Dance With Me by Hazel Hughes Read Free Book Online Page A

family through the narrow hallways. “You may see some nudity. Body shame isn’t a concept dancers understand.”
    “All right!” Randall said. “Naked ballerinas. That’s one fantasy I can cross off the bucket list.”
    “Randall!” her mother hissed. Sherry glanced back at her. Her eyes were wide, her mouth a disapproving line. Her father smiled a lopsided grin and shrugged. She guessed he and Randall shared that particular bucket-list item.
    Sure enough, sinewy girls in tights and half-open kimonos flung their arms around friends and parents, pulling them into their dressing rooms. Through an open door Sherry heard deep male voices and saw a tangle of flesh and nylon as the male corps stripped off their costumes.
    “Alexi?” She peered into the jumble of men.
    A blond in nothing but stage makeup and what appeared to be a nude jock strap leaned against the doorframe. He gave her the once over, crossing one leg over the other. “Alexi doesn’t mix with the plebs. He’s over there.” He nodded his head toward the door opposite.
    “Thanks.” Sherry turned to go.
    “Wait,” he said. He put a delicate hand on her arm. His gaze scanned her family. “You his girlfriend? Damn. I was so hoping he played for the other team.”
    “Maybe you can turn him, Matt,” a voice called from inside the room. Laughter erupted.
    Matt turned, giving Sherry and her family a view of his naked butt.
    “You laugh, but give me the chance to suck his…” The door shut behind him.
    “Well,” Sherry’s mother said. Her expression was beyond scandalized. “I’m glad you took violin.”
    “Now I know what’s under those tights.” Randall nodded, solemnly. “Not that I needed to see firsthand.”
    “They certainly are … relaxed.” Her father shrank against the wall as a girl rushed past, kimono fluttering.
    Sherry knocked on the dressing room door, saying a silent prayer that Alexi was wearing something, anything. Well, anything more than a jockstrap.
    The door opened. It was Alexi. Shirtless, but mercifully wearing cargo pants. He was wiping his torso with a cloth, his tattoos emerging from beneath a thick layer of body-paint.
    “Sherry,” he said. The way he said her name sent a thrill through her body, like she was dessert and he had a wicked sweet tooth.
    She took a deep breath, clenching her fingers into her palms. “Hi, Alexi. I—we,” she gestured to her family behind her, “just wanted to say thanks for the tickets. You, it, the show was amazing.”
    He looked over her shoulder, the expression on his face changing from lust to surprise to … she wasn’t quite sure what. Delight?
    “Please, come in.” He backed into the small room, sweeping his arm toward the bench in one corner and the stools in front of the mirror. “Sit down. I’m sorry for the mess.” He gestured to his chest. “And this mess. My dresser is out sick.”
    “Not at all.” Sherry’s mother smiled and extended her hand, BBC presenter-posh again. “We’re just happy you’re wearing trousers. Wonderful performance. Victoria Wong-Wilson.”
    “Hey, man. Randall.” He slapped Alexi’s hand in a bro-shake. “What she said. You were amaze. Killed it.”
    Her father threw up his hands. “What more can I add to that? It’s an honor to meet you. Richard.” He grasped Alexi’s hand.
    “No, the honor is mine. Dr. Wilson. Sherry has told me so much about you. I read about the work you’ve done with vascular surgery. Amazing.” Alexi put his hand to his chest and lowered his gaze.
    “Oh, well,” Richard said, clearly pleased. “Just a bit of tinkering. I thought if we could apply the same rules we use for…”
    “Great, Alexi,” Randall interrupted. “You hit the snooze button.”
    Alexi laughed. “You will have to tell me about it over dinner. I’m so happy you could come, and on such short notice.” His eyes flicked to Sherry’s, amusement glittering in them. This was not the reaction she was expecting. “I have a