by Ashley Logan
“Yup.” Serge responded without looking at Irwin. He was too busy watching the teacher as she danced around the children. Her body was slender and seemed almost elastic as she twisted and turned to the beat with a huge smile on her face. “I recognize the teacher. She been taking this class long? The kids look like they’re really enjoying it.”
Irwin leaned in for a look. “Oh yeah. Violet’s been doing this all summer. Her classes are very popular.” They watched as she swayed gracefully back and forth before stomping roughly in a circle clapping her hands.
Irwin laughed. “She’s a smart girl. Talked to me for ages about her theories on expressing emotion through dance. The kids seem to lap it up, and I‘ve heard Kim - the swim instructor - talking about the difference in some of the kids.”
“What kind of difference?” Serge asked, pulling his eyes away from Violet with difficulty.
Irwin shrugged. “I don’t know, like more in control of themselves and stuff. Said she had a kid raging out at the pool that stopped mid-rant, pounded out a few gnarly dance moves, and took himself quietly aside until she could talk to him about it. Said he’d mellowed right out.” Shrugging again, Irwin stepped aside as parents started arriving and entering the gym to collect their kids. “Maybe there’s something to it. You need to see anything else?” Irwin asked as he saw Serge watching Violet again.
Shaking his head, Serge turned to Irwin and shook his hand. “Thanks Irwin. I’ll call you later this week to work out the roster. I’m just going to have a word with Vi, before she leaves.”
“Right-o. See ya Serge.”
Serge waited until the crowd poured back out of the gym and watched as Vi bent to the speaker on the far side. Standing in the empty doorway, he was suddenly not so sure it was a good idea to approach her when she was alone. She hadn’t called him back.
But she also hadn’t texted him to fuck off.
The low music cut out completely and Serge knocked on the open door.
“Excuse me, Vi?” he called across the space, his voice shakier than he’d have liked.
Her head whipped around. Standing slowly, she looked about, wiped her forehead and ran a hand over her hair.
“Serge. Hi. What are you doing here?” she asked, slipping her phone into her pocket and eying the side door.
“Irwin was showing me the space. I’ll be running some self-defense classes here soon. Promise I’m not stalking you,” he added, in case that was the reason for her apparent unease. “Are you alright?”
Shuffling her legs a moment, she began stretching her quads as she regarded him warily. “I’m fine. I’m sorry I over-reacted yesterday. It happens sometimes, but I’m fine.” Watching him as she changed legs, she sighed. “Thanks for calling to check on me. I was still wondering how to reply when you knocked on the door just now.” She looked at her feet and sat to put on her shoes. “It’s pretty mortifying behavior and not something I like explaining.”
She looked up shyly, her cheeks rosy with more than exertion from dance class and Serge shrugged. “So don’t explain. You want to get a coffee?”
Her eyebrows shot up. “You still want to be friends?” she asked, as if it were the strangest thing in the world.
“Be a pretty shitty friend if I didn’t want to, so why would you want me as one then?”
Smiling a little, Vi tied her laces and checked her phone.
“Coffee doesn’t sound very filling or nutritious. It’s dinnertime,” she said, giving him a concerned and knowing look, as if she could tell he’d been depriving himself. But how could she know he was starving?
Rubbing the back of his head, he studied her face. She definitely knew something. There was suspicion and a challenge in her eye, with no sign of leaving it be. Exhaling roughly, he looked at his watch as if he needed to confirm it was time to eat. “I could be talked into some sushi, I guess.”
Lowering her eyes to her shoes, she tried to hide her triumphant smile. “Sushi it is. I’m buying.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
VIOLET
“So you teach dance to underprivileged kids at the Rec,” he says, making conversation as we walk down the street to Hungry Hungry, a local cafe with a glass case displaying everything from sushi to quiche.
“Apparently.” Without looking up, I pull the door open for him to enter first, still wondering about his relationship with food. “What’s your favorite sushi? I’m getting salmon, but I’m open to sharing if you want more than one flavor.”
