I thought my work in the large hall was done, but I was wrong. There isn’t much left to do, but there’s enough to do that I’ll probably be spending a couple of hours here this morning.

I huff and scratch at the tiny points of stubble on my chin. On every other job I’ve taken in Vegas, planning out my work days have worked out for me just fine.

At House of Stars, every new day has led to another complication or a bit of confusion about the original electrical contractor’s work. I’ve never tried to take on a half-finished job before, and it’s my sincere hope that I’ll never have to again. Building off an unfamiliar job that someone else started isn’t easy, even in a field where there are certain norms and guidelines.

I think I spotted Taylor walking into the back rooms earlier, but I’m not sure. I haven’t had the chance to talk to her in a day or so, although we have sent a few texts back and forth. She told me she enrolled in another class, and while I’m glad she’s determined and getting closer to her goal of earning a degree, I can't help but be a little disappointed that she’ll be busier from now on.

In my opinion, I have a more interesting job than many people, but then, my interest in all things electrical stemmed from a hobby. No matter how much I enjoy my work, some aspects of it are just so repetitive that my mind searches for an escape, something to do while my hands avail themselves of muscle memory.

The practicing dancers give me a perfect outlet for my borderline boredom. None of them jump out at me as Taylor did immediately, but watching them twist, undulate, change tempo, and do their best to look sexy is a hell of a lot more interesting than trying to concentrate on a task that doesn’t require concentration.

I watch Gemma most, partially because she’s Taylor’s friend, but more because I’m curious to see what kind of dancer had managed to get such a grip on Cullen’s heart. Rick and I had gone out for lunch together yesterday, and he had been almost gleeful about how whipped Cullen is by Gemma.

Watching her move, I can see why he chose her to be House of Stars’ lead dancer. Either she has practiced a lot, or she was just born for this—either way, she’s very, very good. The dancers break for water and I return to focusing on my task. I’m almost done cutting these wires and splicing new ones to them.

“Hey,” a feminine voice calls out to me.

The voice doesn’t belong to Taylor, so I finish the wire I’m working on before I glance up. “Hi,” I say, giving the dancer in front of me a once over. I noticed her on the farthest left pole, probably because her silver outfit stands out against her black skin and none of the other girls are wearing outfits this gaudy.

She blinks as she smiles, and I see that silver glitter sprinkles her eyelids. I’ve known a lot of girls to do this, and I’ve never much liked the look. “Can I help you?” I ask, wishing I could get back to work.

“I saw you watching us, and I was just wondering what you think,” she says innocently. “Of House of Stars, and the dancers.”

So, what I think of her, basically. “Electrical work isn’t always the most interesting work in the world,” I say lightly, deciding to be polite. “It can be hard to meet deadlines,” I add suggestively when the girl shows no signs of leaving.

She doesn’t take the hint. Instead, she sits down closer than she needs to. “It’s hard to make it in Vegas, no matter who you are.” She wrinkles her nose. I feel like the gesture might look adorable on Taylor, but this girl just looks like she caught a whiff of bleach. “I’m Kalen, by the way.”

“Brandon,” I say unwillingly, hoping if I introduce myself and make small talk I won’t have to be more forceful about not wanting anything to do with her.

“Brandon,” she repeats slowly. “Why do I feel like I’ve seen you somewhere?”

Come on. At least be original if you’re going to waste my time. Still, I have some patience left. “I work here almost every day, so you probably just saw me around.”

She giggles. “Oh, probably. So, what are you doing?” She leans forward to watch me work, and the curves of her ass are plainly visible below her high-waisted shorts. Her skimpy silver top can hardly contain her breasts at the motion.

I get she’s a dancer, but it can’t possibly be comfortable to jump around on the stage all day with no bra. Everything about this girl is giving me bad vibes and resurfacing memories of the honeyed lies of my ex. Kalen is saying all the right things, just like Anaja did, and it makes me slightly nauseous to think about dating anyone like her ever again.

“Working,” I say shortly. I’m nearing the end of my patience. Taylor is the only girl in my heart.

“Well, maybe after work we could do something?”

How is she this oblivious? I stand up abruptly, done with being polite. “Look, I’m sorry, but I’m just here to do electrical work on House of Stars. I’m not interested in dating a dancer.”

Kalen’s surprise quickly morphs into anger. “Whatever,” she snaps and flounces away.

Already regretting my outburst, I head to the bar to take a sip of the water I left there. Taylor makes her way around the bar and I smile, even more pleased to see her than usual after Kalen’s unwelcome advances, but she just taps straight into the back rooms without returning my smile.

I don’t have much time to wonder at her attitude before Rick calls me away to take a look at something. The workday drags on, and I grow more and more uneasy as the hours tick by. Something is wrong, I’m sure of it. I want to ask, but I haven’t seen Taylor since then.

Finally, I happen to walk by just as she leaves the staff rooms, her purse over her arm and her laptop in hand in preparation to leave.

“Taylor, wait,” I call after her, jogging a few steps to catch up. “Do you want to meet during lunch for coffee tomorrow?”

