with my partners.
I down my Jack and Coke. “C’mon.” I tap her hips. “It’s time to dance.”
“No!” She snaps, catching the attention of everyone around us. Ben curiously walks away.
I don’t get why she’s so freaked out. Maybe she really can’t dance and she’s ashamed. “If you don’t know how I said I’ll teach you.”
“I’m unteachable. I can’t dance and you can’t help me. How can I get you to understand that?”
This is crazy. I’ve never met someone so afraid to shuffle her feet. It makes me angry, really, as I’ve also never met someone who said “no” to me or has looked at me so desperately since...
I calm down. “Rosie—”
“Stop calling me Rosie,” she groans. “That’s not my name. If you want to dance, dance with someone else. I’m not one of your groupies that you can just order around.”
“I’ll dance with you,” says a sultry voice, one I recognize from one of the chicks that was hanging around earlier. She loops her arm around mine. “I’ll be happy to take your orders as well.” The chick tugs.
Rosie, or whatever her name is, has a face that speaks disgust and I think I finally get it. She was never interested or “in love” with me as she mentioned on the bus, but with the image I portrayed and I’m ruining it for her. She had me on a pedestal and, like everyone else, she expects me to behave like I’m not allowed to come down from up there.
Unfortunately for her, I don’t do what my fans expect, I only do what my family expects of me.
“Let’s go.” I grab the other chick by the hand and lead her to the dance floor.
Of course, by the time we get smack dab under the disco light, a slow song plays.
The chick links her hands behind my back and plants her cheek on my chest. There really should be nothing to this tango, but it feels like a struggle. We’re swaying but we’re both fighting which direction we want to turn. I want to keep my eye on Rosie. It’s obvious this chick wants me to look the other way.
But I can’t keep my eyes from the bar. It appears the second I left, the guy sitting next to my Rosie managed to capture her attention and they’re talking.
I don’t get it. I know I look better than that guy, but somehow, he’s able to make her smile.
And what the fuck is that?
Is she giggling?
Her nose is crinkling.
She’s fucking giggling at that mother...
I don’t know what this... this urgency inside me is, but I get the feeling I need to go get her, catch her before she falls for that guy.
I push the chick off me and march straight to the bar.
“C’mon,” I say, looping my hands around Rosie’s waist to pick her up. “You’re gonna shake your booty.”
“Taylor, I can’t dance,” she says gripping me so tight around the neck it hurts. “Please, you don’t understand. Take me back to the bar. I don’t want to fall!”
Has she forgotten who I am?
“I swear I’m not going to let you fall.” I let her legs dangle as I pace back to the dance floor where I plant Pretty in Pink on her feet.
The song comes to an end as electronic techno takes over, but she’s still clinging.
“Hey, the slow song is over. We’re just going to shake our hips a little. Let go,” I say, pulling her arms from me.
My little Rosie swivels her head from left to right, spying on the increasing number of people around us and she hugs herself.
She bounces. “Taylor, I need to sit down. Please, I’ve never danced before.” Like a rabbit, she’s hopping.
No wonder she can’t dance.
“That’s not how you do it,” I chortle, trying to capture her attention. “Here look, just sway for now. Side to side. From the left foot to the right.”
“I can’t do that, Taylor.” She’s still looking around at everyone else but me. It’s upsetting.
“Woman, watch me. Look and listen to what I’m telling you. Stop bouncing on one leg, bend both your knees and sway.”
“Taylor, I’m going to die out here. Please take me back.”
I roll my eyes so far up into my head thinking, nobody has ever died from dancing, and I should know!
I feel a bump...
Someone has crashed into me and I think they’re ab
out to crash into Rosie as well so I reach out to grip her but I miss! Everything moves in slow motion when I see my dance partner crumble to the floor.
Oh shit!
She’s fallen!
She’s crying.
She’s still bouncing, but not like before. Her shoulders go up and down because she’s crying so hard.
And she’s gripping her lower leg.
I see she’s wearing two different shoes. One is a plain pink flat and the other is a brown boot that is shaped… differently.
