by Cass Lennox
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Blimey. The Women’s Institute and rain. Evie was definitely missing out. Honestly, couldn’t this stuff keep until she was home?
Her phone buzzed, and she changed back to the Tyler thread.
Tyler: Cool. Same place as last time?
Evie: Sure. See you there.
Evie put her phone away and kept shopping. Her mind stuttered over that lunch invite as she browsed. Don’t think too much about it. Just roll with it. Friends, Evie. Friends only.
She found herself with armfuls of things like Nanaimo bar mixes and ice wine–flavoured tea, and swiftly put most of it back. Focus. She wanted maple syrup and cookies and a shirt and maybe some moose-related magnets and postcards and ridiculously flavoured tea. That’s what she wanted. Yet for some reason she was standing in front of a row of shot glasses shaped like boobs with hockey sticks between them. The fuck? Focus!
The hour couldn’t go quickly enough. She made her way to the café half an hour early, purchases in an embarrassingly touristy plastic bag, and to her surprise, found Tyler waiting for her outside. He looked tired, as though he hadn’t slept much. When he noticed her, a small smile wormed its way out.
“Hey,” he said.
“Hi.”
Silence widened the foot between them. Evie gripped the handle of the plastic bag a little more tightly. She was British. She was used to handling awkwardness by brushing over it. But this was Canada, not home, and as it turned out, she liked this new experiences credo she’d been following here.
Plus, no matter what happened here today, she would be okay with it.
“Food?” he asked.
“Yes. In a minute.” She took a deep breath. “I’m sorry about yesterday.”
He looked away immediately, his face blushing darkly. “You don’t have anything to be sorry about.”
“I feel I do. I put you on the spot.” She gestured inadequately. “I could at least have waited until Katie and Brock were gone.”
“I totally blame Brock for this,” Tyler said. He looked back at her, his expression warm. “Please, don’t be sorry. You Brits and your apologizing for everything. I thought Canadians were bad.”
Evie gave a wry smile. “We have a lot to apologize for.”
He straightened and reached as though to take her hand, then stopped and rubbed the back of his neck. “If you’re going to apologize, then I should too. Because I wasn’t exactly honest yesterday, and I’m sorry about that.”
Evie’s phone buzzed. She ignored it because Tyler was smiling at her and that was too important to miss. This was promising, right?
He indicated the café with his head. “Let me tell you about it over sandwiches?”
Tyler sat down and watched as Evie placed her shopping bag and backpack on the chair next to her. A massive Canadian flag and the words BEARLY BELIEVABLE SOUVENIRS EH were emblazoned across the bag. His stomach sank—souvenir shopping already?
Around them, people sat and chatted easily. The air was warm, and light streamed through the windows, catching on Evie’s face and hair, and on her fingers as they danced lightly over the menu. Somehow all of these details, from the smell of toasted bread to the curve of her cheek, were infinitely precious because next week she would no longer be there to catch the light.
After ordering, an awkward silence filled the air between them. Tyler had been practising what he wanted to say since yesterday, but the words were threatening to fly out of his head now.
Time to bite the bullet. “Uh, about yesterday . . .” His mouth dried up again. She fixed him with a calm blue stare, waiting. “I’m sorry. I just . . . The last time I had a good connection with a dance partner, it turned out to be a . . .” Monstrous, toxic shell of a relationship and breakup. He couldn’t say that. He found himself unable to say anything at all. How did anyone even begin to tell someone about the shitty ex? How did people do this?
“It was what?” she asked.
Their drinks arrived, and he gratefully took a gulp of water. “Messy. Like, really messy.”
“Oh.” Her eyebrows raised, and she rested her chin on one hand, clearly waiting for him to go on.
Okay, however other people did it, he wasn’t doing this well. It had seemed so straightforward in his head. “She was a dancer too,” he explained, “and she and I clicked a lot on a physical level.” He found himself fidgeting with his napkin and made himself put it down. “Not so much emotionally. I didn’t realize that at the time. I thought . . . I got mixed up. The physical side of stuff can mask a lot of problems, you know?”
Lucette had had the strong, lithe dancer’s body, but in a petite frame. He could remember the muscles of her stomach, the sleekness of her thighs, the way her nose turned up, the way her brows drew together when she was angry, and how almost angelic she’d looked. Yes, he’d loved to look, but he’d loved touching her more. He’d loved running a thumb over the delicate features: the cheekbones, the small jaw, the small, perfect mouth. The memory made his stomach knot.
Her mouth twisted wryly. “I can’t say I relate, actually, but I understand what you mean.”
“Oh, right.” Keep it moving, Ty. “Basically, I thought I’d found someone who really got me and who liked me for me. We were both dancers, same sort of background and repertoire, great chemistry, similar career goals, all that stuff. She said she didn’t mind me being trans.” Didn’t mind it. Jesus. How had he not seen that red flag? A lump filled his throat, and he forced it down. “I was really happy, because that’s rare. A lot of straight girls, they think it’s a fun experience for a one-off, or they don’t take the trans man thing well when they find out. She did. So I was all in.”
