Like No One Is Watching

by Jaime Samms

  That brought a smile to Peridot’s face, and this one softened him. “The flowers were from Camille. To say thank you. We got the summer camp papers in the mail, and she insisted I bring you flowers. I would have brought her too, but her mother’s mother is adamant that Camille never misses a visit. I don’t blame her, really. Karen was never that good at keeping the dates. Since summer camp was supposed to be grandma’s week, we made arrangements for her to spend a different time with her grandparents. I brought the flowers myself. I didn’t want to leave them without an explanation.” He chuckled. “I know you. They’d last a day, two, tops, before you forgot to water them or knocked them over, or they got shoved to the back of some counter somewhere. I wanted to make sure you knew who they were from so you could appreciate them while they lasted.”

  “You could have left the explanation with Dusty. He looks after m—things.”

  Peridot’s smile deepened. “More than just a janitor, huh?”

  Conrad freed himself from Peridot’s too-light grip and settled back, wineglass in hand.

  “Tell me more about him,” Peridot urged, picking up his own drink. “Tell me everything.”

  Chapter 19

  LUNCH WITH Peridot turned into coffee and dessert, a walk through the neighborhood they’d grown up in, and a visit to Peridot’s new home. Conrad appreciated the grand Georgian house with its wide front lawn and magical princess garden in the back. They sat admiring the gardens and sipping sparkling water until Conrad had to return to the studio for classes. He left with a promise to stay in touch. As friends. He was glad of that. He had missed Peridot very much.

  The studio, when he returned, was dark and quiet. There were no notes from Dusty, but everything he normally did in the course of his day seemed to be complete. Conrad had little time to worry about it as students began to trickle in. After senior ballet, classes were short and fun on Thursdays. Jazz and modern with the younger kids were less about exacting technique than they were about infusing them with the joy of the movement and the idea that if they wanted to be really good at what they did, they had to do it like they meant it.

  Teaching college students to dance like the room wasn’t full of their peers just watching and waiting for them to screw up was difficult. Teaching a group of preteen dance students to do the same was like tossing out Miracle-Gro and watching magic take place. They bloomed. These were dancers, heart and soul, when they were in his studio, and the class gave him as much joy as it did them.

  Today’s class had been a creative one, and the students were in the middle of showing off the impromptu comedy routine they had created to their parents when the street door opened. Dusty jogged up the steps and stopped at the studio doorway to observe. He looked flushed, less tense, and he watched the dance with rapt attention, not noticing that Conrad’s eyes were on him. When he did see Conrad, he smiled with a terse tightening of lips before disappearing toward the broom closet.

  By the time the kids had filed out of the studio to get changed and the parents out of the office to wait for them in their cars, Dusty was rolling a bucket of water into the room and setting it to one side while he dry-mopped.

  Conrad busied himself with putting away the CDs they had used for the class. The last students said good night, and the building settled into the quiet pause between movements.

  “Why are you doing this tonight?” Conrad finally asked.

  “I’m off tomorrow.”

  “Really?” Conrad stopped to look at him. “What are you doing?”

  Dusty let out a breath. “Nothing, Con. I just have a day off. Even us lowly cleaning guys get a day off now and then.” He shoved at his glasses with a thumb and put his head down, intent on his task.

  “Of course.” Conrad hurried from the room. He should just not talk. But he couldn’t go up to his apartment, either, and pretend the other man wasn’t there. He stopped halfway through his office, hands tight fists at his sides. What was he supposed to do? Forget it all?

  After talking to Peridot about Dusty that afternoon, he’d thought he’d worked up the courage to try again. Faced with Dusty’s closed expression, Conrad thought maybe not. So he sat at his desk, turned on his laptop, and cruised Facebook, because what the hell else was he going to do? He wasn’t ready to give up. He wasn’t ready to try again, either. He didn’t spend a lot of time on social media, but he had a profile, and on a whim, he looked up Dusty’s name, curious.

  There were a few Dustin Hatches but only one Dusty, and that one had an animated mop from Fantasia for its user pic. Conrad clicked on the profile and scanned the About page.