Chewing the inside of his cheek, he views the range. Even healthy food seems to unnerve him. Puffing his cheeks out, he releases his breath in a string of little puffs that remind me of a train chugging uphill. “You like tuna?” he asks carefully, as if I might shoot him down.
“Love it. Let’s get heaps, I’m starving. Those kids really work up my appetite.”
Serge’s eyes crinkle at the corners as he smiles. “I’m glad we’re okay, Vi.” His genuinely happy smile lingers as he holds my gaze, making me blush. “I enjoy your company.”
“Told you I was the company and not the misery,” I reply with a flirty smile. Catching myself, I dial it back to an appropriate level. Still smiling, I grab a coke from the fridge, raising my eyebrows in question to him. He nods and I grab a second.
Pointing out our choices to the cashier, I pay for lunch as our mountain of sushi gets piled onto a platter, loaded on a tray with plates, ginger, a huge ball of wasabi, and bottle of soy sauce. Serge grabs the tray, eying the sushi with a look of concentration. I wonder if he’s working out how many sit ups he’ll need to do to burn it off. Putting my wallet back into my gym bag, I nod towards a couple of seats over in the corner.
Shoving my bag under the table, I pull out a chair. “Actually, I might just go freshen up. I probably look a mess after dance class, and my hands feel grimy as hell. Bet they’re coated in germs. Back in a sec,” I say, slipping away to the restroom.
Sighing at the state of my hair in the mirror, I do my best to tidy it up. The paper towel dispenser is empty, so I push back out the door still shaking my hands dry. Nearly bumping into someone, I step back, apologizing.
“You!” he says, making me stiffen. “Where are my books, Vixen?”
Swallowing hard, I remind myself that I’m safe in the public eye. “My name is Violet.”
“Like I give a shit. Where are they?” he demands.
“I don’t have your books, Josh. I donated them to charity.”
“You what? You crazy bitch! I need them back!” he cries, his face lowering to mine as he steps further into my space.
“Hey, Josh,” Serge says in an overly friendly tone. “Violet and I were just talking about you.”
Looking annoyed that he’s been interrupted in his attempt to intimidate me, Josh turns to find Serge looking down at him, holding his police badge at eye level. Serge’s other hand is balled into a tight fist at his side. “Maybe you’d like to join us?” he says through gritted teeth.
Josh’s body language immediately changes and his eyes snap back to mine, filled with fear. Shaking himself out of it, he sets his jaw. “Not without a lawyer present.”
He makes to duck past Serge, toward the door. Serge sidesteps, nudging him forcefully, but grabbing him before he can fall. Still holding him firmly, Serge gives Josh a deliciously menacing smile. “Careful there, Josh. Lucky I’m good at catching people. Try to keep yourself out of trouble. And don’t talk to Violet again. Ever. Got it?”
Josh’s head moves up and down like a jackhammer as his wide eyes fly to the exit.
“Good.” Meeting my eyes, Serge silently asks if I need more. I shake my head.
Releasing his hold, Serge steps to the side so that Josh can pass. We both watch as Josh stumbles a few steps and uses a table to steady himself, before dashing out the door.
Turning back to me, Serge’s dark brows draw down in concern. “You alright?”
Nodding, I close my eyes to the stares of other customers, wishing I could disappear.
“Still have an appetite?” he asks, making me open my eyes again. “I can’t climb that sushi mountain on my own.” He gestures to the table and I nod slowly.
“Come on,” he says, taking my hand. “Ignore the spectators,” he adds, purposely loud. “They don’t realize how uncomfortable they’re making us. If they did, they’d stop gawking so rudely.”
It’s enough to make the dinner crowd avert their eyes quickly. A small smile begins to grow on my face as Serge leads me back to our table.
“Nice move,” I say quietly as we sit down again.
“People respond to honesty,” he says, watching me with probing eyes. He wants the truth from me.
The heat in my cheeks must be plain for all to see.
“They may not have been my books in that suitcase,” I admit quietly, staring at my chopsticks as I roll them between my fingers.
