Why don't you Stay ... Forever - Jennifer Ashley Page 0,2

She’s inviting me because she’s trying to make things up to me, not because she thinks I’m hot. Plus, Mom is interested in Erin’s dancing and would probably love to go.

“Good.” Erin gives me another warm look that dissipates all pain I’ve ever felt. “I’ll make a call.”

Her smile turns shy, and she darts a glance past me. I realize I’m blocking the door, as though I’ll keep her in here, speaking stiltedly with me all afternoon. Which wouldn’t be a bad thing, but again, she might complain to HR, and Mom will be all over my case.

I step aside and Erin slides past me, almost running on her light feet. Hard to believe such an elegant, gorgeous woman can kick like a mule. The immediate pain is fading, but I’m going to be sore for a while.

I don’t mind. Erin can kick me all she wants if she smiles at me like that for the rest of her life.

Erin

Ben is here. I peer at him through the break in the curtain that separates our stage from the small house. Our company has taken over a historic theater in old-town Glendale not far from the library. True, the occasional freight train rumbles through along Grand and shakes the building to its foundations, but it has thick brick walls, and the orchestra usually drowns out the noise.

Ben occupies the seat I’d reserved for him—second row, almost in the middle. First row is filled with friends of the theater’s owner and major sponsors. In my opinion, the second row has a better view anyway.

He’s come alone. I hadn’t heard whether Virginia and Alan, Ben’s parents who own McLaughlin Renovations, could make it, but I’d reserved three seats. Ben has taken the end one, but he must have either given away or turned in the other two tickets, because strangers, a senior couple, sit beside him. This will make Clarice, who owns our company, happy—she doesn’t like empty seats.

Ben—the fine-looking, low-voiced, genius McLaughlin brother who is sweeter than any man has a right to be—idly glances through his program. He’s dressed up, for Ben, wearing a collared shirt and a tie. I wonder if he’s paired that with jeans and wish he’d stand up so I can find out. Plus I could admire his nice, tight ass.

Ben will be watching me dance. I get a sudden case of the shakes.

“Easy there.” Dean, the principal male dancer, squeezes my elbow and leans to whisper into my ear. “Don’t get nervous, sweetie. I might drop you.”

He flashes white teeth in amusement. Dean is a hell of a dancer, and never makes mistakes. I’ll be dancing several pas de deuxes with him as the stand-in for the female principal, Julia, who unhappily broke her leg in several places in a freak fall off her own porch steps.

“Please don’t,” I beg him. “Clarice will never let me hear the end of it.”

“Aw, I’d take the blame. But really, what’s up? You’ve been steady as a rock all week. No reason to be nervous. You’ll be awesome.”

There’s a reason everyone likes Dean. You’d think as lead dancer he’d be a total arrogant shit, but he is supportive, encouraging, and just a nice guy.

“First night jitters?” I offer. “I don’t want to make you look bad.”

“Right. Oh.” Dean catches the direction of my gaze through the crack in the curtain. “Aha. First night jitters, my ass. New boyfriend?”

“No.” My answer snaps out before I can stop it. “He works at my office. I offered tickets to everyone there, but he was the only one who could make it.” Sounds like a reasonable explanation.

“Uh-huh. Your rosy cheeks are from more than makeup, sweetie. You have the hots for him?”

“The hots?” I give him an incredulous look, but my face grows warm even as I deny the truth. “What are we, twelve?”

“No, we’re all grown up, which makes it much better. Don’t worry, honey.” Dean gently rubs my shoulders. “You’ll wow him.”

“I seriously wish I had your confidence.”

“It’s not confidence. It’s practice. I practice, you practice. We know this. We’ll do it.”

He gives my shoulders a pat and strides off to spew his pep talks on the other dancers who wait nervously for the performance to begin.

The orchestra in the pit ceases their warmup and quiets. For a moment, all is silence, then the conductor’s baton comes down and music slams into the theater. My heart lurches with it. The audience applauds in anticipation then begins to subside, the rousing overture