Evie nodded.
“Only, she wasn’t that okay with it. Or she was, but it had to be on her terms.” Tyler sipped his water again, trying to ease that lump. It wasn’t really working. “So, um. Lots of rules. Not all at once, but one after another. And judgment. And tests. Which I kept failing.”
Things like dressing and walking in a “manly” way. Taking the “right” kind of dance work. Demanding he not talk to Carmen or Eddie or any of the other female dancers he was friends with. No jobs involving partnerships with other girls. No jobs that involved partnerships with guys either, because that would have been “gay” and no way in hell was someone she dated allowed to be anything other than devoted entirely to her. Saying he’d said something horrible about her to someone, when he hadn’t. Checking his phone. Checking his browser history. Checking he was where he’d say he would be. Watching him work in the café, simmering when a female customer had the temerity to talk to him. Yelling at him about how he’d handled all of the above, no matter how he handled it.
He felt positively nauseous now. The familiar feelings of suffocation and being trapped returned.
Evie was frowning. Don’t get carried away. It’s in the past. Tyler took a look around to ground himself in the here and now, to help him push back the awful memories. “She was . . . She wasn’t good for me. In the end.” Say it. “Turns out you don’t need to hit people to abuse them.”
Evie looked shocked. “Ty—”
“It happens. Happened.” Tyler took a deep breath. When Evie didn’t interrupt him, he took another. “I liked her and, as it turned out, she liked having a punching bag for her insecurities. All the stuff we talked about, all the things she shared with me, I thought it was trust and love, you know? It looked a lot like trust until one day it wasn’t.” He exhaled sharply. “I broke up with her last year. She’s in Vancouver now. I’ve moved on. Put my head into dancing, reconnected with people, all that stuff. So it’s fine now.”
He fidgeted with the cutlery, working to gather more of the right words. Evie stayed quiet across the table
“Only, I haven’t danced with a partner or dated since,” he confessed. “It’s been . . . difficult to do this competition. More difficult than I thought it would be. Nothing to do with you,” he added swiftly. “You’re awesome. It’s just . . . d
oing this again, this partnering thing again, it’s . . .” He struggled to articulate it.
“Dredging up old feelings?”
“Yeah. It is.” His throat closed up again.
“Is it scary?” she asked.
“Yeah.”
Her hand came across the table, palm up. He blinked in surprise, then took it, looking at her. Evie’s mouth had gone tight. “You can tell me if I say or do something that’s triggering. The last thing I want is—”
“Evie, no.” Her hand was so steady. His was clammy and sweaty. Oh God, that had to feel gross. He needed to finish this, if only so he could relieve her of having to hold his hand. “No, you’ve been fine. Really. It’s not you. You’re nothing like her.” He squeezed her hand to emphasize that, gazed right into her eyes. “It’s me and my fucked-up expectations. It’s me being, I dunno, defensive. Lucette and I got together because we were partnered for a piece and we clicked. This situation now, it’s similar. But not just because we’re partnered and learning a new piece and working well together. Because our connection? It is amazing, Evie. It is.” His gaze flicked down to their hands, then back up to her eyes. Could he do this? He could do this. “I lied. It’s not just friendship for me.”
Her eyes widened. Then her face set, and she frowned at the table. He could see the wheels turning, processing what he’d said.
And daaamn, if he thought he was nervous before telling her all that, it was nothing compared to waiting for her reaction now. Was she going to flip out? Was she pitying him? Was she trying to find an excuse to leave? Not that he’d blame her. It’s been ever so nice, Mr. Davis, but this is rather a lot of baggage that I’m too British to have time for, and I have a cup of tea to make in a place where you are not physically present. Oh God. He’d gauged this wrongly. He’d totally—
“Tyler.” She reached out for his other hand, and he gave it to her. “I like you.” The noises of the café faded, and he was tongue-tied again. Evie was gazing straight at him. No fucking around. “I really like you, and I like what we’re doing here. I can be friends. I’d like to be friends. If there’s more on the table, then yes, that would be wonderful.” Her face softened. “Really, that would be . . . amazing. But you need to understand that if this is too much right now, that’s okay, and I mean that. I’m happy to simply be here, with you, in whatever capacity you’ll have me.” She squeezed his hands. “Take some time to think about it and let me know, all right?”
Tyler wasn’t sure he’d heard that right. It had to be some kind of mistake. Oh shit, something was gathering in his eyes and threatening to spill over.
He blinked furiously. She was still there, smiling sadly at him. Still holding his hand.
Still kind.
And somehow still into him.
That killed him.
“Uh,” he managed.
“Thank you for telling me,” she said. “I had no idea you were struggling with something like that.”
“It’s not . . . I’m dealing with it,” he said. “Trying to, anyway.” He felt lighter. He’d been honest and somehow it was okay. And she was still sitting there. Granted, she had a chicken bagel coming, but he appreciated it nonetheless.
Not only was she still there, but she wanted to be. “How the hell are you single?” he wondered aloud.
