Dance With Me by Hazel Hughes Read Free Book Online

relaxed into her seat, trying to ignore Randall’s whispered commentary.
    “Those packages are obscene. Do you think they stuff tennis balls down there?”
    “What are you? Twelve?” She glared at him, but a smile twitched at the corners of her mouth.
    “Come on,” he said, leaning in. “Tell me you weren’t thinking the same thing.”
    She shushed him. The stage was empty. The music had changed. It was the beginning of the second scene—Romeo’s entrance.
    And there he was. Alexi.
    Sherry’s pulse quickened. Everything narrowed to the music, the spotlight and him.
    He was wearing a loose shirt, open at the neck to reveal a slice of sculpted chest, tattoos miraculously gone. Her gazed skimmed over his butt, thighs, and yes, that bulge, greedily. His body was unreal, like Michelangelo’s David made flesh, but somehow more perfect. Leaner. Longer. But it was what he did with it that was beyond belief.
    He sailed across the stage, hovering in the air for an impossible length of time, the muscles in his legs taut and hard. Sherry knew there could be no wires holding him up, but surely no one could slice through the air like a blade at that height on their own. He seemed to defy gravity. Or perhaps it was more that he refused to be held to the constraints of the human body. As the music built in tempo, he executed a series of turns so rapid he blurred and finished in a deep lunge at the exact moment the music stopped. His hand extended to the audience, a bold smile on his face. He owned the stage.
    There was a pause, as if the audience had collectively realized that they’d been holding their breath. They erupted into deafening applause. Alexi rose, the look in his eyes saying, “That’s right. I deserve this.” Then the spotlight shifted, and he was gone.
    “Wow. The man can dance,” Randall said. He glanced over at her. “That your boy?”
    “He’s not my boy.” Her voice was a harsh whisper.
    “Ooh. Someone’s got a crush,” he teased.
    She didn’t respond. Her mind was on Alexi. Randall was right, and not just about the crush. The man could dance. She tried to keep her thoughts from straying to what else he could do with that body, those hands, those lips.
    During the scene where Romeo first met Juliet, she had to sit on her hands to keep from biting her nails. The way Alexi looked at Kat, the way he held her waist and ran the back of his hand down her cheek, it was too much. A stab of jealousy pierced her chest, followed by a shudder of desire. She wanted to feel that hand on her cheek and everywhere else.
    She sat, leaning forward with her elbows on her knees, captivated, through the rest of the first two acts, ducking quickly into the restroom during intermission, not wanting to break the spell. It was only after the curtain had fallen that she came back to herself.
    As Alexi and Kat held hands and took their final bow, Sherry rose with the rest of the audience in a standing ovation. A strange feeling welled in her chest. Pride. As if he were hers to be proud of. It was ridiculous. She barely knew him, was just a fun sparring opponent to him. What did the bartender say? Something different.
    Well, she thought grimly, folding her coat over her arm, this would show him. She could already imagine his shocked expression when she showed up backstage with her parents and brother in tow. That would scare him off and quick. She felt a pang of regret. She would never feel his lips against hers again. But she knew herself. She wasn’t a one-night girl, and there was no way she was going to open her heart to anyone, least of all a party-girl loving playboy. Not after Glenn.
    A security guard stood at the entrance to the backstage area, blocking the door from the surprising number of young girls and a few not-so-young men holding bouquets, but when Sherry gave her name, he let them pass. She didn’t even have to break out her press pass.
    “Now don’t be shocked,” she said over her shoulder as she led her