Chapter Eight
CHAPTER EIGHT
THE NEXT WEEK followed much of the same pattern. Liam woke at six thirty, chugged a cup of coffee and a protein bar, then made his way downstairs to the studio. After a solid half hour of stretching and warm-up, he worked on choreographing routines. Once he had the studio up and running, he hoped to start a competition team. To do that, he’d need to attract skilled dancers, and the best way to reel them in was with stellar choreography. Just because he lived in a small rural town didn’t mean there wasn’t incredible talent to be discovered.
Tate and Randy showed up around eight each morning. The last three days, Tate had brought him an iced caramel macchiato. It’d been a welcome surprise, and he’d had a hard time not gushing in excitement. Randy gave him dirty looks but didn’t ask how Tate knew Liam’s coffee order. At least he didn’t ask in Liam’s earshot.
Thankfully, there hadn’t been any more issues with Daryl. He tended to show up late and with a scowl, but he’d kept his mouth shut and worked. As soon as Liam saw him pull into the parking lot, he made himself scarce until Daryl disappeared into the locker room. The situation wasn’t ideal, but he'd take it if it kept the peace and made things easier for Tate.
What he hated was the professional way Tate spoke to him and how they hadn’t had so much as spent thirty seconds alone together. After the epic frotting session in the locker room, Liam had hoped for more. That night, he’d gone to bed imagining stolen moments, sneaking kisses, and maybe a scandalous lunch break in his apartment.
But, no. It’d been crickets from Tate, and while Liam practically had to tie himself to his desk chair, he didn’t make a move either. If it were up to Liam, they’d get each other off daily, but the ball was in Tate’s court. He was the one with something to lose. So, Liam had behaved himself and had spent more time jerking off over the past few days than he had in high school.
It was becoming a problem.
This morning, the tilers weren’t scheduled to begin until eleven, which worked in his favor. Liam had a date with eight very sassy ladies, and he’d have hated to cancel on them.
“All right, my lovelies,” he said, clapping his hands. “Should we run it again?”
“Let’s do it,” Dot, the spunkiest of the crowd, rushed to the front of the studio.
After an hour of class with her, Liam learned she loved to be front and center and soaked up attention like a dry sponge.
A few of the others rolled their eyes. “He’s gay, dear,” Barbara said with a tut. “He wouldn’t have wanted you even thirty years ago.”
“Oh, stuff it, Barb. You know this isn’t about me.” Dot shifted her gaze to Liam. “I do, however, have a very lovely nephew who recently broke up with his boyfriend. Just saying.” She batted her seventy-eight-year-old eyelashes. “The only problem is he lives in Chicago, but what’s a little distance between soulmates?”
Liam’s face heated. “That’s very sweet,” he said, patting Dot’s slender shoulder. “But I’m just going to focus on my business for a while.”
And maybe, God willing, a very attractive country boy who brought his favorite coffee each day. Not that Tate gave him any indication they’d be doing more than casting sidelong glances at each other for the foreseeable future.
Liam was still clinging to the next time they’d promised each other.
It would happen.
Desperation, thy name is Liam.
“Good idea, sweetie,” Mary, the youngest of the group at sixty-six, said. “Men are nothing but trouble. Trust me, I know.”
“Yeah, you did marry five of them, after all,” Dot said with a snort.
“Five?” Liam mouthed to Mary, who shrugged. “What can I say? I liked dick, and I wasn’t one to give the milk away for free.”
Unfortunately, he took a sip of his water at the exact moment those words came flying out of Mary’s mouth. The liquid slipped right down his trachea. He choked, spewing water all over the floor as his lungs fought to keep from drowning.
“Careful, dear.” Dot whacked him on the back. “Take a breath.”
“Thank you,” he rasped when he could breathe again.
Who knew sweet Mary, with her snowy white hair and orthopedic shoes, had it in her?
Five of them, apparently.
