Deal-Breaker

by Siri Caldwell

  “Girls leading?” her new dance partner greeted her. “What is this world coming to?” Jori supposed she was the one he was addressing, but he was loud and belligerent enough that he clearly meant for Rae to hear‌—‌maybe for the whole class to hear. “Is there no male privilege anymore?”

  It was a joke, of course‌—‌an attempt at a joke‌—‌and maybe if he had offered a friendly, sheepish smile it would have softened his words and made them less of an insult. Instead he widened his mouth in what some men thought was a smile but was really a pleased‌-‌with‌-‌himself show of dominance that was directly descended from a wild animal baring its fangs.

  “Get over yourself,” Jori snapped. She’d never been one to take the high road when it came to rudeness. Couldn’t he tell that Rae‌—‌even injured‌—‌was twice the dancer he would ever be? Not just twice‌—‌a thousand times. And shouldn’t the better dancer be the one leading? The whole ballroom dancing system was set up backward. If it weren’t for the problem of women often being too short, even in heels, to guide a man’s arm over his head, and men’s weird ingrained reluctance to twirl, women would make much more competent leads.

  Marcella turned on the music and was already barking out instructions, so even though she didn’t particularly want to, Jori took her partner’s hand and moved into position.

  “Do you know what you’re doing?” he asked.

  “Not really. You?”

  He glared. Apparently he didn’t feel the need to actually say anything in response to a direct question. Whatever. She was only stuck with him for the next five minutes until they got to switch again, and this time, she was going to be next to Rae on the correct side. Jori purposely stumbled over her own feet several times, carefully orchestrating it so other couples would overtake them and pass them and she’d end up where she wanted to be. Next to Rae. On the side she hoped was going to be the lucky side.

  Please say clockwise. She didn’t know why she wanted this so much, but being foiled by a woman in a glittery gold outfit definitely brought out her competitive nature. Please say‌—‌

  “Gentlemen stay where you are,” Marcella said as the music ended. “Ladies move clockwise‌—‌”

  Yes!

  “Sorry I’m late,” boomed Axel’s unmistakable voice from the classroom door. “Jori, darling! Forgive me.”

  No, not now, not now, not‌—‌

  Axel swept into the room and pulled her into his arms, intercepting her on her path between Jokester Guy‌—‌who had cooperated quite nicely, never suspecting that she was controlling their trajectory‌—‌and Rae. Damn it.

  “You can’t just‌—‌”

  Axel guided her into a perfect spin without any hesitation. “Can’t I?”

  As the music started and everyone began the pattern Marcella had just taught them, it was immediately obvious that Axel had taken ballroom lessons in the past. He knew the steps, and unlike most of the students, he wasn’t shuffling uncertainly or staring at his feet.

  “You sound swishy when you call me ‘darling,’” she muttered under her breath.

  “I do it to annoy you,” he said.

  “You’re succeeding.” If it weren’t for him, she’d be dancing with Rae right now.

  Maybe Rae didn’t want to dance with her, but she wouldn’t have refused if she thought they’d been randomly paired. And then Jori could have touched her hand and closed her eyes and pretended it was real until the music stopped and reality intruded. “Why did your mother sign us up for this class if you already know how to dance? I could be using this time to hit the books.” For her real classes. At school. The summer semester was well underway and she had work to do.

  “She doesn’t know. I picked up some moves from an old boyfriend and didn’t feel the need to inform her.”

  “Why does this not surprise me?”

  “And I figured you needed the instruction,” Axel said. “I see I was right.”

  Jerk. Jori flashed him a fake smile and tripped herself, almost taking him down with her. When she recovered, the music had ended and they were standing next to Rae. Again. What a coincidence.

  “Gentlemen stay where you are. Ladies move clockwise to the next gentleman.”

  At last. Axel released her and moved to welcome the woman to his right while Jori moved into place in front of Rae. She thought Rae would hold out her hands and take her into dance hold, but instead she gripped her arm and practically collapsed. It was costing her a lot to act like her leg wasn’t bothering her. If only Jori could pick her up and take her home and park her on a comfortable sofa and not let her get up until she was fully recovered. But she knew better than to suggest it. Rae would be bouncing off that sofa or doing sit‌-‌ups or leg lifts on it, refusing to sit still.

