by Alexis Daria
“What? No. That’s not what I want.” This conversation wasn’t going at all how Natasha thought it would, and Donna’s implications were offensive.
Worse, they mirrored what her mother said when she found out Natasha was living here. What happened, it got too hard and you’re looking for a man to make it easier? God, she had to get out of here, or everyone would think she was taking the easy way out.
“Then figure it out. Otherwise, you’re fired.”
Fuck. Natasha struggled to keep her tone calm. “Don’t worry. This is a temporary solution. I’ll be healed soon and back in my own place.” Whether that was the apartment she was currently playing rent on or not, well, that remained to be seen.
“See that you are.” Donna got to her feet. “Sleeping with one of the judges is way worse than sleeping with your celebrity partner. With Gina and Stone, people could tell they were into each other. But this? You know what people will say. At best, they’ll call you a slut. At worst, they’ll say you’re jealous of Gina and you’d do anything to win.”
“That is a fucked up thing to say, and you know it’s not true.”
Donna shrugged. “I’ve made it far in this industry by being able to predict audience reactions. I’m just warning you.”
And by manipulating people into doing what she wanted for those reactions, but Natasha kept that thought to herself.
“Don’t get up, I’ll let myself out.” Donna headed to the front door and paused. “A word of advice, Tash. I’ve known Dimitri longer than you have. The men in this industry . . . they’re not worth it. You’re a good dancer, a good choreographer. You have the potential to build a bigger career. Don’t throw it away for a guy who will never commit.”
To her eternal shame, the words, But he loves me, flitted through Natasha’s brain. God, she was so stupid.
Maybe he did love her. Who cared? Love was transient, unreliable. She had to think about herself. She couldn’t rely on him to fix everything for her.
“Bye, Donna.” Don’t let the door hit your ass on the way out.
“Make the right decision, Tash.” The door clicked shut.
Natasha sat for a minute, replaying the conversation in her head. After resetting the security code, she hobbled back to the spare room, which still held most of her stuff, and opened her suitcase on the floor. It was time she took control of her own life, busted ankle or no.
It was time to move out.
39
Traffic had cleared by the time Dimitri got back on the freeway and headed toward his house.
Show her with action, huh? Hadn’t that been what he was doing? Helping her with physical therapy exercises, taking her to the restaurant, showing her with his body how much he cherished her—short of stepping in to solve all her problems for her, what else was he supposed to do?
Maybe romance. They’d completely bypassed that entire part of relationships. Hell, they’d only been on one date, and it was to visit her old place of employment and the restaurant he currently owned. It hardly counted. They should go on a real date. To dinner, or something. At a place he didn’t own. Or a movie premiere, or a launch party, or a—shit, those weren’t the kinds of dates real people went on. Had he become so removed he no longer knew how to date a woman he wanted to spend the rest of his life with?
Yep. He had. Time to remember how to be a real person.
He called his brother and put him on speaker through the car’s Bluetooth.
“Yeah?”
Nik had never learned the proper way to answer the phone. “It’s me.”
“I know, fool. What do you want?”
“Where do you go on a date with someone you really like?”
There was a pause, followed by hooting laughter. Dimitri gritted his teeth and decided to make a detour on the way home.
“Just tell me.”
“Are we talking about Natasha?”
“Of course.”
“Bro, isn’t it a little late for this? You guys have been . . . you know . . . for years now.”
“Never too late.” Dimitri parked in the lot and popped in his earpiece so he could continue the call outside the car. “What’s wrong? You don’t go on dates?”
“Oh, I go on dates. You’re the one who doesn’t go on dates. Too busy living that celebrity life.”
It grated, because Nik was right. Clubs and parties filled with other celebrities weren’t the same.
While Dimitri surveyed the selection at the supermarket, Nik spilled the goods. “You live in LA. There’s tons of shit to do with women. Go to a museum, go to the beach, go hiking, go to a couples spa. It’s all about spending time together and sharing experiences. Doesn’t really matter what you do. Hell, you could take in a movie and share a giant tub of popcorn, like the regular folk do. Go see something scary so she has to cuddle up next to you.”
