Lovers' Dance

by Carr, K

  I arched my eyebrows with a shake of head. “D, it’s been a few years since I’ve sat behind drums, and I know you haven’t been stroking that guitar of yours. We’ll only drag them down.”

  Dante shrugged, and we both exchanged a fond stare at the memories of our teen years. Dante and I were dancers, Bret and Marie-Sol were musicians. We were once all in a band though, rocking out our teenaged dramas, until it became too much for Dante and I. Dance was our first love and there wasn’t enough time in the world to do both. Plus, Uncle David hated noise. Never could understand why he threw my last kit out when he was the one who’d gotten me my first drum kit on my seventh birthday. I was an angry little girl, I needed to vent somewhere and ballet class was not the place. Ballet is about control: core control, limb control, mind-over-matter control. And it saved me.

  But my anger at the drastic change my young life had taken was consuming me. The drums had helped. A lot. I couldn’t sing. Seriously, even humming sounded bad coming from me, but I could dance like a dream and play the drums mean.

  “Well, I can still play. A bit rusty, but I can do it.” Dante sniffed the bowl of seasoned chicken and rubbed his stomach.

  “Can you start on the salad?” I asked, wondering if I should broach the spare keys topic.

  We worked effortlessly around each other. It was as easy as breathing. I started feeling more serene. Dante was my constant. My friend. My rock.

  Before long, we were tucking into grub and eagerly anticipating the arrival of our friends. They would only be here for a few days, flying back to the States the day after my birthday. I loved my friends. The fact they were willing to take a long haul flight to be with me around the worst time of my life was humbling.

  “Sweet cheeks.”

  “Mhmm.”

  “You’re going to be okay.”

  “I know, Dante.”

  We resumed eating, well, Dante resumed eating and I pushed the food around my plate. “It should be easier by now, D. It’ll be twenty-one years come Wednesday. Why can’t I let it go?”

  Dante chewed slowly, scrutinizing my face as he swallowed. “I don’t know, Madi. Why should you let it go? You lost your parents in a bad way at a young age. You’ve never let it hold you back, you’ve never played the victim…so what if you have a meltdown once a year? That’s your way of dealing with it.”

  I smiled at him. “What would I do without you?”

  “Probably end up on the streets,” Dante teased with a fond grin. “Or shaking your fine ass on a table somewhere—” He broke off when my lettuce landed on his forehead.

  I shook my head and fiddled with my utensils. Next year would be better. Next year I’d deal with it better, I’d be over it. Thing was, I had said the exact same thing last year and all the years before it. I was broken and couldn’t be fixed. Scarred. Damaged goods.

  I was thankful Matt had agreed to stay away. The next few days would be messy. Painful and messy. Meltdowns were never fun.

  <><><>

  Something tickled my nose. A groan crept past my dry and cracked lips as I sleepily jerked away from the offending touch. Again a light tickle. This time, I managed to prise one eye open to encounter the bloodshot green eyes of Marie-Sol. God. She looked how I felt. Like shit. Her index finger was the culprit, trailing lightly over my nose.

  “MSG, I made you an arepita,” she rasped. My old nickname though garbled was sweet to my ears.

  “With queso blanco rallado?” I rasped back. How she managed to slip that past customs I had no idea.

  She nodded, then stopped with a tortured groan. “You need to eat, MSG.”

  I struggled into an upright position, moaning at the pain in my head and hating the sunlight streaming through my bedroom curtains. I was going to order blackouts, right after breakfast.

  “What time is it, Sol?” I asked as she slumped against the pillows. Her long, black hair was in disarray.

  “Too damned early,” she mumbled, eyelids slipping close. “Brush your teeth, your breath is foul.”

  If I had the energy, I would have laughed. There was no energy. There was no laugh.

  “Happy Birthday,” she said, tugging me down into a hug. We both groaned. Moving was bad.

  “Are the boys awake?” I cleared my throat. How much had I drunk last night? Hell, how much had I drunk since Friday? It was Monday today, my birthday. And my friends would be flying home tomorrow. I only had them for one more day.

