Say It Again

Chapter One

THE DANCE floor at the St. Louis School of Dance didn’t care if Daniel Greene didn’t have his life together. It didn’t pass judgment if he showed up late to teach class, dressed in another guy’s clothes from the night before, smelling of self-loathing and just a hint of wine slushy. Very Eau de Walk of Shame .

These old hardwoods beneath his feet didn’t care, because they were his home. No, they were homier than home. They were the homiest. And not even because his actual home was also littered with dust and hair, with the occasional fascinated onlooker peering in through the front window. (Well, but in all fairness, Marvin wasn’t an onlooker so much as he was the landlord, and a generally clingy man. It was the whole Where’s the rent? business. Like, every. Single. Month.)

Twenty long years he’d been dancing, which meant twenty long years he’d been in love. Now, at twenty-five, it was the only thing that kept his quivering Jell-O mold of a nervous system quelled, and it worked just like a miracle tonic for all life’s pesky lemons.

Except for when it didn’t. Like right now.

Olivia, his best friend, fellow dance instructor, and the peskiest lemon of all, whined as she mooched all up in his space. She mooched so hard that he couldn’t crest a delicate arm up to the ceiling all gracefully or properly pirouette without whacking her. “Daniel, you can’t say no. You can’t .”

“I can’t? Let me try.” The hardwoods creaked as he corkscrewed in a spin to the floor, where he sat with his toes pointed and torso folded in half, snug against his thighs. He smiled, eyes serenely closed. “No.”

“You’re not thinking about the consequences.” Olivia plopped to the floor beside him. “If you don’t help me tonight, I’ll be forced to tell the rich people they won’t have a bartender for their rich party. Do you want that on your conscience? A bunch of sober rich people? They’ll bore each other to death talking about cryptocurrency. ”

Olivia’s side “business” of bartending and serving private parties was the definition of amateur. Other than harassing the dance studio’s instructors, she hadn’t gone to any lengths to hire employees for her LLC, After the Pumpkin. An homage to Cinderella , it was supposed to mean something like “after midnight.” But all it did was spawn a lot of confusion that ended with Daniel cornered and answering questions like After what pumpkin? And What happens after it?

It was too late to change it now. The promotional stress balls had been ordered. Why had she designed them to resemble a clock set to a random two thirty instead of, say, pumpkins? Because Olivia was a mess.

“Do you remember what happened last time I helped you?” he asked with a stern eyebrow raised. “What happened to my dignity ?”

“Oh my God, you have to let that go. It was an honest mistake!”

“My life has never been the same.”

“People confuse other people with their Louisianan aunt from the back all the time. You have to admit you have a delicate frame, and you were wearing a sun hat. Plus, that guy was really high.”

“My life,” he said, toying with his necklace as he gazed into the distance, “has never been the same.”

“Look at me, Daniel.” She leaned forward. “ See me.”

He couldn’t help but smirk as he scanned her face. The havoc of it all—the outline of yesterday’s winged eyeliner; a gemstone nose ring that had lost the gemstone; black, chin-length hair that looked as if it’d been chopped with those tiny construction paper scissors (because it had been). She was indisputably lovable.

“I know you could use the money,” she said, gently tapping his chest. “Because you have none.”

His smile died. Her lovableness was suddenly up for dispute.

“You’re too cute to be so broke. We both are.”

He groaned as he scrubbed a hand over his face. It wasn’t like he could deny how broke he was. Or how cute.

He hailed from humble-ish beginnings, far from able to use “summer” as a verb. It turned out his dad was right, and he couldn’t make any money as a dance instructor, but he was willing to admit he cared about making money like he was willing to “summer” on the surface of the sun. “We are really broke.”

“ Really broke.”

“And so cute. ”

“ So fucking cute.”

“You don’t have anyone else?” He bounced a little. “I thought you finally hired someone. Audrey Something-or-Another?”

“Audrey? You want me to bring that aggressive ostrich to a party? Indoors ?”

“Why’d you hire her if she’s that bad?”

“I didn’t know she’d be shattering a plate every four minutes. You know who’s never dropped a plate both times he’s helped me?” She smiled, all lopsided, as she pointed a finger. “This guy.”

Well, had he known that was all it took….

“But that’s not all. There’s so much that makes you special, Daniel. Starting with your perfect skin.”

He rolled his eyes so hard he could swear colors looked different. “You can’t just compliment my skin every time you want me to do something—”

“Not only is it sheeny, but it’s like it’s aglow from within. Must be your smoldering lust for life.”

Not that he was falling for it—how silly—but he did risk a glance in the mirror, and okay, perhaps, yes. He did look a bit more bedewed than usual.

“Wow.” She glided her fingertips down his cheek. “An English meadow on a spring morning. What a waste for you to be holed up inside your house tonight, in the bored arms of your disinterested boyfriend—”

“He’s not that bad.”

“—when you could be out. Spreading your radiance. Your incandescence.”

He scrunched his face at the thought of being holed up in his house. Not that his boyfriend was disinterested. He just wasn’t, well, interested. He was more of a safety net than a boyfriend, anyway. Good old safety net Nate. A Safety Nate.

Awkwardly, they’d been sleeping together long enough that it sort of enfranchised into its own relationship. Nate, who didn’t really like to go out on dates. Nate, who didn’t really see Daniel’s potential, but in Safety Nate’s defense, it was difficult to hear another person’s hopes and dreams over the harrowing screams of one’s video game victims.

Was now the time to revel in the joys of dating Safety Nate? Not when he had a favor to try to avoid doing. “But I wouldn’t have time to go home and change. ”

“What’s wrong with what you’re wearing?”

“ This ? I can’t wear this. Look at me, Olivia.” He spread his arms and peered down at his outfit, which was a lot of slinky black atop slinkier black. “I am the personification of liquid eyeliner.”

She studied his clothing, tipping her head side to side. “Yeah, shoot.”

He widened his eyes. “Well, you’re clearly not supposed to agree with me! God, you think I look like the personification of liquid fucking eyeliner?”

“Oh, um.” She sputtered to recover, shoving a lock of hair behind her ear. “Well, not in a bad way! Hey, it’s better than what you wore yesterday? Nude-colored anything just doesn’t flatter your complexion.”

It’d be impossible for his eyes to get any wider. “So now you think I’m too pale for the pursuit of happiness?”

“ What ? I do not think—! Okay. You have to come tonight, so I’m willing to beg.” She threaded her fingers beneath her chin and squeezed them in a tight prayer. “Please, Daniel? Please, best friend of mine? This is me begging.”

He grumbled as he splatted onto his back like a pale, broke starfish.

“Pretty please?” Her voice had gotten obscenely high, just like her smile had gotten obscenely hopeful.

He huffed out a sigh. “Dammit.”