Sylvie planted her own hands on her hips and glared at Chloe.
Chloe turned a pirouette. “What, is your weight some big secret now?”
“Ha.” Ralph tossed his head, flipping his nonexistent tresses over his shoulder.
“Be a man,” Sylvie ordered.
“He’s not unmanly,” Chloe said, meeting Sylvie’s eye in the mirror. “He’s a misogynist.”
“He’s unmanly and a misogynist,” Sylvie said.
“What’s a misogynist?” Ralph said, sounding bland but balancing on the balls of his feet, prepared to dodge if they attacked.
Neither woman took the bait.
“He wouldn’t be complaining if he was doing that lift with Preston,” Chloe said, eyeing her own buff—and very straight—dance partner.
“How depressing.” Sylvie turned to Ralph. “Go lift Preston a few times and build up your delts.”
Preston smiled evilly at Ralph. “Come here, Ralphy-poo. Let me show you what it’s like to dance with a real man.”
Ralph thrust his hips in a rude, suggestive dance move that might have made another guy nervous, but Preston only laughed.
“Rae!”
Kaoli appeared at the door to the practice studio and everyone paused to look, some turning their heads, others surreptitiously flicking their gazes in her direction and pretending they weren’t. No doubt they were all up-to-date on the details of Rae’s new status as Kaoli’s love interest and were curious to see the two of them in action. Her closest work friends knew it was a sham, but since Kaoli was paranoid and had insisted that no one, not even her coworkers, know the truth, they hadn’t shared the scoop with the others. Sylvie said the group was evenly split on the issue of whether the relationship was for real, so everyone would be watching for clues.
Seemingly oblivious to the attention, Kaoli headed straight for Rae, assaulting her with a blinding smile, her sexual charisma bullshit on full blast. Rae didn’t react. Did Kaoli really expect her to keep up their act in front of the people she had to work with?
“Were there paparazzi out there?” Kaoli leaned over for an awkward hug, refusing to let her rise from the bench.
Rae hated that even though she didn’t bring her crutches and she wasn’t wearing a brace, everyone still seemed to think of her as injured. Honestly, she was almost completely healed. Not enough to nail a spectacular leap, but close.
“Just one.”
“Did he see you?”
“Yeah. I don’t think he recognized me, though.”
“That’s not good. We need people to know who you are.” Kaoli checked herself out in the floor-to-ceiling mirrors and tucked a wayward hair into place. “Why don’t we run across the street together for coffee.”
She should have known Kaoli would want a photo op. Because that was show business. It wasn’t all about the music. It was about image. Gossip. Publicity. Dragging a fake girlfriend outside to pretend to get coffee when word got out that there were photographers waiting in the vicinity.
“Won’t he wonder why you didn’t send an assistant to do it?” Rae was stalling, even though stalling would make no difference. Kaoli wasn’t going to drop this, and their camera-toting stalker would be waiting no matter how long it took.
Kaoli smoothed her crimson leotard over her bust, tugged the neckline down, and cinched her belt an extra notch over her red stonewashed dance pants that were meant to look like jeans but wouldn’t rip a seam on the off chance she was in the mood to do high kicks. “They don’t think. All they care about is getting the shot.”
“All right.”
Rae followed her into the maze of narrow hallways that led outside and quickly fell behind. Her ankle, which had not been feeling too bad, started aching.
“Rae?”
Kaoli finally noticed that Rae wasn’t keeping up and turned back and took her arm. Jori would have offered a supportive shoulder to lean on, but Kaoli seemed to think the most helpful thing to do was to pull on her arm to make her go faster. Rae did her best to keep her balance. She should have worn her brace. At least an elastic sports wrap. She would have, if she’d known she’d be hustling at this pace.
“Thanks for doing this,” Kaoli said, still tugging. “All of it. I keep waiting for you to ask me to buy you a car or introduce you to your favorite movie star, but that’s not the kind of person you are.”
“What are you talking about?”