“Well you did say you hadn’t been thinking clearly, and under the circumstances you implied, I imagine it was an easy mistake to make. Someone else’s books instead of your own; given the rush you were in to leave,” Serge says carefully, telling my story. “You are clearly a charitable woman, who no longer has need for medical texts. I don’t think I need to hear any more about it, unless there’s something you’d like to add.”
My chopsticks keep rolling. I’d like to tell him that stealing the books was a metaphor for kicking Josh in the balls; that I was too scared to get close enough to actually do that. I’d like to tell him that I’m glad I did it. I’d like to tell him it felt like more justice than reporting it and having nothing done would have; that I was scared of that; that I’m always scared underneath because I already know that people can get away with violating me.
I shake my head. “No. Thank you.”
“If you ever want to talk about anything, Vi - and I mean anything, I’m here to listen.”
His tone is so serious that I look up from my chopsticks. His warm brown eyes are looking directly at me.
“That’s what friends do. And you should know, because you listened to my fucked up love triangle dramas,” he says, smiling as his tone turns humorous. “Still hungry hungry?”
I nod, jabbing a chopstick into the wasabi and smearing it over a salmon piece before shoving it in my mouth and smiling back with chipmunk cheeks.
“That was a lot of wasabi, Vi. Didn’t you want to check the potency first?” he asks, holding up his sushi with its tiny wasabi test sample and putting it in his mouth. His eyes go wide and he looks at me and covers his mouth as he tries to contain his laughter.
My eyes are watering and my sinuses are on fire! Trying not to breathe through my nose to inflame the situation, I fan my eyes as I swallow my mistake and gasp for breath.
Bringing a napkin to my eyes, I laugh at myself. “Fuck me, that’s hot! Why can’t they make a universal standard of wasabi for mainstream restaurant use? One that tastes awesome, but doesn’t burn your face off?” Downing half my coke, I wait for the fire to fade and Serge to stop coughing.
He finally stops laughing and choking enough to drink some coke, his own eyes watering now. “Dinner and a show. Thanks, Vi,” he says, laughing again.
“I’m not really used to people cracking up at my performances,” I say, laughing at myself.
Serge quiets, his dark brows twitching as he decides which piece to take next. Preparing it for eating, he pays it more attention than necessary. I was expecting this, I guess.
“Because we are friends who are honest with each other, can I ask you a question?”
Serge’s eyes rise to meet mine. “I guess,” he says carefully, lifting his sushi to his mouth and chewing it slowly.
“Were you avoiding me just now because I mentioned my stripping, or because of your food issues?”
He stops chewing and looks at the sushi platter before looking back to me. After a period of obvious consideration, he starts chewing again. Swallowing, he takes a drink of coke, delaying his response.
“Both,” he says, avoiding my eyes again.
Nodding, I set up another piece of sushi. “Okay. Just wondering.”
“That’s it?” he asks, watching me chew. I shrug and nod again, unable to respond.
“So you’re not going to question me about any of it like you interrogated me about Gina?”
Swallowing, I nab another tuna piece. “Do you want me to?”
Quiet a while, Serge stares at the sushi and sighs. Shrugging, he goes about preparing another piece as if it’s a chore.
“Do you know why you do it?” I ask out of curiosity.
Frowning, Serge uses his chopsticks to twist a slice of ginger into a rosette on his salmon piece. “Just to be clear, are we talking about how I feel about you stripping, or how I feel about food?”
Smiling, I arch an eyebrow. “The food, Serge. I can guess about the thoughts on stripping. It’s not really a profession most people approve of.”
Staring at me, he puts the sushi in his mouth, preventing him from answering. Uncomfortable under his gaze, I drop my eyes to the food, deciding which to have next.
“We could play this mountain like Jenga, you know,” I say, pulling a piece from the bottom of the stack to see if the remaining tower would collapse. It doesn’t.
“I know some of why I do it. And I wasn’t disapproving.”
Mouth full, I can only raise my eyebrows in surprise. Looking to the pile of sushi still to be eaten, I look back to him and swallow. “You think we could forget about both for a while and just eat without worrying about it?”
Giving a small nod, Serge collects a piece from the bottom of the tower on his side. “Loser buys dinner next time?” he asks, a small smile on his lips as he holds it up.
