Natasha was cute when she was angry, and as cabin fever set in, she was plenty pissed. Dimitri had never seen this side of her, and he liked it. It meant she was getting more comfortable around him.

By the third day of her confinement, she was moving around with the crutches, and he’d set her up in the living room so he could talk to her from the kitchen. She sat on the sofa with both feet propped on an ottoman, complaining about the state of the LA housing market.

“How the hell do they get away with charging this much? That isn’t even a legal bedroom. It doesn’t have windows.” She muttered about comemierdas and went back to clicking.

Dimitri poured ice into the blender for the piña coladas. Natasha claimed her ankle didn’t hurt as much, so she’d downgraded from the “horse tranquilizers” the hospital had prescribed, and was on regular painkillers. Still, he was making the drinks without alcohol. “I told you, you don’t need to look for a place right away.”

“I do. I can’t be living here when the show starts.”

Before he could question her further, he heard a car pull up in front of the house. Damn, he really needed to fix the gate. He shot Natasha a quizzical look. “Expecting anyone?”

“No.” She moved to get up, but he gestured for her to stay and went to look out the front windows.

“It’s a goddamn red Tesla. Who do you know who drives a red Tesla?”

“Oh. That’s Kevin.”

Kevin Ray, The Dance Off’s number-one star dancer. Dimitri had known him for years, through the industry and through the show. They weren’t friends, but Kevin was friendly with everyone, so his behavior at the hospital had been weird. He hadn’t imagined Kevin’s dark glares.

“Why is he here?”

Natasha shrugged and set her laptop aside. “I don’t know. Checking on me, I guess. I’ve had my phone off.”

“Really? Why?”

She avoided his gaze. “Too many texts and calls.”

Dimitri opened the front door and greeted Kevin as he walked up the front steps. “Hey, man. Welcome.”

Kevin gave him a nod and an assessing glance. “Hey, D. How’s it going? Is Tash here?”

“She is.”

Kevin raised his eyebrows. “Can I see her?”

Dimitri’s protective instinct rose up, and for a second, he was tempted to block the doorway and question Kevin further. Instead, he stepped back. “Come in.”

Kevin’s face broke into his signature grin when he saw Natasha. “There’s my girl.” He kissed her on the cheek and dropped onto the sofa next to her. “How’s the gimp leg?”

Dimitri bristled. Who the fuck did this guy think he was? He closed the front door with more force than was necessary and stalked back into the kitchen. “You want a piña colada?” he tossed out as he passed.

“Huh? Oh, sure.” Kevin gave him a thumbs-up.

Fake-ass bastard. Dimitri wasn’t buying it. He pulled out a bottle of rum. He’d need it to get through this “visit.”

He leaned on the bar while Kevin and Natasha gossiped about the industry and other dancers, offering a few comments here and there. When Kevin asked how Gina was doing, Natasha gave a general response and changed the subject.

Hmm. Something was going on there. Dimitri would’ve bet money she hadn’t called Gina, even though he’d suggested it. And her phone was off? That was weird, too. Natasha lived with her phone glued to her hand.

They were talking about auditions. Kevin was up for a few roles, and he was regaling Natasha with the details.

Dimitri turned around so he could roll his eyes without being seen. This guy was such a blowhard. But he was Natasha’s friend, and he’d stepped in to cover some of her jobs while she was injured. He couldn’t hate him.

But he could be pissed that Kevin threw his arm over Natasha’s shoulders, like it belonged there.

When Natasha yawned for the fifth time, Dimitri intervened. “Time to go,” he told Kevin. “She’s tired, and too polite to say so.”

Dimitri didn’t miss the way Kevin’s eyes narrowed at him, but his expression was full of genuine concern when he turned back to Natasha. “You gonna be okay?”

“Yeah.” She gave him a reassuring smile and patted his knee. “I’ve got the most overprotective nursemaid in Los Angeles watching over me to make sure my ankle heals properly. I’ll be good.”

“Let me know if you need anything.” Kevin bussed her cheek and got to his feet. “Even if it’s just to talk.”

“I will. Ciao.”

Dimitri had already opened the front door and was waiting for Kevin to leave. When the other man walked past him, he bumped him with his shoulder.

Oh, this fucker was asking for it. Instead of closing the door, Dimitri followed Kevin outside.

“You got a problem, man?” You didn’t grow up in Brooklyn as a dancer without being able to fight. Dimitri had never had issues with Kevin before, but clearly the guy had a problem with him.

“Yeah, I do.” Kevin’s light eyes were hard as he rounded on Dimitri. “I don’t think you’re good for her, and I can’t help but wonder why the hell she’s staying here with you instead of with one of her friends.”

“You sure that’s the only reason you’re getting up in my face?” Dimitri shot back. “Because she’s your friend?”

“Yeah, asshole. Unlike you, I know how to be friends with women and respect them.”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“It means you’re a user. You use women and don’t give a fuck about them. If you think Lauren didn’t talk about you, you’re an even bigger idiot than I already thought you were.”

“Lauren has a big mouth and she’s a liar.”

Kevin shrugged. “Both are true, but she’s not the only one who talks. You’ve got a rep. I care about Natasha—yes, as a friend. And I don’t like seeing my friends taken advantage of.”

“I’m not taking advantage of her.” Dimitri spoke through gritted teeth, clenching his fists and struggling with the urge to punch Kevin’s handsome mug. “I’m taking care of her, because I care about her.”

Kevin snorted. “Sure. Okay.”

“I do.”

“You have a funny way of showing it, stringing her along like you do.”

Dimitri shook his head. “I don’t have to explain our relationship to you.”

“Relationship?” The asshole laughed. “I didn’t realize it was a relationship when you both see other people.”

Fuck this guy, but he wasn’t wrong. “That was before.” The excuse rang hollow, even in his own ears.

Kevin held up his hands and took a step back, toward the car. “Whatever you say, dude. Just be straight with her, all right? Don’t be a douche.”

Dimitri seethed while Kevin climbed into the car. Part of him wanted to drag the guy back and have it out, right there in the driveway. The other part wanted to drill him for details. Maybe Natasha had said something about him.

Chert. He wouldn’t stoop so low as to ask her friends for dirt. It was time he grew a pair and got to the bottom of this himself.