Kaoli stopped dragging her down the hall and faced her with that laser-like intensity that used to always fill Rae with yearning. Even though they were alone and no one was going to take a photo, Kaoli gave her a peck on the cheek.
“You would be so easy to love, Rae. You’re the only person I’ve ever been interested in who wasn’t more in love with my fame than with me.”
Rae recoiled. “I’m not in love with you.” Geez. Hadn’t she been paying attention? Rae had refused to sleep with her. Sure, she’d been enthralled in high school, but she’d changed. They both had.
Kaoli squeezed her arm. “Don’t say that.”
“And what about Griffin? He loved you before you were famous.”
“Griffin’s whole life revolves around celebrities. Who’s doing what, who’s doing whom…” Kaoli raised her eyebrows with a haughty where-are-my-grammar-bonus-points look that would have had Rae swooning back during their tutoring days. When it didn’t have the desired effect, Kaoli pouted and went back to making her point. “Who’s popular, who’s trending, who’s on their way out. I doubt he’d have asked me to marry him if I weren’t someone he could put on the cover of his magazine.”
“I’m sure that’s not true.”
“Don’t be naïve.”
Before she knew it, Kaoli was kissing her. On the mouth. What was she doing? She knew Rae didn’t want this. And Kaoli didn’t really want her, either. Because if Rae had said she was in love with her? This kiss wouldn’t be happening. The only reason Kaoli dared was because it was safe. All those years Rae had ached for a kiss, even a tiny one on the cheek or the nose or gosh, maybe something even more harmless like her kneecap? Kaoli had made her believe she’d have her one day, but she’d never followed through. Only when it was finally clear that Rae no longer wanted her did Kaoli feel safe crossing the line.
Rae jerked away.
“Don’t do that in front of the cameras,” Kaoli warned.
“Don’t do that in private,” Rae shot back.
“Come on, Rae, I didn’t mean—”
“Let’s get out of here.”
She didn’t wait to see what Kaoli would do. All she cared about was getting outside and making sure her leg held her upright for as long as Kaoli was watching.
Kaoli’s bodyguard was waiting by the door and joined them as they exited the building. Cheese Curl Guy was still there and perked up immediately and started snapping away even as Kaoli’s bodyguard loomed over him. Hey, there were two guys with cameras—even better. With a carefree photo-worthy smile, Kaoli barked at her bodyguard to step aside. He did, just barely, not looking too happy about it.
Showtime. Kaoli grabbed Rae’s hand with a determined, almost desperate grip and posed using Hollywood’s favorite waist-slimming trick, swiveling her shoulders in the opposite direction from her hips with the ease of someone who had practiced endlessly in front of a mirror. Rae dredged up her dancer’s acting skills and did her best to look poised and proud to be a rock star’s girlfriend. Kaoli puckered her lips for the cameras and leaned in. Good thing Rae saw it coming so she had time to brace herself and not flinch, because she was supposed to smile and look like she was in love, not let her true feelings ruin the photo that was going to make their careers. At least Kaoli was smart enough to go for her cheek this time.
Except, whoops, no, she wasn’t going for her cheek—she was going for her lips. Instinctively, Rae whipped her head to the side to avoid her, and then suddenly Rae was on the
sidewalk, rough concrete digging into her palms. One of the photographers laughed. She’d bent her legs to duck, but the unplanned deep knee bend had thrown her off-balance and her legs had collapsed.
“Are you hurt?” Kaoli said, doing a decent imitation of a concerned girlfriend, but it was her bodyguard who loomed over Rae with arms outstretched to help her to her feet.
“We should turn back,” Rae said.
She couldn’t make herself kiss Kaoli, so there was no point in staying. They’d have to find another solution.
Chapter Fourteen
Kaoli chewed her out as soon as they reached the building and were out of the public eye, but Rae didn’t care. She was glad she’d done it. She watched the rest of rehearsal, and, after the dancers had been dismissed to rest and prepare for the evening’s performance, Jori returned and they drove to a charming, hole-in-the-wall tea shop.