If it means he’ll eat dinner, then I’m all for it. Pulling a piece from my side, I tap it against his piece as we would our drinks. “Deal.”
Serge unavoidably makes the tower fall as I chew the last safe option. We clean up the last few pieces and I lean back in my chair rubbing my belly. “I’m full enough to hibernate. Why does sushi taste so good?”
Laughing, Serge eyes my belly. “I wouldn’t have believed you could fit it all in there, if I hadn’t seen your prowess with my own eyes.”
“Ah yes. I’m a woman of many talents,” I laugh, checking my phone for the time. “Crap. You think you could roll me back to the Rec center? I left my bike there and I need to head to work.”
Serge smiles, but tries to hide it.
“What?”
Shaking his head, he drinks the last of his coke.
“Tell me.”
Clearing his throat, Serge begins to blush. “Nothing, really. I was picturing you looking like that swollen blueberry girl on Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. Sorry, but you put the image in my head.”
“You know that girl’s name was Violet, right?” I laugh, rubbing my belly again. “And I had the same image run through my head, so don’t feel like you’re offending me, Power Serge.” Standing up, I swing my gym bag over my shoulder feeling full of lead and about as graceful as a slug. “Urgh, I’m glad I’m just working behind the bar tonight. I don’t think I could pull off sexy feeling like I do.”
Serge looks me up and down and shrugs. “Look okay to me,” he says, taking our tray to the clearing station.
Making no sexy eyes or flirtatious pass at me, Serge carries on, unaffected. Feeling myself smile, I know his words are out of politeness, but they still make me feel good. “You’re too nice Serge.”
Turning back to me, he laughs. “Sure, Vi. Forget the fact that I’m lurking in the wings waiting to steal another man’s wife. I’m a really great guy.”
“As far as I can tell, that’s the only blemish on your otherwise stellar record, and the fact that you beat yourself up about it, just goes to show that you haven’t been completely corrupted by the dark side.” Nudging him with my elbow as we walk back to the Rec, I smile up at him. “Face it. You’re really rather nice.”
Smiling, he pushes me awa
y and strides ahead. “The fact that you believe I am when I’m not proves I’m even more devious than I’d thought. And don’t use the word corrupt when you talk to a cop. It makes us all kinds of paranoid and defensive.”
“Noted. I’ll keep it in reserve for when I want to see you and your police buddies squirm.”
“Like I’d let them anywhere near you,” he mutters as we round the corner to the bike racks.
I stop short. “Why not?”
“Why not what?” he asks, viewing the bikes and looking back to me with a question in his eyes. “Which one’s yours?”
Frowning, I walk to my bike and pull it out of the rack.
“That wasn’t locked?” he asks, watching me shove my bag into a better position.
“If someone really wants to steal my shitty bike, they need it more than I do. I can buy another one.”
He leans back at my tone. “Why are you mad?”
“Why wouldn’t you want me around your friends? Are you ashamed of being friends with a stripper?”
“Not at all,” he says instantly, looking embarrassed. “I didn’t think you heard that.”
“Clearly.”
“I’m not ashamed, Vi.”
“Then what is it?” I demand, straddling my bike and crossing my arms over my chest. “Is it the fact that sometimes men freak me the fuck out and you wouldn’t want me to embarrass you with a public meltdown? Or maybe you think I’ll steal their books?”
Laughing a little, Serge shakes his head and turns impossibly redder. “None of those things, Vi. It’s more because most of the guys I work with are fucking perverts and you’re like, the hottest chick in Buffalo. The sight of you would literally blow their minds. I don’t want to clean up that mess and I don’t want to be fielding constant questions from any survivors. I’ve got more important things to do than fending off requests for your phone number.”
My cheeks now blazing, I stare at him speechless.
“I didn’t mean to offend you. I’m gonna go now,” he says, pointing a thumb over his shoulder and backing away. “I hope I didn’t just fuck this up again, Vi. It was nice seeing you. Really rather nice,” he adds, smiling a little as he hides his face in his hands and turns to walk away.