“I think I’m going to be busy tomorrow. I probably can’t.” Her voice is measured and calm, and that confuses and concerns me more than anything because her lip is trembling.

“Hey, are you okay? What’s—”

“I don’t know, Brandon. Does it matter if I’m okay? You wouldn’t want to ‘date a dancer,’ so do you even care?” Tears gather at the corners of her eyes.

“You heard—I just meant that I didn’t want to date a House of Stars dancer.”

My attempt at explaining myself dries her tears, but this only makes her angrier. “I was a House of Stars dancer. If Cullen came to me right now and offered me my job as a dancer back, I would take it! Why do you even spend time with me if a dancer isn’t good enough for your precious reputation?”

“No, that’s not what I meant—” But I can’t finish my sentence, because I don’t know what to say. I had meant that. Taylor isn’t a dancer anymore, and somehow I’ve never thought about the rift that could open between us if she abandoned her goals in the business field and returned to her dream.

“It’s exactly what you meant. No, I don’t want to hear it,” she hisses as I grab her hand and try to speak. “I thought— I thought I could be myself around you, Brandon. Even after the way you acted in high school, even though those were the memories I had of you, I still wanted to see if things could work between us because those feelings I had never left.”

She snatches her hand out of mine and looks me in the eye, her blue ones burning with sadness, regret, and tears. “But I was wrong. You’re still that same guy who puts his reputation above people around him who care about him.”

Taylor spins around and makes for the hallway to the parking garage as fast as her heels will allow.

My heart sinks through my chest and lands in a hole of self-deprecation. She’s right. Even in the clutches of anger and frustration, I should have thought about how I was feeling. I thought my days of trying to impress people around me were over. Today, what I said and did show me that I haven’t changed and that I remade an old mistake.

And for a second time, it may have cost me everything. It may have cost me Taylor.

Chapter Fifteen: Taylor

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Everyone thinks I’m so clever. Gemma says I’m smarter than I realize, Cullen believes I can get a degree and work for him at the same time, and Isabel tells me I’m picking up on everything she’s trying to teach me very quickly.

The truth is, I’m nothing but a stupid, stupid little girl.

Brandon said he changed. He said he wasn’t that guy from high school who had to impress everyone.

He lied.

But, I lied too. I lied to myself. I thought that I’d grown up and become a woman who could handle responsibility and know how to make the right choices.

I’m not interested in dating a dancer.

With a dancer. Not interested. With a dancer. Dating. With a dancer.

I didn’t say a word to Gemma on the way home, but she was too busy chatting with Cullen to notice, and the instant we unlocked the door I was inside and heading for the shower. Maybe steaming hot water could scald the memory of Brandon’s touch from my skin.

Somewhere in the dark corners of my mind, irony tickles me like the incessant buzzing of a fly. Only two mornings ago, I’d been so happy. Singing, dancing, sliding in socks on the wooden floors—none of it had been enough to encompass the sheer joy I felt. Bubbles of the feeling had inflated my heart until I thought I would just burst and infuse everything around me with unadulterated joy.

Now, I can’t tell if the warm liquid streaming down my face is water or tears.

House of Stars was supposed to be my new start. The life of a showgirl would begin, and long and exhausting days and nights of work and classes would end. One day as a dancer had been enough to shatter that dream.

Then, I’d taken my fractured heart straight from that disappointment and opened it to Brandon. I told him everything about me— how my father kicked me out, how hard it had been for Gemma and me, my dreams, my determinations. He’d listened like a gentleman to everything I had to say and shared his past in return.

I thought we had a connection. More than that, I thought he understood me.

But he didn’t. If he had a choice, right now, to go back to the Navy SEALs and pick up where he left off, wouldn’t he take it? Wouldn’t he expect me to be happy for him and support him in that decision?

I’m starting to calm down. Years of disappointment and hard work have impressed upon me the importance of logic, and the tear-rusted cogs of my brain are beginning to scrape back into gear. I lean an arm against the wall of the shower and bury my face in the crook, closing my eyes to think.

Brandon’s built a new life for himself since he failed to enlist with the SEALs. In my teary mental ramblings, I’ve been assuming Brandon would deny me a second chance at my dream, but gladly take another shot at his.

But… would he? He took his shot a long time ago. He went through trade school and became an electrical contractor. Would he give up everything he has gained to go back for a second chance or has he moved on?

Every conversation we ever had is seared into my mind, so I search through them, contemplating the ones where the Navy came up. I can’t remember Brandon ever looking… wistful, or regretful, or anything like that. Just a little disappointed, maybe, but not that he isn’t a SEAL today. Just angry with himself for not succeeding then.

The more conversations with Brandon I recall, the less sure I am that Brandon even still regards the SEALs as a dream. Not that I’m willing, or even able, to forgive him for what he said.

“Why?” I murmur into my elbow. “Why do I want to be a dancer?”