She gave him a wry look. “I might say the same about you. But if you really want an answer: it’s usually because people hear the word ‘asexual,’ think I don’t like shagging, and fly for the hills.”
“Shagging?”
“Sex.”
The hell? “Do people honestly say that over there?”
“What, ‘shag’?”
“Yeah.”
“Yes. We honestly say that.”
He shook his head. “British slang is weird.”
She stirred her iced tea delicately with her straw. “Is that usual for you, to focus on the word rather than the act? Because for most people it’s the other way around.”
“Words are important.” His brain caught up with what she’d said. “So, wait—you do like sex?”
She raised her eyebrows. “Under the right circumstances, with the right person, I like what I like.”
Oh, really. Everything south of his belt was suddenly very interested. He grinned. “Am I allowed to know what you like?”
“I need something harder than iced tea to share that information.” Her mouth twitched as she repressed a smile. Tyler wanted the table gone, wanted to lean right over and kiss that wicked mouth, to push his fingers into her hair and down her back, to pull her tight against him—
The waiter arrived and placed their food. Amid the bustle of that, their hands separated, and the moment was over.
Evie bit into her bagel with a look of bliss. Tyler stared, caught by her expression as his mind lingered on the image of kissing her, then realized he was staring and turned to his own food.
“Take some time to think about it.” Ha. As if. He was a goner. He wanted all of her—her expressions, her eyes, her feelings, her thighs, all of it. If she wasn’t leaving next week, he’d be crapping himself at just how much he wanted her. He’d been sunk the moment she first spoke to him.
That fucking audition.
“What are you smiling at?” she asked him through a mouthful of bagel. “Do I have mayo on my nose or something?”
He shook his head. “Nope. Just remembering the first thing you ever said to me.”
She frowned, then almost choked. He grinned as she laugh-coughed for a moment. “Oh God,” she gasped. “I was so angry. You’d shown up out of nowhere, and I was wondering who the hell you thought you were.” She scowled. “‘She’ll do it,’” she mimicked with a scowl.
He laughed. “It was a pretty dick move.”
“Yeah, it was.” Her eyes glittered at him. “I had you down as this gorgeous, entitled jerk.”
She thinks I’m gorgeous. “And I thought you were magnificent.”
She blushed and found something very interesting outside the window to look at. Tyler glanced outside too, then at his phone. They had twenty minutes until the start of practice. Whatever this was—a date? A beginning? Therapy?—he didn’t want it to end. He wanted to sit here for the rest of the afternoon and talk with her, not return to that stuffy practice room and pretend he cared about a stupid routine.
“Did Brock speak with you last night?” she asked him.
“Yeah.”
“He caught me on the way out.” She smiled softly. “He’s not a bad guy. I think he could be very good for Gigi.”
He wanted to believe it. “If he’s legit changed, maybe. Gigi’s done with closet cases.”
“I can’t wait to see what happens tomorrow night.” She rested her chin in her hand, eyes twinkling. “I expect nothing less than sheer entertainment, especially from Gigi.”
He reached across the table and took her hand again. Eyebrows raised, she sat up a little. “Is this okay?” he asked.
“Of course. Just . . .” She shook her head at whatever she’d been about to say. “Yes.”
Her hand tightened around his, warm and secure. He ran his thumb along her knuckles. “I wish,” he said quietly, “we didn’t have to go back to the school and interrupt this.”
“We need to practise the routine.”
Fuck the routine.
Wait, I’m being paid for the routine.
“I know,” he said.
Maybe the routine wasn’t the problem. After all, he’d be dancing with her—that was an awesome thing. Nah, maybe the problem was the freaking camera that would be waiting at the school.
“But we don’t have to do it at the school.”
He looked up.
She inclined her head at the window. “It’s a lovely day. Is there a park nearby? We could practise there.”
Outside? In front of people? “You sure? We’ll be watched.”
She leaned in. “I’m into it if you are.”
“Hey—”
“And
it won’t be the strangest thing I’ve done in a park.”
He sputtered.
“Well?”
“I don’t know . . .”
“We’ll avoid Katie and Brock.”
He sat up. “Sold.”
Twenty-five minutes later, they were in the nearest park and ignoring their phones. Tyler only had the Jet track on his MP3 player, so he listened to it a couple of times to get the beat down in his head, before handing it to Evie. They ran through the routine like that: her listening and him keeping the pace up internally. Not ideal, but fun—Evie would lose the rhythm or mistime a step, causing them to bump together in hilarious ways. Occasionally, he’d misstep and find himself waiting for her or rushing her.
The electric energy from the previous day surged through them, pushing them to get things right so they could move together in sync. Tyler saw Evie’s concentration hold through iteration after iteration of the same steps. He pulled her close and pushed her away; she pulled him close and would shove him back with a wink. They attracted a few curious glances, but no one lingered.
Eventually, sweaty and giggling from another collision, Evie backed off and requested a break. He dug into his bag for his Gatorade. When he heard her clear her throat behind him, he turned to see her standing with Godzilla and her camera.