by Cass Lennox
He slumped low on the sofa. “If I didn’t notice it with Lucette, how would I notice it with Evie?”
“Pretty sure you’d notice that shit again. Do you think she’s another Lucette?”
“No,” he admitted. “Probably not.”
“Does Gigi like her?”
“Yeah.”
“Wow. Ty, that’s a sign.” More rustling down the line. “How did she react when you broke this thing off?”
Guilt curdled his insides. “She got confused and upset. Mad. She told me she didn’t understand why. When I said something I shouldn’t have, she just left.” He cringed at the memory. “I said I didn’t want to be in a relationship again and not with her.”
Pause. “Tyler, I love you dearly, but that would upset me too.”
“I didn’t mean it! It came out all wrong.” He slumped lower, miserable. “I meant that—that, she’s so fun and sweet and great, right? And if things turned toxic, I wouldn’t be able to handle that. Seeing her turn all . . . hateful. I don’t want her hating me. And I don’t want to hate her.”
“Oh, Ty.” There was a wobble in Shana’s voice. “Baby, relationships aren’t meant to be like that, you know? Lucette’s the example of how things shouldn’t be, not how they actually are. Remind me again, how did Lucette react when you broke up with her?”
He scowled and slid onto the floor. “She laughed at me. Then she said I was”—a total pussy, but he hadn’t told anyone that because those words were poison on so many levels he wasn’t sure he could even begin to process them—“nothing without her. That I wouldn’t last a week, and I’d be back in no time.” He’d walked out shaking with fear and adrenaline, a death grip on his suitcase and his laptop bag. Slamming a door had never felt so good.
“And Evie did what, again?”
He gave in to a heavy sigh. “Okay, I get it.”
“Do you? Because here’s the thing about people: they don’t change. They reveal themselves. So maybe you didn’t see the manipulative, life-sucking succubus that was Lucette’s inner self at first. So what? Now you would. And all right, you’ve known this woman a week. But the way Evie reacted sounds like someone who was honestly pissed at you, let you know it, then did what you wanted by walking away, so I think you’re safe there. Relatively speaking.”
He shifted so he was more comfortable on the floor. “You think being with Evie would be different.”
“That’s a no-brainer. Yeah. I think Lucette has warped what love looks like to you.” She paused. “As far as I can tell, Ty, this issue you’re having isn’t even about Evie. It’s about you.”
Tyler had just realized the same thing. “Yeah, I got that.” He took a deep breath. “I’m scared.” His voice cracked.
“No shit. It’s understandable, bro. You went through some nasty times.”
“And I was better.” He stared up at the blotches on the ceiling. “I was feeling okay and getting my life back. Then Evie stepped on a freaking dance machine and kind of blew me away. I wasn’t expecting something real, you know?”
“Yeah, Ty. I know. So what do you do now?”
It was a leading question. They both knew what he had to do. Lying there on the floor, letting his body sink into the hard boards, Ty swallowed. “I have to apologize. Then tell her everything I just told you.”
“That’s my little brother.” She sounded proud.
“And maybe get a therapist.”
Amusement curled her voice. “Might help, yeah.”
Imagining the next day, explaining to Evie just how extensive the network of crap in his head was, sent a heady rush of hope through him. Hope and sheer nerves. “I’m not good with words, Shan. It’s not going to be easy telling her this stuff.” Maybe he had some cue cards lying around.
“This stuff isn’t easy to figure out or to talk about. You’re doing great, bro. And you’ll do great tomorrow.”
“Do you think she’ll take me back?”
“I don’t know. It’s up to her. But,” she still sounded proud, “you can be irresistible when you want to be.”
“Thanks.”
“Can I share something with you? I’m a little envious.” Her voice turned sad. “I think you two have your shit more together than Ray and I ever did. And you’re not even a couple.”
Ty sat up, instantly defensive. “Ray being a total dick-bag is not your fault, Shana.”
“Yeah, well. I know that. I just wanted what he was offering even though I knew better.”
He could relate to that so hard it wasn’t funny. “I hear that.”