Rae didn’t eat much because they had plans to meet up with some of her dance friends for dinner after the show, but they stayed busy killing time sampling the custom tea blends, especially the caffeinated ones.
A few hours later they were driving back to the concert venue. Jori pulled up to the curb at the front entrance to let Rae out so she wouldn’t have to walk.
Rae kept her seatbelt fastened and pointed to the sign for parking. “It’s not far.”
“It is if your leg hurts.”
“It doesn’t hurt.” Well, not enough to stop her from putting weight on it. As a dancer, something always hurt, so pain was relative. Besides, her knee was doing pretty well and she was wearing her ankle brace thanks to that run down the hall with Kaoli. “My joints lock up when I sit for too long. I’d rather walk.” If she was going to survive sitting through the whole concert, she needed to move.
Jori grumbled something about it serving her right if she had to carry her, but she merged back into traffic. They found a parking garage a few blocks away and circled several levels underground before finding an available spot. Rae stumbled out, her knees and hips already stiff. She held on to the car’s roof for balance and swung one leg behind her in a stretch.
“Do you want your crutches?” Jori asked, getting ready to pop open the back, where they’d stashed the wretched things just in case.
“I was fine without them this afternoon. I’ll be okay.”
“Are you sure? I know you’ve been managing on your feet, but I have a feeling most people wouldn’t be walking this soon after such a bad injury.”
“That’s what everyone says.” Everyone who wasn’t a dancer, anyway. Rae stretched her other leg, then flexed her feet to make sure her ankles were working right. She couldn’t imagine. In her own mind, her progress felt agonizingly slow. But at least it was progress.
“Your call.” Jori frowned at her ankle and locked the car.
They exited the garage and followed the flow of pedestrians toward the venue, bright enough to light up a whole city block in the distance. Car exhaust hung low to the ground in the humidity and mixed with the rancid smell of fried food wafting from an unseen restaurant. A large crow waddled across their path. Another crow followed, holding something unnaturally orange in its beak.
“Cheese curls?” Jori angled their path to avoid the two crows. “Those birds have better taste than I thought.”
“Oh yum. Empty calories with artificial flavor.”
“How can you not like cheese curls?”
Before Rae could reply, a catcall pierced the air. The crows rose from the pavement in a huff. Rae glanced across the street in the direction of the sound, and sure enough, a man was leering at her. He stuck his fingers in his mouth and let loose another long, drawn-out wolf whistle. He hopped on one foot, clutching his leg like a clown, making sure she knew that out of all the other pedestrians on the busy sidewalk, she was the one who was the object of his attention.
“Jerk.” Rae placed her weight carefully on one foot and then the other. She’d thought she was doing pretty well without crutches, but if a guy all the way on the other side of the street could tell she was limping, it had to be bad. Because surely he couldn’t see her brace under her jeans. “I’m not unattractive enough? What do I have to do, wear a bag over my head?”
“Maybe he was whistling at me,” Jori said.
Jori was pretty damn cute in her lavender overalls with the cuffs rolled up and quite the figure-hugging dark plum tee, but it wasn’t a look that would draw the typical male’s attention. Still, if it weren’t for the man’s stupid pantomime, Rae might have taken the proffered out. Leave it to Jori to be gorgeous and nice. “I guess you have to put up with that crap, too, huh?”
Jori shrugged. “I wear shorts a lot. It’s like pouring blood into shark-infested waters.”
The thought of that rudeness being directed at Jori was worse than remembering all the times she’d endured it herself. “I hate that they do that.”
“It doesn’t bother me. I wear whatever I want and to hell with them.”
“It doesn’t make you insanely angry?”
“They don’t all do it to be rude,” Jori said. “Some of them, yeah, but some guys, they’re just loud and clueless and having a good time. They think they’re paying us a compliment.”
“They know they’re not.”
“You can’t see their side of it because you don’t want them to look at you at all.”
“Please don’t tell me you do.” Because…yuck. Did Jori honestly not feel her skin crawl when a man looked her up and down? Yeah, okay, she knew the answer to that. She just didn’t like the answer.