“Cuddling?” Dimitri made his choice and ran to pay.
“Yeah, it’s supposed to be a precursor to sex, but you guys skipped over all that. You gotta show her you’re not afraid of creepy dolls or haunted houses, shit like that.”
“Wait, dolls? You lost me.” Dimitri jogged through the lot back to his car, clutching his purchase. “Okay, so movies, outdoor shit, sharing experiences. Got it.”
“Why do I get the feeling you’re going to fuck this up?”
“I’m not.”
“You are. And it’ll be glorious to watch. Except Ma will be upset.”
“Nobody’s gonna be upset. Call me if you think of any other dates.”
“No. You’re on your own. Don’t fuck it up.”
“I wo—”
The line went dead. Dimitri tossed his purchase onto the passenger seat and raced back to his house.
Anticipation built as he got closer. Not to home, but to her. The two had become synonymous. Home. Natasha. Home. Tasha. A longing in his gut, pulling him toward her. The lingering scent of figs and ginger.
He loved her so much. He’d spend forever showing her, if she’d let him.
Last night, they’d crossed a threshold. He’d revealed everything he was—his hopes, his dreams, his fears. She’d seen him so clearly, and when he approached her about her own challenges—managing her finances—she seemed more open to letting him help. As much as he wanted to swoop in and fix everything for her, she wouldn’t welcome it, and it wouldn’t help her in the long run.
Just because she let him get away with being pushy didn’t mean he had to be that way all the time.
Compromise. That was a couple thing, right? They were on their way. They’d make it work.
He parked in front of the house, too anxious to even use the garage, and besides, he had to get back to Alex. Going in through the front door, he paused, holding his gift, listening for her. Rustling noises came from the spare bedroom. Smiling, he strode through the living room to greet her.
He froze the second he hit the doorway. What. The. Fuck.
Instead of Natasha’s sassy grin, he was met with chaos. She sat on the floor, right foot stuck out straight, surrounded by everything she had brought with her from her apartment. At the moment, she was cramming those things into her suitcase and duffle bags.
He blinked. His heart pounded. None of it made sense. “What are you doing?”
He hadn’t meant to say it out loud, but she turned. Behind her red-framed glasses, her eyes were wide and wild. He had a flashback to a few weeks earlier, when he surprised her at her own apartment. She had the same look on her face.
“Packing.” She said it like it should have been obvious, then turned back to her work.
Panic. She was leaving. Once again, he was losing everything. The floor no longer felt quite so steady under his feet, and he balled his hands into fists, leaning on the doorjamb. His breathing had sped up, but he sucked in a breath, and when he let it out, the words flowed in something close to a roar. “You’re leaving?”
She didn’t even flinch. “Donna will fire me if I don’t.”
Since sh
e hadn’t turned to look at him when she spoke, he strode into the room and stood in front of her so he could see her face.
She glanced up at him, then stilled when she saw the bouquet of flowers crushed in his hand. Her eyebrows dipped, and her mouth fell open. Before she could say a word, he tossed them aside, into a corner of the room, and crouched down.
“Kroshka.” He placed his hands over hers, keeping them still. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I yelled, and I’m sorry I ruined the flowers. I was trying to surprise you.”
“You’re fine. I know you yell. I don’t care. I’m Puerto Rican. We yell all the time. And you know who surprised me? Donna. Donna surprised the fuck out of me when she showed up here and threatened to fire me. But the flowers are nice. I like flowers.”
She was babbling, speaking a mile a minute. He leaned in and kissed her, and when he drew back, she had tears in her eyes.
“Dimitri, I can’t.” Her voice was hoarse, and she refused to look at him. Her hands fluttered under his, and she gave a helpless shrug that broke his heart.