  “Well, well, well.” He smiled to himself and glanced into the studio. Dusty was finishing up the last corner with the dry mop, and Conrad hurried in before he could get the floor wet.

  “Hey.” He crossed his arms and leaned on the doorframe. “You didn’t tell me tomorrow is your birthday.”

  Dusty shrugged. “Does it matter?”

  “Enough to take the day off, it seems.”

  “It’s Marcello’s policy. No one works on their birthday, even if they would prefer to.”

  “And you would prefer to?”

  Again with the soggy shrug. Dusty trailed the mop lazily around the floor, gazing at the hairs stuck to it. “What else am I going to do?”

  “Spend time with friends? Family?”

  Dusty turned his back. “Sure. I guess that’s the idea.”

  Conrad frowned but didn’t say anything. How could he respond to such empty silence? Instead, he hurried to the stereo, found the Fantasia CD, and searched for the track that had been blaring through his apartment that day Dusty hadn’t expected him home.

  Dusty jumped when the music flooded the room. He whirled. “What?”

  Conrad took the broom and set it aside, then took Dusty’s hand. “Dance with me.”

  “I don’t—” He gazed up as Conrad snaked an arm around his waist and led him out to the center of the floor. “Conrad.”

  “Shh.” Conrad took a moment to settle Dusty’s glasses firmly in place, then smiled.

  “Are you being nice because I clearly have no friends to spend my birthday with?”

  “Are you being stubborn because you honestly think I need a reason to be nice other than that I like you?” Conrad tightened his arm around Dusty’s back and began to move, swaying with the music. He left very little space between them but made it clear he would, and could, hold Dusty up if his knee gave him problems.

  For much of the dance, Dusty stared up at him, confusion etched on his face. Conrad kept his own expression as soft, as hopeful, as he could. He didn’t understand why Dusty had to be so adamant.

  “Please,” he whispered. “Let me do this. Let me help you feel better.”

  “Who says I’m not feeling—?”

  Conrad bent and touched his lips to Dusty’s. It wasn’t a kiss. It was just a touch, because he didn’t want to let go of Dusty now he had him moving freely across the floor. He didn’t know how damaged his knee was, what Dusty could and could not do with it, but he didn’t want to stop or slow, either. He used his mouth to silence Dusty’s.

  When he pulled back, Dusty blinked bright eyes. “I can’t,” he whispered.

  “Can’t what?”

  “Can’t…. You don’t want me, Con.”

  “Bullshit.” Conrad tugged him close, easing Dusty against his chest and tucking his chin on top of Dusty’s sandy head. “Don’t tell me what I want or don’t want. Everyone thinks they know what is best for me. Be the man you were in your apartment, and let me make that decision for myself.”

  After a heartbeat, Dusty relaxed ever so slightly against Conrad’s chest. “One dance,” he said, voice soft but firm. “One.”

  Chapter 20

  EVEN ONE dance was taking a chance. Dusty could so easily get used to this sensation. The music wrapped around them, carried them, like stepping stones leading to grace Dusty could no longer lay claim to. He didn’t dare move away from Conrad for fear
his knee would give out and they both ended up on the floor. Not that Conrad seemed disposed to let him go anyway.

  One dance, surely, couldn’t hurt.

  He rested his cheek against Conrad’s chest and let out a breath. But it would be for this dance only. He couldn’t take the chance he’d end up wanting this thing too badly. Marcello had taken away the threat of losing his job, leaving him with no handy excuses.

  “Why are you shaking?” Conrad didn’t move away, but his body language changed from swaying, sensual sweeps to guarded and more contained.

  “Please. I have to go,” Dusty whispered. “I can’t do this.”

  “You are so afraid.”

  “I can’t dance. I can’t… can’t.”

  “You are, though. What are you so afraid of?”

  Dusty made a move to free himself from Conrad’s grasp, but Conrad was having none of it. He held Dusty like only another dancer could, firm, contained, and completely safe. Even if Dusty’s knee gave on him, Conrad would catch him.