  “Yeah,” she grumbled into my face. Her breath was stinky, too. I peered at her face. She was pretty. South American mother and German father. And she had the voice of an angel, except when her throat was being abused by copious amounts of alcohol.

  “Are they still planning to—”

  “Yeah.” She started to grin at me. “Bret bought a leather belt especially for you. I think my man has a fetish for your ass, MSG. He’s planned out a schedule on how to deliver all twenty-seven lashes.”

  “Asshole,” I muttered, dreading the game that had started years ago. It wasn’t so bad when I was eleven. But now at twenty-seven? Those lashes were adding up, and Bret never went easy on me.

  I sighed and snuggled into Marie-Sol.

  “Your arepita is going cold, MSG, and we’ve got a lot more partying to do. How are you holding up?” she asked, wrapping her smelly pits around me.

  “Urgh. Sol. You stink.” I rolled away and she laughed, then groaned, clutching her head.

  “You, too. Answer the question. How are you holding up?”

  I shrugged and slowly sat up again, holding my head as still as possible. “You know me, surviving.”

  “Surviving,” she repeated, easing herself upright and doing the same immobile head move that I did. “I need some of your brownies today.”

  I started to grin. “Flying high later?”

  Marie-Sol leaned over slowly, gripping her head, to press a kiss on my cheek. “Touching the sky, baby. Let’s go downstairs before the boys eat everything.”

  Helping each other, we got out of bed and made our way, rather unsteadily, down the stairs in our sweat-stained t-shirts and undies. When we hobbled into my kitchen, the boys were wolfing down Marie-Sol’s delicious arepitas.

  “Hey, birthday girl,” Dante said, wiping his hands on a napkin before opening his arms. I went straight over, curling onto his lap as he wrapped his arms around me. “Happy Birthday, sweet cheeks.”

  I muttered thanks into his neck and hugged him tighter. Dante rubbed his hand over my t-shirt clad back in circular motions, while Bret got halfway off his chair to lean over and kiss my shoulder.

  “Happy Birthday, MSG.”

  Marie-Sol stood over Dante and passed a hand over my jungle-wild hair. The three of them encircled me with affection, with support. I loved my friends.

  “Coffee?” Bret asked, standing up fully and pushing his chair back. I raised my head from Dante’s neck and nodded. Bret rolled his neck and shoulders, working out the kinks, then sauntered over to get me coffee. Marie-Sol eyed her boyfriend of five years. They were cute together. It had taken them a long while before they gave into the simmering heat that bubbled between them. I remembered being fifteen and having to listen to Marie-Sol list all the reasons she despised him, immediately followed by all the reasons she was crushing on him. I knew they would end up together, but it had been a long road for them to get where they were now.

  “You smell, sweet cheeks,” Dante advised as he sniffed, then wrinkled his nose. His usual braids were undone and his ’fro had bits of fluff in it. I reached up to pluck it out and his nose wrinkled further. “Damn, Madi. You need a shower.”

  I slapped my hand in the middle of his bare chest and rolled my eyes before slipping off his lap. I stretched in my t-shirt and Dante’s gaze lingered for a second before it jumped behind me. Slyly.

  My eyes widened. Oh shi—

  “Ow!” I yelled in shock as my ass was the recipient of a leather-induced smack.

  “That’s number one, MSG,” Bret stated
without remorse as I spun around to face him, hand rubbing my stinging butt. He slung the belt around his neck and grinned at me. He, too, was bare-chested like Dante, wearing slacks and barefoot. I scowled at him, still rubbing my butt. Under normal circumstances, if a skinny white man took a belt to an inebriated black woman, things would’ve gotten dead real, dead fast. But Bret was my people, and this was a tradition—a dumb one, but tradition, nonetheless.

  “Why don’t you give me them all right now?” I grumbled, sidestepping him and making my way to the coffee machine. Marie-Sol chuckled and Dante resumed eating.

  “Ow!” I yelped again as the belt landed on my other cheek.

  “That’s two.” Bret held the belt in his hand and blew me a kiss. “Twenty-five to go, MSG.”

  “Freak,” I said, making sure my back was facing the other way. I needed pants on fast. But I needed coffee more.

  The weekend was a blur. Friday was spent taking Bret and Marie-Sol to the sights of London. Friday night was hitting the pubs.