“We’ll figure this out,” he told her, striving to sound more confident than desperate. Because if he gave voice to the panicked oh shit she’s leaving she’s leaving she’s leaving running through his head, she’d never believe he was the kind of guy who wasn’t afraid of haunted dolls, or whatever the hell Nik had been talking about. He held her hands in his, and ducked his head until she looked him in the eye.
“We will figure this out,” he said, more forcefully this time. “Calm down. Please.”
Her eyes were still round, but she nodded.
“I have to run to meet Alex at Kras, but when I get back, we’ll make a plan. Together. Trust me, okay?”
Her gaze fell to the clothing spilling out of her suitcase. “Dimitri, I—”
“Please. Trust me.” He kissed her forehead. Please god, let her be here when he got back. “I’ll get you new flowers.”
Heart in his throat, he ran to his office for the Idea Book. While opening and closing drawers, looking for the binder, he caught sight of the plain folder that housed his contract for next season of The Dance Off.
The solution was staring him in the face. If he quit, Natasha could keep her job, and they could stay together.
But if he quit, how would he get his show off the ground? It was the whole reason why he’d joined The Dance Off in the first place. He needed the fame to make his next show happen. If he quit, he’d be right back at square one, unable to secure funding for his own work.
He slammed the drawer shut. They would find another way.
After unearthing the Idea Book, he ran out to the car and drove to meet Alex.
40
The second Dimitri’s Porsche drove off, Natasha resumed packing. After finding her phone under a pair of sweat socks, she called Kevin.
He picked up on the second ring. “Tash! What’s up, girl?”
“I need a favor.” She shoved more rolled-up socks into the corners of her suitcase.
“Sure, whatchu need?”
“A ride to the bank.”
A beat of silence. “Yeah, of course. Everything okay?” The joking, pleasant tone had faded from his voice.
“Just please come get me, okay?” Her voice broke, and Kevin’s tone turned instantly alarmed.
“Anything you need. I’ll be right there.”
When Kevin showed up, he didn’t ring the bell. He banged on the door and hollered her name until she made her way over on the crutches to let him in.
“What the hell? Why are you screaming?” She scowled as he entered the house. “Are you trying to make the neighbors call the cops? And how’d you get here so fast?”
“Are you hurt?” Kevin’s normally carefree demeanor was replaced by intense concern. He gripped her shoulders, scanning her with his pale green eyes. “You scared me. It sounded like you were crying, and I was worried—”
She shook him off. “I’m fine. Just overdid it walking around on my ankle yesterday, so I’m not taking chances. I need to be fully healed by the time the show starts up.” She pointed to the bedroom. “I have to get out of here. Can you help me get my stuff out to your car?”
Kevin’s face transformed into a dark scowl. “What did he do to you?”
“Nothing! Carajo, Kev. I was going to explain in the car, but I guess I better tell you so you don’t think Dimitri’s some kind of monster.” She pushed up her glasses and rubbed her eyes. This was all too fucking much. The stress had her permanently on the verge of tears, and her arms were starting to hurt from leaning on the crutches. But Kevin was going to be an overprotective pain in the ass unless she explained. “Donna came by today. If I don’t get out of here, I can kiss my job at The Dance Off goodbye.”
“That asshole.” Kevin ground his jaw. “I swear, she lives to torment people.”
“Yeah. So, help me with my stuff and drive me to the bank.”
She hadn’t brought much with her to Dimitri’s, and they were able to jam it all in Kevin’s Tesla. What the hell was up with these guys driving around in totally impractical vehicles?
“Maybe we should take my car,” she said. “There are thousands of dollars’ worth of beauty products in that tote bag you’re manhandling.”
“I’m not leaving my car here.” Kevin gave it one last shove, then slammed the trunk. “Besides, what do you think Dimitri will do to my car when he comes home and finds you gone?”
Her palms started to sweat. She didn’t want to think about Dimitri’s reaction. “Just get me to the bank. Please.”