“You feeling better, baby?”
“Yeah. Thank you.”
“Good. Go get her. Catch me up tomorrow.”
They hung up. Tyler sat on the floor, almost vibrating with restrained energy. He wanted to call Evie right away. He wanted to run out and get the streetcar to Sarah and Bailey’s place and clear things up in person, so he could see her and touch her. But it was close to midnight and neither of those gestures would be appreciated.
How could he sleep now?
Gigi’s and Shana’s words echoed through his head: “This is about you. Lucette has warped what love looks like to you. You’ve been happy. Evie is a good thing. You’re being fucking stupid.”
Evie’s betrayed expression flashed into his head. “I’m not good at judging situations like this. I thought you liked me. This morning was anything but casual.”
“You’re perfect exactly the way you are.”
Tears threatened. She’d said that completely unprompted. Like she’d read his mind and said what he’d needed to hear. Like she was that good a person she really believed it. Perhaps he’d waited so long to hear someone say it to him, hearing it had sent him into shock. Perhaps he thought he really didn’t deserve that kind of unconditional love. She hadn’t misgendered him or made him feel unsafe or like he was worthless because he dared to live the way he wanted to. She hadn’t belittled him or thrown gendered slurs at him or made him feel like shit at all, not even when he’d upset her. Hadn’t he told himself after Lucette to find someone who said what she thought? Evie was honest and sweet and magnificent. Wasn’t she perfect as she was? Didn’t she deserve someone who saw her for her instead of the labels too?
He’d made a huge mistake.
Tomorrow. Tomorrow he would talk to her before the performance. Hopefully he’d be able to claw back some of their fledgling happiness and promise. Hopefully he’d be able to make this right.
Evie eyed the stage on Church Street twenty minutes before the advertized performance time. The sun was strong on her hair, the air was extra hot with cooking from nearby stalls, and everyone was smiling. People streamed around her, enjoying the street festival. Sarah, Bailey, Vaughn, and his boyfriend, Jonah, flanked her, sporting beads and Pride flags and glitter. It felt good to have supporters.
She had debated on the best way to handle this, and could feel herself falling back on the British method: ignore the awkwardness and sheer embarrassment of yesterday by being unfailingly polite and aloof. She’d say hello, dance with him, say good-bye, and never speak to him again. She was also going to ignore how upset the idea of never speaking to him again made her, because she was going to be just fine without him.
It helped that she hadn’t seen Tyler yet, so she could still hope it would work.
Seeing how the crowd was swelling around the stage suddenly put their romantic drama out of mind. There were a lot of people here. Was she really going to dance on that stage? At Pride? In another country? With a man for whom she definitely had no feelings whatsoever?
Why had she agreed to do this again?
“You ready?” Sarah asked her.
“No.”
Bailey’s phone buzzed. They glanced at it, nudged Sarah, and tilted their head at Evie.
“Um,” Sarah said.
“Tyler?” Evie asked.
“Yeah.” Bailey frowned down at their phone.
“No.”
Sarah exhaled
. “I really think you should turn your cell on and at least read the messages he’s sent you. He wanted to meet you before the show.”
“Doesn’t matter.” She had kept her phone off since messaging her mum. Evie didn’t want to deal with her or Tyler. As she had no choice about one of them, she was determined to avoid the other until she went home. She refused to think about what Tyler could want to say to her.
Vaughn squeezed her shoulder. “Nervous?”
“No.”
He laughed, and rightly so because who was she kidding? She steeled herself. “I’m going in.”
“Good luck,” Vaughn said. “Not that you’ll need it.” Beside him, Jonah gave her a thumbs-up.
Evie took a deep breath and walked to the side of the stage. She gave her name to the official, who let her into the backstage area. It was a pavilion with lots of quirky people running around doing important-looking things. She spotted Brock and Katie filming the general scene. Derek and Jean stood with Justine Cherry and a Pride staff member. Gigi was nearby with Mark, and she walked over to them.
Gigi stood and gave her a slow once-over. “Killer,” was the verdict.
