Come Dancing by Leslie Wells Read Free Book Online

window and gazed down at Broome Street. “I’d feel like I was following in Dot’s footsteps.”
    “This has nothing to do with Dot. It sounds like she didn’t have a shred of self-respect. You’re the one in control—you can sleep with whoever you want. Although you may have the right idea about not seeming too easy, since he wants to see you again.”
    “Maybe he’s tired of women fawning over him. He looked bored out of his mind at that party.” A man shook out a blanket on the sidewalk and began spreading his wares.
    “Then again, you don’t want to put him off. Why don’t you gussy up a bit? I’ll bet he stops by your place first, so you can be alone in the car before he picks up me and Sammy.”
    “I almost wondered if Sammy lived there, he seemed so comfortable.”
    “I think they’re best friends, or whatever that is for men. Sammy said he spends a lot of time at Jack’s place.”
    “What was up with that glass coffee table?” I asked.
    “The better to chop up the coke, my dear.”
    “Ohh… I didn’t get that.”
    “Yeah, you’d better watch out. Jack’s a Big Bad Wolf.”
     
    I didn’t gussy up; I didn’t want to seem like I was trying too hard. I put on jeans and a sleeveless top that I’d scored for three bucks at Trash and Vaudeville. I was so twitchy, I had to redo my eyeliner twice. Gazing at my reflection, I wished I looked more sophisticated. It would help if I could afford better clothes. But there was nothing to be done about that, unless I wanted to start freelancing on Tenth Avenue.
    At eight I heard someone banging on the downstairs door. I peered out my window and saw Jack gazing up at me.
    “This building needs a buzzer,” he called. “How do people come up to see you?”
    “I throw down my key if someone’s coming up. I’ll be right there.” If he saw my scruffy apartment he might feel sorry for me, as opposed to feeling attracted.
    I grabbed my backpack and went downstairs. Jack was leaning against the brick wall, looking sultry in a rose-colored shirt with the top four buttons undone and low-slung suede hip-huggers. He looked so handsome smiling at me that it made me even more on-edge.
    “How do you get your supplies up three flights?” he asked as we went to the car. His British accent gave everything he said a polite air.
    “Sometimes I make two trips,” I replied. “Builds character. And calf muscles.”
    “I noticed you had a set of those.” Rick opened the back door for us, and Jack’s gaze lingered on my legs as I climbed in. “How many miles a day you running?”
    “About five. I go for an hour.”
    “Sounds disgustingly healthy.” He slid over toward the middle, next to me.
    “It’s stress relief. I got into the habit in college; I used to take a study break at night and go for a jog with friends from my dorm.”
    “Hmm. So you girls would come back in all sweaty and what, shower together?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.
    “We’d shower, but not together. Sorry to ruin your visual there.” I smiled at his expression.
    “That’s all right, I’ve been told I have an overactive imagination. How long have you had your place here?”
    “A year in May. I rented it when I got out of NYU.”
    Our shoulders bumped as Rick swerved to avoid a scarecrow draped in tattered garbage bags, waving on traffic.
    “I thought you went to college in Pennsylvania.”
    “NYU was grad school.”
    Jack considered me. “So you really are brainy.”
    “I only went for a year, to get my Master’s. The ivory tower didn’t prepare me for much in terms of real life. Like knowing how many quarters to run a cycle at the laundromat. Or which express to take so you don’t wind up in Flatbush.”
    Jack laughed. “Yeah, I guess only the real deal can prepare you for that. How’d your day go?”
    “I did more editing and ran a few errands. What about you?” I had no idea how someone like him spent his time.
    “This and that. I got up about noon—I know, I’m