“Kaoli did this exact same thing to those shirtless guys in town, right?”
“Minus the catcalls,” Rae grumbled, although Jori did have a point. But all it meant was that Kaoli was rude, too.
Jori stared straight ahead, her hands thrust in her pockets, almost like she was embarrassed to look her in the eye. “You’re beautiful, Rae. People do stupid things around women like you.”
Rae’s stomach fluttered. Jori thought she was beautiful.
“I’m average.” She didn’t think she was hideous, but she wasn’t the kind of person who got told she was beautiful. A good dancer, yes. A hard worker. Nice. Skinny enough to be a model, but too smart to throw her intelligence away on a career like modeling, which, considering her grades in high school did not mark her as highly intellectual, was a polite way of saying she wasn’t pretty enough to succeed at it. Which was fine, because she didn’t want men to think she was beautiful. She didn’t want anyone to think she was beautiful, except maybe Jori, and maybe even Kaoli—but only because she wanted Kaoli to know what she was missing.
“You’re not average,” Jori said. “You’re way, way sexier than that.”
That was a stretch. “Not today, I’m not. I’m limping.”
“Not that much.” Jori’s pace slowed like she was thinking too carefully about choosing the right words to focus on walking. People behind them on the sidewalk sped around them to pass. “It’s hard to explain, but even when you’re hurt, you still move like a dancer. There’s something in that highly trained body of yours, some unconscious oh my God she’s hot, that doesn’t go away. I know you think you’re not graceful or attractive right now, but you are.”
Wow. She wanted people to admire what she could do with her body onstage, admire her grace and her athleticism and her artistry and not turn it into something sexual, but when Jori crossed that line, it didn’t feel slimy. It felt good.
Jori wasn’t done. “The way you move…” Her voice softened, became a little too much like a lover’s. “It’s hard to look away.”
Oh God. Her legs weakened just like they had against the wall of the band shell, except this time she had nothing to lean on. If they weren’t in the middle of a well-lit sidewalk with people all around, she’d be tempted to cling to Jori’s shoulders and kiss her. Where was a private, dark alley when she needed one?
Their friend whistled again an
d broke the spell. Rae cursed under her breath. Wasn’t he done intruding?
“How old do I have to be before I’m not young and nubile enough for them? Forty? Sixty-five? Ninety? When does it end?”
“Menopause,” Jori said confidently.
“How would you know?” Jori and her theories. She had one for every occasion.
“Would you be more convinced if I asked around? I have some older students in my water aerobics class who would tell me.”
“Oh no, I wouldn’t want you to sully your theory with actual facts.”
“Here’s a fact. Researchers have found that strippers get better tips when they’re ovulating. Men sense it, somehow. Pheromones, is my guess.”
“No way.” Was she making that up? She had a way of sounding authoritative whether she knew what she was talking about or not.
“Just one of life’s little jokes,” Jori said. “You don’t want to have anything to do with men, but your eggs are busy sending out the Bat-Signal to all sperm within a five-mile radius, signaling that they are ready for action.”
“That doesn’t explain the guys who catcall out the windows of a moving vehicle.” Jori had to be making this up. “There’s no way pheromones could carry that far, that fast.”
“You must have an exceptionally strong Bat-Signal.”
“Lucky me.”
“And since all the straight women are on birth control pills that drug their eggs to sleep, your Bat-Signal is the only one around. Totally unfair, but true. I’m sure the men don’t appreciate it, either, constantly drooling over attractive lesbians like yourself who won’t let them fertilize your eggs. The whole system is whacked.”
“I think you’re getting a little carried away with your theory. Men do date straight women who are on the pill.”
“They do,” Jori said. “But they wish they didn’t.”
“You are so full of—”
“Maybe.” Jori caught her gaze and winked. “Maybe not.”
She was cute the way she considered herself an expert on the heterosexual dating mind, she really was. She had an opinion on everything, and every single one of her opinions was disparaging. It was enough to make a person think she didn’t like men. That she wasn’t straight, or even bi.
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