She’d decided to wear something revealing yet comfortable, and that turned out to be high-waisted shorts, a low-cut top currently hidden by an off-the-shoulder jumper, and sneakers. Her character was meant to be powerful and active and desirable, so she thought she’d work the look.
“You don’t scrub up half bad yourself,” she said.
Gigi preened. He and Mark were dressed in black tie. The pair of them struck a suave image, but Evie had no idea if their dance would live up to their costumes.
“Frannie said I looked sharp,” Mark said happily.
“Oh, honey,” Gigi said, straightening Mark’s lapels. “Take it from a gay man, you do.”
“Thanks, bro!”
Evie raised her eyebrows. Gigi had almost been affectionate there.
“Where is your girlfriend?” she asked him.
“Out front with a camera and my little bro,” Mark said. “She’s going to tape it so I can show my mom.”
Oh bloody hell, bless the boy. Evie almost pinched his cheeks but stopped herself.
Gigi’s attention had been caught by someone behind Evie. “Oh my God. We look sharp, you look hot, and Carmen looks . . .”
Evie turned. Carmen and her partner, Claude, walked past in heels and dresses, looking more like models than dancers.
“Wow,” Evie breathed.
Mark grinned, his gaze following them. “I know, right?”
Gigi’s lip curled. “I can dance in higher heels than those.”
“We’re good, man. We got the game in the bag.” Mark turned back to Evie. “Where’s Tyler?”
Evie shrugged, making sure it was casual. “Not sure.”
Gigi’s eyes narrowed. “One sec, Mark.” He beckoned Evie over to the side of the tent and leaned in. “He was waiting for you outside. Didn’t he message you?”
“I haven’t turned my phone on today,” she admitted.
“Cold but fair.” Gigi studied her closely. “You doing okay, sugarplum?”
She couldn’t help smiling. “I’ll be fine, Gigi. I’ll do this dance with him and that will be that.”
“We’ll see.”
Evie noticed a gaggle of fit-looking people on the other side of the pavilion. Judging by how they were dressed and stretching, she figured they were the Cherry Studios lot. They glanced over at Evie and Gigi like sharks eyeing potential prey. Two women were dressed in sequinned ball gowns, two men in street clothes like her, and another male pair were dressed in heels and leather. She felt like she’d fallen into a dance movie.
“Assholes,” Gigi muttered, following her gaze. “Stuck up rich kids whose parents can afford their tuition and bills.”
“Gigi, sportsmanship is a virtue,” Evie said. One of the women eyed her outfit and openly sneered. Evie bristled. “That said, this is a competition.”
“Gigi?”
They turned. Mark stood there looking a little forlorn. “Man, I know we’ve gone over it lots of times, but I’m super bugging out and, like, can we practise one more time?”
Gigi rolled his eyes and nodded. They walked out of the pavilion for some privacy. Evie looked around for Ty— No, someone else to talk to. Jean caught her eye, but before she could talk to her, a Pride organizer stepped into the tent. “Dancers on in ten minutes! Directors to the stage!”
Evie’s skin prickled. Awkwardness would be better than standing in line alone. She walked to the entrance, intending to look for Tyler, when he rushed in and almost collided with her.
Seeing him sent a shock through her, and she stepped back. He looked good, as always—hair back, clothes fitting close to his lean body, those gorgeous brown eyes . . . You know what he looks like, Evie. Yes, she knew, but it didn’t explain why he took her breath away.
He stared at her, eyes wide, chest heaving. Neither of them seemed able to speak.
“We’re on in ten minutes,” she managed at the same time that he said, “Have you warmed up yet?”
Abashed, they both looked away.
“There you two are!”
Their heads snapped to the side. Jean smiled tightly at them. “They’re lining the dancers up. Derek and Justine are on stage. Go on. What’s with those faces? I hear you’ve got this down. You’ll do great.”
Evie couldn’t look at Tyler. He moved stiffly past her, and she followed. As she passed Jean, she could’ve sworn she heard her mutter, “Cheer up. Half an hour and this farce will be over.” When she looked back, Jean was walking towards a side exit of the pavilion, face inscrutable.