  Saturday, Dante and I took them to the dance studio for a bit, then out for lunch. Saturday night, we slammed the clubs.

  And yesterday. Ah yesterday. We did shopping, then came home, changed and went to this cool bohemian bar with live music and delicious cocktails. We ended up on stage, jamming like we owned the place. The owners tolerated it as the band they hired wasn’t that good, and we played for free. The patrons loved it, and we were high as kites.

  Today was Monday, my birthday. After my much-needed shower, I was going to tape a bottle of whiskey to my hand the way Marie-Sol had taped my mouth shut on stage last night to ensure I didn’t start singing in my chemically altered state.

  If Aunt Cleo saw what I’d been getting up to, she’d flip, then bust my ass while yelling, “I told you to act right. We’re going to church to get some Jesus in you.” Hell, she might bust my ass anyway. She had called over the weekend, and I couldn’t remember what the conversation was about. Same thing with Matt. I knew I had spoken to him every day since Thursday night but, for the life of me, I couldn’t remember what we spoke about. I would worry about it later. Right now, I needed coffee and my arepita. Scratch that. I forwent the coffee and picked up a half-drunk bottle of rum.

  “MSG.” Bret was eyeing my arepita. When he reached for it, Marie-Sol smacked his hand away. “It’s only nine thirty.”

  “And?” I asked sourly, raising the bottle to my lips as they watched silently. They hid the worry in their eyes well, they were used to this yearly occurrence. After a deep glug and a coughing episode, I walked over to the table and took a seat. “It’s called ‘hair of the dog’, Bret. It’s what we English do for a hangover.”

  “Give me some of that hair of the dog then,” he said, pushing my plate towards me and simultaneously prying the bottle from my hand. He took a small sip and, instead of handing the bottle back, he put it well out of my reach as Marie-Sol sent him a thankful look. I ignored them and started to eat.

  “Mmm,” I mumbled as my alcohol-drowned taste buds experienced something else for the first time in hours. There was an orgasm taking place in my mouth. “Oh my God…mmm…Sol, this is the best…mmm.”

  “I’ll make you another if you eat all of that one,” she promised, and I nodded eagerly. Breakfast, shower, then drink and make brownies. My day was planned. Happy freaking birthday to me.

  SEVENTEEN

  MATT FROWNED SLIGHTLY at his loyal secretary as she ran through the list of meetings scheduled for today. Last night had been a late one. The dinner party he’d planned for Madi had still occurred, just without her.

  “And you’re expected to speak to the finance department at four thirty, Mr Bradley.”

  His frown deepened. “Reschedule that meeting for tomorrow, Rachel. Adam and I need to assess some reports first.”

  “Yes, Mr Bradley. Is there anything else?” she asked, tablet in hand and busily tapping on the screen.

  “No, Rachel. Thank you.”

  He turned his attention to the papers in front of him as she left his office, but didn’t see the words.

  Madi. He was worried about her. Each subsequent conversation since Thursday night had increased his concern, so much so that he was actually toying with the idea of stopping by to check on her.

  But she’d been quite clear. She didn’t want to see him until Friday. It was her birthday today. How could she expect him to stay away? To not see her on this special day? Bloody hell. The woman was driving him mad. It didn’t help she was practically incoherent every time they spoke.

  Matt sighed and tried to focus on the day ahead. He would bide his time. Friday would arrive soon enough, and he would be having stern words with her about her current behaviour. It was simply unacceptable.

  By midday he’d managed to push all thoughts of her to the back of his mind. The intense board meeting he’d left played a huge role in that.

  “Matt,” Nathan called, making him pause and turn around.

  “Yes?”

  “I need to run through some contracts with you. The Egypt situation is almost sorted, and I need either yours or Adam’s signature on the dotted line. William has left. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be bothering you,” Nathan replied as he caught up to him.

  “Send the contracts to Rachel. I’ll get to it by the end of today,” Matt said as he resumed his journey to his office. Nathan fell into step with him.

  “Last night was a riot, mate. I still can’t believe Thomas is having to sell off his latest company. Poor chap. We did warn him last year though that that venture was risky as hell.”