I take a moment to get a good look. The sole of the boot seems a little too thick and there are multiple straps.
“What are you doing? Are you just going to leave her there?” questions Ben, shoving me out of his way and handing me her umbrella.
He goes to pick her up, draping her body across his forearms before he turns to me, snatching the umbrella from my grasp and placing it in her hand.
“It’s okay, Ree,” he calls her as she buries her face smeared with tears into his chest. “Girl, I got you.”
I’m stunned. Never in my life have I not been able to move a muscle.
With one swift turn, Ben marches Ree towards the club’s exit. All I see are her legs swinging, dangling in a pair of unmatched shoes until both her arms hook over his back to show me what she’s been keeping with her all along.
She was never carrying an umbrella, but a cane.
“You’ll essentially be on loan,” says Penny.
“Loan,” I mutter, thinking of Ree, wondering what her full name is. Surely, Ree is short for something else.
“For eighteen weeks,” my grandmother continues, “you’ll go on tour with the Patrizia Ballet.”
“Four and a half months?” I raise a brow. “That’s a long time to be traveling.”
“For two months, you’ll train here with one of their choreographers, and after that, you’ll tour with them for one show season. I get the feeling you’re not happy about this, Taylor.” The tiny red specks in my grandmother’s golden eyes that match her shiny yellow blonde hair flare as the wrinkles in her Botox-pursed lips beg to deepen.
I inhale, rubbing the white velvet armrest of her custom Italian-made sofa.
The charms of my grandmother’s bracelets and necklaces chime as she leans forward, grasping her morning martini. “If you don’t want to go, that’s fine by me. None of this was my idea.”
“It wasn’t?”
“No, it was your socialite’s idea.”
“You mean my marketing manager?”
“Mmm,” nods my grandmother, taking a sip and then a gulp, leaving ruby red lipstick stamped thick over the rim of her glass. “By putting you on loan, she thinks we’ll be able to extend your social reach, make more impressions. Ballerinas of all ages, from far and wide, will want to come to see you—dance with you. When the tour is over, summer will begin and we will charge a significant amount of money—thousands of dollars—for every camp and workshop we host.”
I rub my forehead. “Have you thought about my other ideas—expanding our curriculum to include other forms of dance? We could have camps for those as well.”
My grandmother nearly drops her drink, chortling. “Ballerinas don’t come to our school to dance, Taylor. They come to see you. You and your...” Her eyes narrow as she assesses me. “What is this you’re wearing?”
I shrug. “Jeans and a T-shirt.” What’s the big deal?
“You won’t be wearing that on tour. Slacks and a dress shirt will be your attire. I’ve instructed Diamond—”
My nose flares. “Diamond?”
“Ah, yes. She’ll be joining you on tour. This fiasco with the two of you at odds is not playing out well with some of the school’s sponsors. They’re used to seeing the two of you together. In love.”
“We were never in love. We just dance together.”
“But you slept with her.”
I swallow the bile rising from my throat. “It was a moment of weakness.”
“What’s wrong with Diamond that you don’t like her? You’re a perfect match.”
“We’re not a match. She’s a bitch. She expects too much.”
“Too high maintenance for you, is she, my boy?”
“Yeah, and to be honest, I don’t want to dance with her anymore.”
My grandmother swallows the last gulp of what’s left in her martini and drops her glass on the coffee table, also made in Italy, in front of her. “A photographer will accompany you to take pictures of you both while on tour. Diamond’s agreed to play dress up and dance as if her life depended on it. I need you to agree that you will do the same.”
“Isn’t that what I always do?”
“This time I need you to play nice with Diamond. To repair the image the two of you have crushed over online media.”
There’s an ache in my chest. I don’t really want to play with anyone but Ree...
I mean...
Mess with her.
“Taylor,” my grandmother interrupts my thought. “What do you think your mother would’ve said if she saw those pornographic images of you all over the Internet. Her one and only son doing—”
“I’ll do it.” I get up.
“Good. I always know I can rely on you, but don’t go away. Sit down. We’re not done.”