Kevin helped her into the passenger seat, then climbed in on his side. They took off down the driveway. Kevin drove like the hounds of Hell were nipping at his heels. Natasha scrambled to put on her seatbelt.
“What are you going to do at the bank?” he asked, as she set up the GPS on his phone.
“Ask for a loan or a credit card.”
He shot her a pained look. “Tash. Come on. Why won’t you let us help you? Lori’s worried. She texts me about it all the time.”
“I know. She texts me, too.” On her own phone, Natasha price-checked hotels and sublets. There had to be something she could afford without going into overdraft.
Kevin banged a hand on the wheel as his phone called out the freeway exit. “This is ridiculous. Just stay with one of us until you get back on your feet. I mean, literally and figuratively. We want to help.”
“You guys have been incredibly helpful. More than I ever would have asked for. Covering my classes, checking on me—I really appreciate it. But this is something I have to figure out on my own. I can’t keep leaning on other people. And if I stay with you or Lori, Donna will accuse me of the same thing—sleeping with you guys for the convenience of having someone take care of me. She basically called me a slut, and Dimitri a sugar daddy.”
Kevin shook his head, glaring darkly at the road. “I can’t stand that woman. Manipulative people make me . . .” He trailed off, but his hands tightened on the wheel and his knuckles turned white.
At the bank, Natasha limped inside, wearing the boot. Twenty minutes later, she was back in the car, mouth pressed into a thin line.
Kevin glanced over at her. “What happened?”
She didn’t want to tell him. Didn’t want to admit how fucked up her life was, or how much of a failure she was. She’d never wanted her friends to know. But she’d dragged Kevin into this now, and he deserved the truth.
Besides, what did it matter anymore?
“My credit is terrible. A new card will need to be approved, and I haven’t updated my latest tax and income info, so all of it will take time. Same for the loan. Dimitri was right. I do need to get my finances in order. Fuck.” She shoved her glasses up and pressed her hands to her eyes. “I’m screwed.”
Helplessness surged in her, a hot wave that threatened to spill out through her tear ducts. “I don’t know what to do.”
Kevin gave her shoulder an awkward pat. “If you won’t stay with me, at least
crash with Lori.”
“Lori has two other roommates who are horrible to her. I’m not going to sleep on their sofa.” The tears started, and she wiped them away. “I’m stuck. I’m going to have to go home.”
“Home?”
“The Bronx.” She let out a shuddering sigh and dug a tissue out of her purse. “To my mother’s apartment. I’m still injured, so I can’t work. Can’t work, can’t make money. Can’t make money, can’t get my own place before The Dance Off starts. I’m a failure, and everyone was right. I can’t make it on my own as a dancer. Without Gina’s help, keeping me on track, I’m a fuck-up on my own.”
“Whoa, whoa. Slow down. Who was right? Who’s saying that? Dimitri”
“No.” Natasha blew her nose. “My mother. Donna.”
“Tash—”
Her phone rang, cutting him off. She frowned at the screen. “Hold on. It’s my super.”
She picked up and held the phone to her ear. “Hola, Manny. ¿Qué tal?”
He said something, but it was so outrageous, she cut him off. “Esperate, Manny. No entiendo. Por favor, dímelo despacio.”
“Sí, señorita.”
She put the phone on speaker and set it on the dash.
“Su apartamento está listo. Debido a los problemas con la habitación, no tienes que pagar la renta por dos meses.”
“Gracías, Manny. Un momentito.” Natasha tapped the mute button and stared at Kevin. “Did you understand any of that?”
He scrunched up his face in thought. “Your apartment is . . .”
“Ready.” She punched a fist in the air. “My apartment is motherfuckin’ ready and two months free rent!”
She picked up the phone again, taking it off mute and speaker, and made arrangements with Manny. When she hung up, relief flooded through her, and she heaved a huge sigh. Finally, things were starting to look up.
“Where to?” Kevin asked, starting the car.
“Home. My home.”