Chapter Nine
Since Isabelle had practically run from him after the football game, Garret wasn’t sure what to expect from her. He had thought dancing with her was the right thing to do after she’d helped him improve his football skills, and Hannah was really excited to take dance lessons, but he wasn’t so sure after last night. Elliot definitely thought Isabelle was bad news. Maybe he was just nervous about actually dancing with her. After all, she was a perfectionist, and there wasn’t nearly enough time for him to become even a good dancer.
It was time for their first lesson with Lauren, who was supposed to teach them how to dance together.
Why are the hallways here so small?
He pulled at the collar of his shirt. It was one thing to learn some stretches and stuff to help with football, but dancing with a girl in front of a professional instructor was another thing altogether.
The door was open, so he peeked into the studio they usually used and spotted Isabelle stretching on the barre. His breath caught in his throat. For him, it was a medieval-style torture device, but it was different for her. Even something as simple as stretching looked graceful when she did it.
He cleared his throat, and she looked up. “How long have you been standing there?”
“Just a few seconds.”
Without effort, she lifted her leg off the barre and turned to him. “Lauren is running late, so I thought we could go ahead and measure you for your costume while we wait.”
That sounded ominous. “Wow. You work quickly. What sort of costume?”
“Well, you’re playing the part of the prince, so something royal-looking. Once we have your measurements and you try some things on, we’ll go through the catalogues and decide what’ll work best.”
“The prince of what?”
“We’re doing a short version of Sleeping Beauty.”
“You didn’t tell me we’d be doing a performance based on a little girl’s cartoon. I might as well just hand you my man card right now.”
She spun around and put her hands on her hips. “Sleeping Beauty is a fairy tale that was written in the 1600s. Tchaikovsky, one of the greatest composers of all time, wrote the ballet and composed all of the music.”
“Okay.” He held his hands up in surrender. “Overreact much?”
“How could you not recognize the music when I played it?”
“Did you recognize the formations we used in the game last night?” he countered.
She bit her lower lip. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t expect you to know about ballet.”
Maybe he should’ve asked more about what they were doing. Then again, it wasn’t as if he had a choice about any of this stuff. He was just a warm body so she had someone to dance with.
“To save time, I can just tell you my measurements.”
She scrunched her nose. “Unless you measure yourself frequently, it won’t help. And I doubt whatever part of you you’re measuring is what we’ll need to fit your costume.”
He nearly laughed but covered it with a cough. “You make it sound so dirty.”
It was too easy to make her blush, which made her lavender eyes darker. Her Goth friends must be a lot more polite than the guys he hung out with, otherwise she would’ve learned by now to be more careful about what she said.
Her amazing eyes narrowed. “I was referring to— Oh, never mind. Let’s just go.” She stormed out of the room, and he had to jog to keep up. There were still classes going on in two of the studios. Hopefully none of the younger girls would wander out and catch an eyeful of him getting measured.
He followed her to a closed room. She knocked, then opened the door. The space was more jumbled than the salvage yard. It was stuffed with clothes, furniture, fabric, ribbons, old shoes, and a bunch of other junk. It smelled faintly like a locker room, without the air fresheners that always seemed to highlight the stink rather than covering it.
Isabelle plowed through the mess and snatched a cloth tape measure off a table, then went to the desk and picked up a pencil and a pad of paper. “Okay, I’ll warn you now. This is going to be awkward. I’ll try not to manhandle you, but this is gonna feel a lot like an airport pat down, so be prepared.”
“I’ve never been on an airplane.”
Her eyes widened, but she didn’t comment. “Well, just be prepared.” She poked him between his shoulder blades. “I need you to stand straight. You’re taller than most dancers, so we need to be accurate about the length… Of…the costume pieces…”
He stifled another laugh. The girl really needed to think before she spoke. It was almost like she was nervous, but there was nothing for her to be anxious about.
She put her hand on his left shoulder and held the tape while stretching it over to his other side. Her fingers were warm against him. A shiver slid up his neck. He wasn’t used to being touched. Knocked down and stepped on, yes. But skin to skin contact, no.
Something scratched his neck. “Ouch.”
“Sorry. I needed a solid surface to write the measurement. This is quicker than going to the desk.”
“It’s nice to be useful.”
Next, she measured from his shoulder to his waist, and again pressed the pad of paper against his back. “Put your arms out straight, please.”
The tape tickled, but he held still, afraid of the consequences if he fidgeted.