  “One dance, Dusty. You promised.”

  He had. If only his thoughts would cease the swirling eddies that echoed the music they moved to, sweeping through his brain in washes of vibrant what ifs.

  “You think so much, Dusty. And say so little.” Conrad nuzzled the side of his head and kissed his hair. His voice was low, calm, and his grip steadying. “I fear I talk far more than I think. Sometimes I end up saying things and people take them in ways I never intended. I put my foot in my mouth, and even the most adept dancer cannot recover from that quick enough not to trip over his words.”

  “I’ve never stolen, Con. Not ever.”

  “I am sorry I said what I did. Sorry it hurt you. I never meant to imply that you had. I don’t even know now what I meant.” The music changed, sweeping into a new track, and Conrad slowed and leaned back to look into Dusty’s face. “Only that I wanted you to understand this is not a school that demands exorbitant prices for a dance education. I had the best, Peridot had the best. Many of my friends had the best teachers and schools money could buy. I pushed myself to be a dancer worthy of the cost and attention people gave me because of who my family is.

  “I wanted to prove to my director that I could be more and better than his opinion of me as a spoiled rich kid whose spot in the company had been bought and paid for. He demanded more of me than I could give, and it cost me everything. I tore ligaments and muscles that never healed right. It cost me the stage, never earned me his respect.

  “Peridot.” He shook his head. “He burned so bright, and he should have been a darling of the stage, but he couldn’t. The competition broke him. He grew to hate the dance. He made so many bad decisions. I could rhyme off a list of dancers who crashed and burned, all of whom had the very best money could buy them.”

  Cupping the back of Dusty’s neck, Conrad stared into him, willing him, it seemed, to understand. “I want my school to be a place where anyone can dance. Some of them want to go on to bigger stages. I try to prepare them. True, I get overzealous at times. I know that. I push too hard sometimes. But I welcome everyone, no matter if they want to be a prima ballerina or are content to be a janitor. Whether they are built like a fey wisp or a Mack Truck, as long as they want to dance, they are welcome here.”

  Dusty couldn’t tell what Conrad was trying to get at. Was he saying it was okay Dusty was a janitor? That it was fine he could no longer dance like he had when he was a kid? He didn’t understand.

  “Everyone should get the chance to dance, Dusty. Do you see that? Everyone. Everyone should have that one chance in their life to dance like no one is watching them and nothing else matters. If I can give one kid the chance to do that, especially a kid who might not have had the chance otherwise, then I’ll do what it takes.”

  Dusty nodded. So it was about the “free” leotards and tights?

  “I have never had one of these kids take something from this studio that they were not welcome to have. And not a one of them has ever done so without paying me back in some way. Whatever way they can afford. I don’t encourage any of them to take what doesn’t belong to them. I do encourage them to take what they need and to pay what they can.”

  “I’m sorry I took it personally. I guess… it’s a sore spot.”

  Conrad smiled at him and cupped his face. “It was a misunderstanding. Can we get past it?”

  Dusty nodded. But get past it to where? He already knew Conrad was more generous than anyone Dusty had known. He had to be to give what he did when they were together. And Dusty had no right to any of it. Conrad should be with someone like Peridot. Someone Conrad’s parents and peers would approve of.

  “Good.” And with that, Conrad bent and kissed him, and Dusty let him. He accepted the connection, welcomed it, because just that much of a taste of Conrad made his knees weak and his resolve weaker. He wanted this man so much.

  “So come upstairs,” Conrad said when they parted. “Let me give you a proper birthday gift.”

  “But you didn’t know it was my birthday,” Dusty protested.

  Conrad grinned. “I do now. I can take you shopping tomorrow if you want. For tonight, I have everything I need upstairs. Or I will once I have you up there too.”

  “It’s impossible to say no to you,” Dusty mused, which only brought a wider grin to Conrad’s face. “Marcello warned me.”

  Cocking his head as he turned to the stereo to stop the CD, Conrad chuckled. “Warned you? About me?”

