Hooked #4 (The Hooked Romance Series - Book 4) by Claire Adams Read Free Book Online Page B

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wall; eyeing the awards I’d brought over from the previous studio—my awards
from high school and college. It all wasn’t so far away, but it seemed like a
few lifetimes ago.
    I orchestrated a beautiful technique for the girls
to learn that evening. I did an initial plié and then I spun into a leap,
landing softly on my toes. I felt the strain for a moment in my bum knee—the
knee that I’d hurt after college. But then the twang went away and I smiled at
myself in the mirror. It was going to be all right.
    I got a call mid-routine and I rushed to my bag,
which was splayed by the door. Mel was on the other line. I answered the phone,
breathing heavily. “Mel? Hey. What’s up? Are you coming in for the little girls
tonight?”
    I hadn’t received word yet if Mel was heading in to
help me teach the class. I was certain she would, of course. She had been eager
to train the children, especially as she became a better and better mother. But
then, her voice on the other line sounded strained. “I’m so sorry, Molly. I
have been called away by something. I can meet you immediately after? I’ll need
to go over something in the books with you, okay?”
    “Okay, okay. The class lasts an hour. You’ll be here
by then?” I tipped my hip to the right, watching as the sun began its descent
over the city.
    “Yeah. Again, I’m so sorry, Mol —“
    “It’s okay, of course! I can handle the five year
olds by myself. But hey. Listen. Your—your
nephew or whatever. He was the one who paid for my fucking loan.” I
sounded so huffy, so angry. I knew it wasn’t coming across correctly. I sighed.
    “Molly, I’m so sorry. Can we talk about this later?”
    “Of course.”
    Already, I could hear the pitter-patter of little
feet as they ascended from the pub to the dance studio. Their mothers strode up
with them, forcing the stairs to creak beneath their weight. They all smiled at
me in greeting. “It’s been a while, Molly,” they said. The little girls reached
toward me and wrapped their sticky hands around my waist. “Miss Molly!”
    “Not ideal that it’s above a pub, is it?” one mother
murmured to the other in the corner. The other mother shook her head, frowning.
I felt the weight of their comments on my chest. I wanted to scream at them
that I was doing the best I could. But there wasn’t time for such things.
    I turned back toward the girls and flipped on the
music. “Who wants to stretch! ”
    And they leaped into the air like excited monkeys.
We waved our hands first this way, then that. We touched our toes. After a few
moments of warm up, we dove into the choreography I’d outlined for them. They
jumped, chaotically, making the room shake. They were giggling loudly over the
music. I stopped them every few moments to orient them into a better move, to
make them do each movement with better form. Their arms were so slim, so tender as I worked to mold them into perfect ballerinas.
    At the end of an hour I was exhausted. I led them
out the door, allowing each one to hug me on her way out .
I waved goodbye to the mothers. Each of them had been impressed with the way
I’d handled the chaotic little girls, and they gave me smiles of approval. I
only got paid once a month, of course, which meant that I would be receiving
their checks at the end of the month. I would have to hold out.
    I sighed, walking toward the office. I had stocked
all of my financial reports there, and I looked at it beneath the lights,
wondering how I was going to ever organize everything. The lights had begun to
dissipate outside, and I knew I needed to walk home soon, before it got too
cold. I looked at the calendar and realized, suddenly, that it was Halloween. I
rushed to the window, where I could still see the little girls exiting the pub
below. One of the mothers had begun placing silly costume hats on the girls;
another one handed her daughter a small chocolate bar. I remembered how my own
mother and I used to go