  “Knee?” Jori asked.

  Rae nodded. “Ankle, too.” She tilted her head in Axel’s direction. “What’s he doing here?”

  “Twisting my arm.” And inadvertently putting her in the same room with Rae and making her day. “What’s with the heels?”

  Rae sighed. “I’m sick of sneakers. I want to feel like a dancer again.” She eased her weight off Jori’s arm and let go, as if being reminded of her injury meant she had to prove to her audience that nothing was wrong. Like Jori wasn’t a friend she could relax around.

  “Lean on me. It’s okay.”

  “I can stand on my own.”

  “You’re doing more than standing,” Jori said, refusing to let her off the hook. She’d seen her on crutches just a few days earlier. Dancing in heels did not seem like a good idea.

  “This?” Rae swiveled her hips in a sexy move they had definitely not been taught in class.

  “Don’t‌—‌”

  Jori cut herself off as Rae danced her ribcage side to side with a sway of her shoulders, head, arms, and hips, fluid and natural and perfectly coordinated. It made Jori want to cry, because it was so beautiful and the rest of her was so broken.

  “This beginner‌-‌level stuff isn’t really dancing,” Rae said. “It’s more like walking in time to music. Not much of a challenge.”

  “Maybe not for you,” Jori said, wishing she could say the same. “Why are you taking this class, anyway?” It had to be agony for her, dancing with clumsy beginners who had no idea what they were doing and would never, ever reach her level no matter how hard they tried. “Don’t you already know all this stuff?”

  Rae glanced over at the instructor like she couldn’t understand why they were being allowed to waste time talking instead of getting back to work, so Jori looked, too. Marcella was busy fiddling with the sound system.

  Rae balanced on her good leg and rotated her weak ankle a few inches off the floor as if all she really needed to do was stretch it, not rest. “When you tell people you’re studying to be an accountant, I’ll bet they ask you for help with their taxes, right? Even though your specialty might be, like, I don’t know…‌”

  “Managing a company’s books.”

  “Exactly. Dancers specialize like everyone else. And I don’t do ballroom. I’m here to pick up some ideas for a friend who asked me to choreograph a little something for her wedding.”

  A friend. Was that how Rae thought of Kaoli Morgenroth? Then again, she was in a roomful of strangers and wouldn’t want to risk every word she said being leaked to the press. And she obviously didn’t realize Jori had overheard when Kaoli asked her for this eentsy weentsy favor, so maybe she was just being circumspect when she referred to her as her “friend” instead of as her boss or her girlfriend.

  Her girlfriend. What a fucked‌-‌up situation that must be, if it was true. She wanted to ask her if she really was Kaoli’s girlfriend, and if she was, why in hell the wedding was still on. If she could figure out a way to ask without sounding like she didn’t approve. Because what if it was true? Then she’d come off as a nosy, judgmental, disapproving ass. Which she supposed she was. Because the idea of Rae being in love with Kaoli was so irritating it couldn’t pos
sibly be true. She didn’t want it to be true.

  “I’ll help you practice what we learn in class if you help me figure out my friend’s wedding choreography,” Rae said. “It’s hard to do it all in my head. It would help to have a live body to figure out which arm goes where.”

  More dancing with Rae. Just what she needed. The thought of touching her without a roomful of witnesses made her heart hammer in anticipation. Or maybe terror. It was hard to tell which.

  “A live body. You make it sound so tempting.”

  Marcella clapped her hands to get the class’s attention.

  Rae slid her hand across Jori’s back to bring her into the proper dance hold. Her touch was electric, sending whispers of sensation across her skin in all directions.

  “Is that a yes?” Rae said quietly, drawing closer.