  Matt shrugged disinterestedly. Now the meeting was over, his thoughts wandered to his dark beauty. Would she be awake? Should he call to wish her happy birthday? He missed her, desperately missed her.

  “Did you hear what I said, Matt?” Nathan groused.

  Matt stopped and cast a weary glance at his friend. “What is it, Nathan? I’ve got a busy day, as do you. The meeting with the energy minister is later today, and I need to go over some reports.”

  Nathan scowled at him, blonde eyebrows pulled tight. “I said, Bella’s meeting me for lunch and I need you to come along.”

  Matt leaned back, an expression of confusion on his face. “What for? Being gooseberry is not a game I like playing.”

  Nathan rubbed a hand over his jaw. “Mate, I need you there. She wants to talk about the wedding and I’ve reached my limit. It’s all she’s been talking about the past few weeks. I’m having dreams about floral and seating arrangements. Cold sweats about bridesmaids’ dresses…dresses, Matt, I’m dreaming about dresses. You’re coming with me.”

  Matt had to chuckle. “And how is my presence going to stop wedding talk? You know what Bella’s like, Nathan.”

  Nathan shook his head, a resigned look on his face. “I know, that’s why you’re coming to lunch. A true friend would give moral support, plus you owe me for keeping that fiasco in Dubai five years ago out of the papers.”

  Matt’s mouth hung open for a few seconds. “Bastard. I knew you would call in the marker. Right. You must be desperate to bring that up.”

  “I am,” Nathan said with a pitiful expression. “She wants me to invite her father to the bachelor’s party. We haven’t had an engagement party yet, and she’s already organizing my bachelor’s party.”

  Matt chuckled again. Nathan did look like a man facing the gallows. “All right then. I’ll join you, but you’re paying for my meal.”

  “Agreed,” Nathan said quickly, as if fearing Matt might change his mind. “We leave in half an hour.”

  Matt shook his head and walked away. He normally worked through his lunches. This unexpected break in his day would mean leaving later tonight. In the seclusion of his office, he tried to get as much work done before Nathan strode in, waving away Rachel’s tart reprimands about respecting her boss’s privacy.

  “Car’s downstairs, Matt. Let’s go,” Nathan said impatiently.

  Matt scoffed at his friend as he stood up
and pulled on the jacket he’d discarded upon entering his office. “I’d advise you to be a touch more humble, mate. I’m doing you a favour.”

  Nathan grinned as he tried to affect a submissive demeanour. “But of course, Mr Bradley. You’re right, Mr Bradley. So sorry, Mr Bradley.”

  Matt shook his head and muttered “twat” under his breath. They walked out of his office and, soon enough, were ensconced in Nathan’s car on their way to Galvin at Windows.

  “So,” Nathan drawled out, eyeing Matt as he hit midday traffic. “How is the ever lovely Ms DuMont?”

  Matt had his mobile in hand, deliberating whether to call her. “Fine.”

  “It’s her birthday today, isn’t it?” Nathan asked.

  “Yes,” Matt replied.

  “I’m surprised you haven’t taken the day off. Going off your current behaviour, I thought you’d want to spend it with her.”

  “Mmm.”

  Nathan hid a grimace. “Shame she couldn’t make the party last night.”

  “Yes.”

  “Matt, if you’ve lost the ability to converse properly, you’re not going to be of any help to me over lunch.”

  Matt sent him a distracted smile. “Don’t worry, Nathan. I take my responsibilities as third wheel seriously.”

  Nathan snorted something inaudible under his breath and focused on fighting his way through traffic. When they finally arrived at the restaurant, they were both relieved.

  “Bollocks,” Nathan muttered after the maître d’ greeted them with familiar recognition. “Bella’s here. I hope she hasn’t been waiting long. She hates waiting, and she wanted to eat at The Dorchester, but they’re closed on Mondays.”

  “The view of London up here is stunning, Nathan. I’m sure she hasn’t been waiting long,” Matt assured his friend. He glanced over at the table where Bella sat peering out the large windows to observe the sight of the city below. She wasn’t smiling. “But she does look a tad annoyed, mate. Best of luck with that.”