  “I guess not in so many words, but he did say you charmed him into letting you follow him around all day when you were young. And he’s not exactly the softest of men.”

  “Don’t let him fool you. He’s a teddy bear.”

  “He was kind to you,” Dusty said softly. “That’s enough for me.”

  Conrad looked back at him. “What did he tell you about me, exactly?”

  Dusty was about to say “nothing much,” but thought better of it. Why not tell the truth? He didn’t have the capacity to sustain any sort of falsehood, anyway. “He said you were lonely. That something happened to your sister, and you were… lost… for a while. Actually, he said he lost you. It made him very sad to say that. And very happy he could say he found you again. I think he thinks you need some sort of looking after.”

  Conrad laughed. “Well, then, he has found me the perfect caretaker, hasn’t he?” He spread his hands in front of the neat rows of CDs lining the shelves. “I’ve kept your system intact for an entire week and made my tax guy’s day by handing over those receipts. You can tell Marcello he’s found me a miracle.” He whirled and flew off across the room, swinging into turns and jumps like the music in his head was a blaring symphony of joy.

  It wasn’t ballet that carried Conrad in leaps and bounds over the hardwood, but something stronger, wilder, more exuberant, and not for the first time, Dusty mourned his lost chances. He couldn’t dwell on that, though. His past was past, and this, flying around him in flashes of sandy hair, lean muscle, and an uplifted face full of delight, was his now.

  Maybe for right now, he could appreciate it for what it was and not project it into an uncertain future. When Conrad finally came to rest, Dusty allowed himself to be lured up to Conrad’s apartment for tea. He firmly told himself he was not going to have sex with the man again. He had to break off that aspect of their relationship, before Conrad realized what kind of dud he was getting. If they could be friends, Dusty would be happy with that.

  Chapter 21

  SADLY, EVEN once he had Dusty up in his apartment, nothing Conrad did lured him closer to his bed than the bottom of the bedroom stairs. They spent a quiet evening not fighting, which was nice for a change. When he was finally convinced Dusty was not going to give in and stay the night, Conrad let himself be convinced to help sort his personal CDs. It was a monumental task and one that carried them into the small hours of the morning. Though he tried, he couldn’t convince Dusty to sleep there, even on the couch, and eventually, he drove him home.

>   Dusty did allow a brief, sweet good-night kiss, but he didn’t linger, and as he disappeared around the corner to his apartment, Conrad wondered if that was the last of their too-brief affair. He desperately hoped not, but he had to concede he could only take things at a pace Dusty allowed.

  To that end, he did his best not to think about him for the interminable three-day weekend and even spent some time with Peridot and Camille Sunday afternoon, which took his mind off what Dusty was not allowing them to have.

  After that, Dusty didn’t avoid him. In fact, he stuck around to watch a few of Eliza’s classes, as well as staying in the apartment to work when Conrad was home. The first time he didn’t run off, Conrad tried hard to be as unobtrusive as possible. It lasted less than an hour before Dusty commented.

  “You’re quiet, today.” It was the third time Conrad had snuck down from his bedroom to refresh his coffee. “Is something wrong?”

  Conrad started and almost dropped his mug. He hadn’t noticed Dusty perched on the kitchen counter, dusting the tops of the cupboards.

  “No. Nothing. I just didn’t want to disturb you. What are you doing on the counter? How did you get up there? You shouldn’t climb. Is your knee better? I thought I would keep out of your way.”

  “By hiding in your bedroom?” Dusty was clearly fighting back a smile.

  Conrad grimaced. “I have clothes to fold.”

  Dusty snorted. “I see.”

  “Well. I thought it was as good a time as any to weed out some of the stuff I don’t wear anymore. I have quite a bit.”

  Dusty made a noncommittal sound.

  “Maybe you know a good place to bring it?” Conrad asked. “A lot of it is perfectly good. I just don’t need as much as I have. I figure if I have less, then there is less for you to clean.”

  “Sure.” Dusty crouched and wobbled, setting his weight on his good leg so he could get down.

  Conrad was at his side in a heartbeat, steadying him. “You okay?”