  They were the same height. Their bodies were just a few inches apart, and looking into her eyes was…‌well, let’s just say that when she’d danced with the men in the class, meeting her dance partner’s gaze at close range for more than a few seconds had been uncomfortable, and her gaze had skittered around the room, fixed firmly over her partner’s shoulder. But looking into Rae’s eyes was different. She remembered these eyes‌—‌warm, alluring pools of mocha streaked with amber and ringed with a dark border, shining with an intensity she couldn’t look away from. All she could do was hold her breath and wait for the music to start so she could surrender to whatever direction Rae led her.

  “And now it’s time to move on to something more exciting,” Marcella announced. “The tango.”

  “Oh God,” Rae muttered, too low for Marcella to overhear but clearly audible to Jori. “Please tell me we are not doing the tango.”

  Why? What was wrong with the tango? Jori tried to dredge up a mental image of what it looked like and failed.

  “You know this dance?” Jori whispered. “You, who doesn’t do ballroom?”

  “I’ve seen it done,” Rae whispered back.

  “First, the basic stance,” Marcella said. “In tango, we stand close. The hips should touch. Ladies, step back with your right foot. Stay there. Split stance.”

  The hips should touch? What did that mean? Did that mean she and Rae were supposed to stand side by side or…‌

  “Now, gentlemen, step with your left foot between the lady’s legs.”

  She was starting to see the problem here.

  Rae stepped between Jori’s thighs, her foot landing with a thud that echoed in Jori’s heart. From a distance it had to look like her thigh was jammed into Jori’s crotch and that pelvis had made contact with pelvis, but they weren’t touching‌—‌not quite. She didn’t know how Rae was managing it on her injured leg‌—‌how she managed to stay in such complete control‌—‌but as close as they were, they were not actually touching.

  She could feel the heat of her thigh, though.

  “Don’t be shy,” Marcella said. “Right between her legs. The legs must touch.”

  Rae stayed perfectly balanced, their lower bodies oh‌-‌so‌-‌carefully not touching. If she was unhappy about their intimate not‌-‌quite‌-‌contact, she didn’t let it show. She looked calm and unflustered, if a little grim. This was probably normal for her, to intertwine her body with someone she wasn’t sleeping with. She touched other dancers all the time. It wasn’t sexual. Denim cutoffs might not have been Jori’s best wardrobe choice, but what difference did it make, really? Rae’s legs were covered, and one layer of clothing was no worse than two. In theory.

  “Good. Stay there while I come around and check.”

  Crap. Marcella was going to make them touch.

  As the instructor approached, Rae moved almost imperceptibly closer until the illicit breath of space between them was gone and their thighs hit. Jori would have thought her own reflex would have been to bounce off, but instead, she was overcome by an instinctual pull toward her, a need to press closer. It took all her willpower to stop herself from melting into her like a lover. Honestly, what was wrong with her? Rae was not her girlfriend. The only reason she had her leg wedged into her personal space was because Marcella was going to make a fuss if she didn’t.

  “Hang in there,” Rae said.

  Could she tell that Jori was nervous? Jori searched her face and noticed beads of sweat forming along Rae’s hairline. So she wasn’t the only one.

  Jori squeezed every muscle she could control to prevent herself from moving. Her feet pressed into the floor, her pelvis locked in place, her hand gripped Rae’s. The pulse in Rae’s palm pounded against her skin. Jori inhaled unsteadily, and Rae shuddered and closed her eyes. Rae’s hair smelled faintly of chlorine. They were close enough that she could tell.

  Marcella checked on their position and moved on to the next couple. As soon as she was gone, a rush of air escaped Jori’s lips. Rae opened her eyes and extricated herself from their pose to hop toward the benches at the front of the room.

  “My leg’s tired,” Rae explained, lowering herself to the nearest bench. “I can’t control the shaking.”

  Was that what that was? Shaking from exhaustion? Jori didn’t think so. Maybe she was being unfair, because it was obvious Rae really had been pushing herself to her limit, but in her opinion the trembling had very little to do with fatigue.

  But if that was the way Rae wanted it? To pretend she didn’t feel anything? Fine. Rae didn’t owe her anything‌—‌not a relationship, not a dance, not even honesty. Jori might want those things, but Rae didn’t have to give them to her.

  Wait, did she say relationship? What she meant was…‌not a relationship exactly, she didn’t know her well enough to want a relationship with her, just the fantasy of…‌oh heck. She didn’t know what she wanted.