The dancers gathered together near the stairs to the stage. It was set up facing Church Street, and their pavilion was hidden at the back. Another organizer told them their time slot was short, so the acts would run one directly after the other. He lined them up in order of billed appearance: the Cherry Studios women wearing ballroom outfits, Gigi and Mark, the leather heel-wearers, Evie and Tyler, the male couple who were dressed like Evie and Tyler, and finally Carmen and Claude.
Gigi glanced back and gave them a thumbs-up. Evie waved, then glanced at Tyler. He looked nervous. They stood directly next to each other, but the space seemed insurmountable. Evie took it back: standing alone in line was definitely better than this awkwardness.
On the stage, Derek and Justine were talking about their studios, the privilege of showcasing their dancers, and the joys of including queer people amongst their staff and students. Justine in particular was expounding at great length about the qualities of her school. In line, the dancers were stretching.
Tyler cleared his throat. “We need to warm up.”
Evie nodded, throat thick, and started moving mechanically. God, this was going to be terrible. They couldn’t dance like this. Not if they couldn’t at least speak to each other. But having that conversation here? Standing in line between leather-bound muscles and street cool?
Derek interrupted Justine and started waxing lyrical about QS Dance.
Now or never. She straightened from a hamstring stretch and turned to him.
He was already looking at her. “Evie,” he said softly. “I’m sorry.”
“What for?” she asked. “You can’t help the way you feel.”
He shook his head, then glanced around. “Can we step out for a bit?”
Goodlordthankfuck yes. They took three steps away from the line before being ushered back into it by an organizer. “Stay here,” he said. “We have to be really quick because we’re officially running over time now.”
Onstage, the MC had tactfully taken the microphones from Derek and Justine. The crowd clapped as Derek and Justine descended from the stage, stiff-backed and barely looking at each other.
“I didn’t know you cared,” Evie overhead Derek say to Justine.
“And I didn’t know your vocabulary was that extensive,” Justine replied sweetly.
The opening bars of the
first couple’s song struck up, and the ballroom dancers took the stage in a whirl of sequins. Evie’s stomach churned. “We better make this quick,” she hissed at Tyler.
He grabbed her hand. Surprised, she gaped at their hands, then at him.
“I’m sorry,” he said again. “I’m sorry about what I said yesterday. Knowing you were coming back took me by surprise because it meant this thing between us could become real, and I got scared.”
Evie was suddenly all ears. “Scared?”
“Yeah. You know my last relationship messed me up. That was me being messed up.”
Hope fluttered in her, fiery and raw. “Why didn’t you tell me that? All you said was you couldn’t do this anymore and you didn’t want me.”
On the edges of her peripheral vision, she saw the street dancers nudge each other. Gigi kept glancing back. Tyler kept his eyes on her, however.
“That was fear talking.”
Evie closed her eyes for a second. She’d heard that before. “You know, that’s the second time you’ve said one thing to me, then told me the next day you didn’t mean it.”
He huffed in frustration. “I know, but it’s something I’m going to work on.”
She pulled her hand out of his. “Yes, well, you don’t need me around for that.”
The organizer was monitoring his watch. Onstage, the dancers did their routine, a quickstep with lots of flourishes and longing looks. Their song ended, and Evie turned around just as the organizer waved Gigi and Mark on. “Good luck,” Evie hissed down the line.
Gigi glanced back and winked at her. “You too.” Then he sashayed onto the stage past the ballroom dancers leaving it. He held his hand out to Mark as a heavily dubstepped remix of Frank Sinatra’s “I Won’t Dance” started.
“Evie.”
Evie swallowed and tried to focus on Gigi and Mark. They were surprisingly good. She’d worried what Gigi would make Mark do; she’d imagined heels and hooker eye shadow at one point. But no, Gigi had choreographed a clever, slick routine straight out of a fifties movie. He’d clearly drawn a lot of moves from the Rat Pack era, and the two of them danced circles around each other.
“Evie!”
“What?” she snapped, looking at him.