“Okay…” He needed to get this train back on track before he completely lost control. People thought teaching kids was tough, it was nothing compared to a group of mischievous seniors. “Let’s work through the dance a few more times before we run out of time. The senior center’s talent show is in a few weeks, and I’d hate myself if I sent you ladies out there unprepared.”
“It’s so nice of you to do this for us before you officially open, dear.”
“It’s my pleasure, Mrs. Snow. Okay, everyone in their place?” The group of senior ladies all nodded. “And five… six… seven… eight…” He hit the music, and the studio filled with the song they’d requested— Jailhouse Rock . As Elvis belted out the lyrics, the ladies began to dance. It was a bit of a disaster, but they had fun, laughed, and teased each other, so he offered a few corrections. After running it several times, they had it down, and Liam felt comfortable calling it a day.
Dot had other ideas. She’d begged him to play the rest of Elvis’s album. Once the other ladies joined in the pleading, he had no choice but to give them what they wanted. Who could resist a bunch of sweet grandmas itching for a dance party?
By the end of the second song, he was dancing with them, spinning, dipping ladies left and right, and laughing his head off. His friends in New York wouldn’t recognize him. Who would believe that in the span of a few weeks, he’d gone from being a lead performer in the New York City Ballet to choreographing a dance for the local senior center’s talent show?
But this type of dance fed his soul—fun, no pressure, and pure joy. It was the kind of dance professionals often forgot about in their pursuit of perfection. So, he embraced it, crooning along with Elvis and getting his fifties groove on.
He was mid Rock Around the Clock with The King when he spun, thrust his hips, and came to a dead stop. Tate stood propped against the door with his arms folded and a smirk on his handsome face.
Liam rushed to his phone on the floor near the mirror and killed the music.
“Hey!” Mary called out when the room fell silent. “Oh, who do we have here?”
“Leave him alone, Mar. He doesn’t want to be your number six,” Dot said with a snicker.
“Oh, Tate, hello dear,” Mrs. Snow said with a wave for the bad boy lurking at the door.
“Hey, Miz Snow.” He waved before folding his arms again. “So, what are you crazy kids getting up to in here?”
Liam’s face was hot enough to melt off his body. “Uh, we’re just having a quick lesson.”
“This sweet boy is helping us by choreographing a dance for the senior center’s talent show.” Dot looped her thin arm through Liam’s and tugged him closer to Tate. She had a mischievous gleam in her eye that he needed to squash immediately.
“Sorry, we ran late. I meant to be finished before you got here to work.”
“I’m a few minutes early.”
“Tate, why don’t you come dance with me?” Mrs. Snow shuffled over. Her hot pink spandex pants were stretched to capacity by her hefty frame, and her top could only be described as a mumu. It was bright, bold, and told the world she didn’t give a crap what people thought of her style.
Color leached from Tate’s face, which made Liam chuckle. He had no problem with the spotlight leaving him and shifting to Tate.
“Uh, no disrespect intended, Miz Snow, but I’m gonna have to pass. I'm not much of a dancer.”
Liam’s eyes met Tate’s, whose expression remained pained. Liam winked. The man had been a great dance partner the night they met in the club, but then he hadn’t had to do more than grind his hips and rock back and forth.
“Hmm.” Mrs. Snow tilted her head and studied Tate.
What did she see? Could she tell he had secrets?
“How’s your mama, boy?”
Tate stiffened. “ ’Bout the same as usual, Miz Snow. You know how it is.”
With a shake of her head, she said, “I know she’s trouble. Marissa was trouble in school, and she’s trouble now. You two boys practically raised yourselves, with you taking the brunt of it, if I’m not mistaken.”
Discomfort rolled off Tate in waves so thick Liam could practically see them. He squirmed, then shrugged. “Not all of us are lucky to have had you as a mama.”