“I have to get to the studio,” I say, although I really just want to stalk Ree. That whole thing with her not being able to dance...
Ugh! I stayed up all night thinking about what happened. Thinking about seeing her on the ground. That is not my fault and I shouldn’t feel bad about it, especially since she thinks she’s my pimp now—putting me on loan.
“Sit down, Taylor,” my grandmother bosses. “Although I still don’t think you’re equipped to manage the business, I must say you were right to go to a marketing agency to see what they could offer us. This social manager—she’s very good at what she does.”
I nod, heavily. I have to agree, Ree appears to be very good at her work.
“Did you pick her because she was a cripple?”
What? “No.” I flinch. “Why would you think that?”
“You’ve always had a soft spot for the weak. Remember that little blue bird you found with a broken wing?”
How could I forget? You made me twist its neck to save it from “prolonged suffering.”
“Your mother was weak,” my grandmother smooths her yellow hair back. “The school took huge losses after your mother’s death until, of course, you became as great a dancer as she was but at a much younger age.” My grandmother folds her hands of tough skin over her knees. “I always fear you’ll make the same mistakes as your mother did. It’s her fault you don’t know your father. Choices are what separates the wolves from the prey. Hiring this girl is not a sign of weakness, is it Taylor?”
“No,” I chortle. I debate on whether I should clarify that I’d only met Ree yesterday.
“That’s good. The girl is extremely bright. She’s also quite the beauty, despite the leg. Don’t you think?”
My cheeks warm but I find myself trying to hide my smile. “She’s okay.”
“Well, don’t go easy on her,” says my grandmother. “Just because she’s a cripple doesn’t mean you should accommodate her any more than you would a normal person. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” I agree, despite this conversation making me feel confused and uncomfortable.
“You haven’t accommodated her in any way already, have you, Taylor?”
I know what my grandmother is getting at. “Pfft, no.” As if I would actually sleep with Ree knowing she’s... different.
I’d only break her heart and a girl like that probably doesn’t need to be any more broken.
“Good.” My grandmother rubs her hands together. “I’m well aware of the women you keep handy on occasion, but this girl is not the type to get involved with. She controls your image, which means she controls the image of the school. I’m not even sure she, herself, understands the power, I regret, you
’ve given her. Can I trust you, Taylor, not to get involved with her?”
“I... uh...”
“You won’t have a problem there, ma’am,” says Ree, standing under the archway entrance between the living room and the foyer.
She’s here!
The flat-lined smile she has on her face makes me want to squeeze her, force her to smile wider, and I have no idea where the fuck this feeling of weightlessness in my stomach is coming from. I feel like I just did a back handspring ten feet in the air after seeing her.
“Taylor and I, we are very different people,” Ree continues, nodding her head to assure Penny. “This is why I rely on you, ma’am, for input.”
My grandmother looks pleased with the answer, although it breaks my heart a little. I realize, perhaps, I should’ve been participating more in my own social impressions—particularly my scheduling. I’m not really interested in going on tour and I realize Ree is responsible for that. I’d like to scold her for it and I consider I should since I’m sort-of her boss but...
She hobbles.
Her tote is obviously heavy with books and files, but it’s her leg—the one in the unusual boot that is slowing her down. Her cane doesn’t seem to help her speed either.
“Here, let me help you with that.” I stumble over the backend of the sofa, nearly falling forward to grab her bag, but Ree, dressed in a ruffled white top and matching skirt, keeps it from me.
“Taylor, it’s okay.” She lets out a tiny smile.
The corners of my mouth reach my ears, mirroring her. I can’t keep my mouth from widening and I realize I’m digging my hands in my pockets, fidgeting with the lint inside.
Damn, I feel like a kid. Ever since I met this woman, I’ve been behaving like a child—fumbling, falling, fidgeting. My knees are weak. I feel so off balance.
Taylor, you need to get your shit together, I tell myself. Maybe this is why Ree stood you up the first time. Somehow, she knew you’d be the guy to let her fall on her ass. Surely, I can’t let her tumble again.
The Kisser Page 6