  The rest of the class went by in a blur. When it was over, Axel was the first one out the door, in so much of a rush to leave that when he brushed Jori’s cheek with a kiss, she didn’t have time to react. Then he was gone and everyone else had gathered their belongings and escaped‌—‌all except for Rae, who stood at the foot of the stairs that led out of the basement studio to the street‌-‌level exit, her dance shoes in one hand and her other hand on the banister, making no attempt to move.

  “No elevator,” Jori commiserated, joining her.

  “I should be able to handle stairs,” Rae said. “I was doing really well. But now my leg’s so useless I don’t know if I can.” She craned her neck to see the top of the stairs and her shoulders slumped in defeat. “Some days I wonder if I’m ever going to dance again. I mean, maybe this is it‌—‌maybe my career is over and I just don’t realize it yet.”

  “Hey, don’t give up.” Jori sat on the lowest step and Rae sank down next to her. After watching Rae push herself so hard for so long, it was discomfiting to hear her express doubt in her own abilities. “Haven’t you ever failed before?”

  “Do you know how many auditions I’ve been on? How many times I didn’t make it? They don’t even look you in the eye. They just say thank you and wait for you to move out of their line of sight so they can reject the next dancer.”

  “And then you nail the next audition.”

  “This is different. This is bigger than one audition. This is my life.” Rae curled her arms around herself. “It’s depressing. To know my body can break.”

  “You can fix it.” Rae was doing all that work on her own with no support. No wonder she was worn down. “Shouldn’t your boss have someone on staff to help you, to make sure you’re getting better? Someone she could send here?”

  “If I were a big‌-‌time football player, then yeah, we’d have a doctor or a trainer or whatever those guys have. But I’m not a football player. No one’s invested millions of dollars in me. No one cares if my career is over, because there’s a long line of unemployed seventeen‌-‌year‌-‌olds willing to do just about anything to take my place and accept my measly salary. I’m expendable. If I recover, they’ll take me back. If I don’t, oh well, I’m just another artistic nobody whose car
eer was cut short. Too bad. Shit happens. Life goes on.”

  Her shoulders shook, and Jori gently put an arm around her, hoping to ease her shaking. The moment Rae stilled, she released her.

  “If you’ve reached the point where the only thing left to do is admit to yourself that you’re never going to be good enough to dance professionally again, no matter how hard you try, then okay. But if there’s still a chance, if there’s still hope, then don’t you dare give up on yourself. You’ve come this far. Maybe it’s going to take longer than you thought to get back on your feet, but so what? Let it take longer.”

  “Yeah, okay, enough serious talk,” Rae said. “I haven’t given up yet.” She stared up at the banister. “Right now all I need to decide is whether I can drag myself up the stairs or if I should sit and do the reverse crawl. I’m thinking if I’m on my derrière I can’t fall.”

  “I have a better idea.”

  Jori jumped to her feet, and without asking for permission‌—‌so Rae couldn’t say no‌—‌she scooped her up, one arm around the middle of her back, the other under her knees. Rae screamed‌—‌a playful scream, not a scared one‌—‌and linked her arms behind Jori’s neck. It was a wonderful sound.

  “Derrière?” Jori teased, relieved that Rae had allowed her to pick her up. “Is that dancer‌-‌speak for ass?”

  “Put me down. I’m too heavy.”

  “You’re not.” She was a lot heavier than Jori’s handful of a daughter, of course, and lifting a human being was more awkward than lifting an iron barbell, but it wasn’t impossible. And it was worth it. If she’d known all those hours at the gym were going to lead to holding this woman in her arms, she’d have trained even harder.

  Reminded her of an old argument she used to have with Axel, back in undergrad when they were dating for real and he would make fun of her morning routine of a hundred sit‌-‌ups. “Crunches aren’t functional,” he would say, claiming they were old‌-‌fashioned and that there was no activity in daily life that involved that particular motion. But he was wrong. He’d never made love to a woman and made it so good that she jacked off the bed. When her abs were sore the next day, they both knew why.