“Don’t you try to sugar me up with sweet words, boy. I once made you scrub the whole bathroom after you dropped that cherry bomb in the toilet. I have no problem taking you to task again. You hear me?”
All that was missing was her shriveled finger wagging in his face. As it was, Liam could barely contain his laughter.
The smirk returned, and Tate seemed to shake off whatever cloud had momentarily rolled in. “Yes, ma’am.” He faced Liam. “Miz Snow was my mama’s fifth-grade teacher. By the time I came through school, she was the principal. Meanest one I’ve ever had.”
Liam’s eyes bugged, and he whipped his head toward Mrs. Snow to find her laughing instead of being offended.
A wide grin stretched her soft face. “Don’t you forget it, boy. Same time next week, Liam?”
What on earth was happening here? “Yes, ma’am. Same time, same place.”
“I can’t wait.” She shuffled on by, patting his arm as she passed. “You’re a good boy, Liam.” She narrowed her eyes at Tate. “You’d do well to try to be more like this one,” she said, shaking a crooked finger in his face.
There it was.
“Yes, ma’am. Can I help you to your ride?” He held out an arm, and Mrs. Snow took it with a harumph, but she still smiled.
All bark and no bite.
Liam grinned. The whiplash of emotions and information overload from the past few minutes had left his head spinning and his heart aching, which was becoming a common theme the more he learned about Tate’s life.
As Tate escorted Mrs. Snow to the shuttle that would take them back to the senior center across town, a beat-up car holding Randy and Daryl pulled into the parking lot. They hopped out of the vehicle and strode to Tate and Mrs. Snow, greeting her with smirks and probably a lot of sass.
Without warning, Mrs. Snow walloped Daryl on the side of his head with her tan leather purse.
Daryl yelped and hopped away from the woman. She didn’t miss a beat, treating Randy to the same smack.
Liam covered his mouth, which did nothing to hide his laughter. Tate, on the other hand, didn’t bother to disguise his. Instead, he held a fist out to Mrs. Snow, who bumped her knuckles against his, making Liam snicker even more.
The spunky old lady just became his favorite person.
He tried to keep from feeling warm and gooey inside as he watched Tate, who had a solid foot and a half on Mrs. Snow, help her onto the shuttle bus, but the effort failed. After Mrs. Snow climbed the step into the shuttle, Tate remained and helped each lady in turn as they filed out of the studio.
Randy and Daryl unloaded supplies from Tate’s truck.
Liam stared from the window the entire time.
“He really is a good boy.”
He glanced down to find Dot at his side. “Seems like it,” he said with a smile.
“Always thought he was so much better than where he came from. And I don’t mean because of where he grew up or the fact that his family doesn’t have two pennies to rub together. Those details don’t make up a person’s quality.”
He couldn’t tear his eyes off Tate even as he listened to Dot. Watching him this way, with such focused, hungry attention, came too close to crossing the line. If he wasn’t careful, Dot, or worse, Randy and Daryl would notice the desire in his gaze.
But he couldn’t stop.
“It’s the hatred,” Dot said, and those might have been the only words capable of pulling his focus from Tate.
Liam glanced down to find her also watching the man they spoke about. She had a soft fondness in her gaze.
“They hate everyone,” she said. “Always have. My Henry and I lived in the same trailer park they did when those boys were kids. There is so much hate, especially of those different from them.” She sighed. “Guess it’s hard to raise children who can love when you don’t love yourself.” She patted his arm. “You have yourself a good week, Liam. Thank you for today. I’ve had the most fun since my date with Roger a few months ago.”
He nodded but couldn’t speak. His attention was already back on Tate, who extended a hand to Dot as she walked toward the shuttle.
Instead of answering his hundreds of questions about Tate, his family, and life, she’d only added to the mountain.
What had his childhood been like?
What was Mrs. Snow referring to when talking about his mother?
How did he pull himself from a pit of darkness and hatred to become the man he was today?
And would he ever chance revealing his authentic self to the world?