My brows furrow when I can’t immediately answer the question. To prove my dad wrong, show him that I can make it as a showgirl? Because I love to watch dancers, and I want to be like them? To escape boring, dead-end nine to five jobs or late nights?

So, that adds up to pride, enjoyment, and improved quality of life. The reason that makes the most sense is enjoyment, because I really, really do love dancing and watching dancers.

I’m disillusioned, though. Zinzy saw to that. After a pure love for dancing, I guess there’s improved quality of life. The thing is, accounting gets me that. Maybe not yet— things might be tight for a while since I’m not a fully-employed accountant and I have to spend money on online classes, but things will even out soon enough.

Two of my reasons have been shot down by reality, so that leaves only pride.

My hands wring water out of my hair, but since I’m still standing in the shower the hot water immediately soaks it again. I don’t want to be a prideful person. The desire to support myself doesn’t count. Why should I care about proving anything to a father who doesn’t give a damn about me? What would I even do if I became a well-known showgirl, drive to his house in an expensive car and flaunt my success or something? Definitely not. That’s not me.

Suddenly, I need to talk to Gemma. I turn the handles on the shower, dry off in a flurry of activity, and throw on the first pair of shorts and sweater I find.

“I have a question.” I flop down on the couch beside her. “Maybe. Or I need to vent. I don’t know yet.”

Gemma closes her laptop, crosses her legs, and faces me with an expectant look. “Shoot.”

“Okay. Well—” Aaaaand I should have thought this through. So many thoughts are careening around in my brain that I have no clue where to start. “Today at work, Kalen was flirting with Brandon.”

“Is that what’s bothering you? I heard her talking about this drop-dead gorgeous hunk of an electrical contractor when me and some of the girls went out and figured she meant Brandon. I guess I should have—”

“No, no,” I interrupt her shortly. “Brandon shot her down pretty fast. But—Gemma, it’s the way he did it.” My lip is quivering, so I bite the inside of it unobtrusively. “He told her he wouldn’t be interested in dating a dancer because it might hurt his reputation.”

“Oh. Ohhhhhh,” she says again as she realizes why the words turned my life upside down and left me grasping at bits of sanity to hang on. “Did he— and I’m not trying to play what he said down, or excuse it, or anything. But, did he mean it? I mean, he wasn’t just trying to get rid of Kalen, was he?”

“No. Maybe.” I throw up my hands and surge to my feet, stalking around the room like a caged animal. “I don’t know. I think I asked him why he said that, but—” My throat closes around my words and I have to take a few breaths to calm down. “I was just so angry, Gemma. Or sad. Or disappointed. Or all of the above, I don’t fucking know—”

She flies to her feet, chases down the anxious, confused creature I’ve become, and hugs me tight. I cling to her, clutching to the embrace that tells me that no matter what else happens, my best friend is always here for me. She doesn’t let go until my heartbeat has become hers— calm and steady. “Back to the couch,” she says encouragingly, but not patronizingly.

Woodenly, I follow her. “I just thought I could be myself around him,” I say miserably.

“I’m here for you always; you know that,” Gemma ventures, although the knowing in her eyes tells me she’s aware I’m talking to her for more than to vent. “It sounds like your mind’s made up about Brandon, though.”

“An hour ago it was,” I sigh. Suddenly, I’m so tired. My eyes want to close so I can nap on this nice new couch and forget everything, just for a few hours…. “But I was thinking about all the things I said, and I can’t remember most of them. It’s like all I remember is him saying he’s not interested in a relationship with a dancer, and everything else is… hazy.”

“So, maybe you didn’t give him a chance to explain?” Gemma reads between the lines.

“Yeah, but it’s more than that. I can’t be a dancer. I’m not even sure it’s what-what I want anymore.” Indecision drips from the words and thickens my throat around them. Can I say that about a dream I’ve had since I was a kid?

“You’re not just saying that because of what Brandon said, are you?” Indignation lights a flame in Gemma’s brown eyes. “Don’t you dare change for a boy.”

Any other time, I would have laughed. All I can manage now is a little twitch of the lip. “This isn’t about him,” I promise. “I just… I can’t find that passion in my heart for dancing anymore. And I’m not good like you are. It’s unrealistic, and I’m a realist.”

“What do you need from me?” It’s a fair question. “Am I asking the right questions? I’m assuming you’re trying to figure out how you feel.”

“You are, and I am.” That’s exactly what I’m trying to do, although I didn’t realize it until Gemma’s blunt comments. “Should I give him a chance to explain himself?”

“Whoa whoa whoa.” Gemma raises her hands, leaning back. “That’s a big question and you know I can’t answer it for you.”

I stare at her expectantly. “But?”

“But yes, you totally should.” Gemma grins widely. “And if you don’t like his explanation, then we sabotage his wiring job.”

“Gemma!” I exclaim, but suddenly I’m laughing. Even if this decision turns out to be wrong, I’ve made it, and that lifts the pressure on my heart. “Okay. I’ll talk to him tomorrow.”

“And let me know how it goes?”

“And let you know how it goes.” And I’ll figure out how I want it to go in the meantime.