Once that was done, she moved in front of him to measure his neck. Though she was tall for a girl, the top of her head barely reached his chin. Her fingers skimmed across his neck and his stomach tightened. Hopefully she was almost done. His was not a touchy-feely sort of family, so the only kind of contact he usually had with other people was either during school dances or on the football field, and neither of those had ever made him crave more.
“All right, here comes the awkward part.”
“That wasn’t it?” He closed his eyes and held his breath.
“I’m afraid not.”
She knelt next to him and measured from the top of his hip to his shoe. That wasn’t so bad.
Beads of sweat had formed on her forehead. “Um, I need to measure the inseam now.”
He shook his head. Do not pass go, do not collect two hundred dollars. She was not going anywhere near…there.
“Let me hold the top of the tape measure.” Without waiting for her response, he took it out of her hand and held it against the inside of his thigh and dropped the rest so she could pick up the slack down by his ankle and record the measurement. Except it wasn’t flat against his leg. Isabelle sucked in a deep breath and ran her fingers over the tape, igniting every bit of skin from the inside of his thigh down to his ankle.
“All done.”
He unclenched everything and let go of the tape, attempting to collect what was left of his mojo.
She rubbed the back of her hand over her forehead as if she’d just survived a near death experience. “All right. Now we need to find a costume that’s similar to what we want, and you can try it on.”
That didn’t sound too bad. That was, until she started pulling costumes out. There were too many things that looked just like his little sister’s princess costumes. “What is that?” This stuff had to be for the girls. That was it. She was digging through it to find some male costumes.
“Have you ever been to a ballet performance?”
He shook his head. Now he was wishing he had so he would’ve known more about some of this stuff. A smarter guy would’ve thought to search for photos before agreeing to dance in a ballet. If the guys on the team ever found out about this, fake girlfriend or not, he was toast. He’d never hear the end of it.
She smoothed the velvet on a navy shirt…or jacket. He wasn’t sure what it was. “This is a tunic. You’ll wear something like this.” She pulled out one that was green and another with a bunch of gold stuff sewn onto it.
“I guess it could be worse. Those look like something a prince would wear.” Wait a minute. He finally found a positive about this costume stuff. “Do I get to wear a sword?”
She laughed. “Maybe. We’ll have to wait to see if you can dance with it. I’m sure there’s a plastic one around here somewhere.”
Moving quickly, she walked over to a dresser and searched the drawers, but instead of giving him a sword, she handed him what looked like the tights his sister wore to class, except they were white instead of pink.
“I think these are yours.” He tried to hand them back.
“Nope.” She grinned and pushed the largest of the tunics at him, then shoved him toward the makeshift dressing room.
“If you think I’m—”
She held her hand up. “Just try them on so we can check the fit. We’ll look through the catalogue together to decide what costume will work best for you.”
He gave her the side-eye and went into the dressing room. The tunic fit okay, but it was too short. It barely went to his waist. The tights were too thin, too white, too…tight. But he at least had to try them on or he’d never hear the end of it from her. Leaving his black boxer-briefs on, he pulled them up. Their existence defied reason.
“How’s it going in there? Can I take a look?”
“No. Hell, no. I’m not coming out in these.” He smacked his hand against the wall. “Well, actually I am. You can see my junk!”
She giggled. Giggled at his humiliation. If he hadn’t been wearing the damn things, he would’ve crashed out of the dressing room and…and…done something to her.
“Not to make it worse, but really, how are these any different than wearing your football pants? They’re white and stretchy, too.”
“We wear hip pads and thigh pads and most importantly, a cup!” he practically shouted. “And they’re not as see-through as these.”
“We can find a pair that’s not so sheer. Or maybe a gold color and thicker fabric would seem less…revealing.”
“It doesn’t matter what color they are. I’ll still be a dude in tights.”
Muffled laughter drifted through the door. “Remember, you get to wear a sword, too.”
As if that would make up for total and complete humiliation. “I’m not seven. And it would have to be the size of a cannon to hide anything.”
She burst out laughing.
“Don’t make me come out there! You’ll be sorry!” He ripped the tights off and threw the wadded mess over the door. The tights made the tunic look good in comparison. He pulled his sweats back on and stalked out of the dressing room, holding the less offensive part of the costume.
Isabelle started to talk, and he pressed his hand over her mouth. “I’m not going to wear tights. Period.” Her warm breath slid over his hand, and the hair on his neck stood up. It was almost enough to make him forget the humiliating costume. Almost.
They stared at each other for the space of three heartbeats, then she nodded and he removed his hand. “I’ll talk to Lauren. We’ll figure out something for the costume.”
He sighed in relief. “Thanks.”
“We need to start practicing. It doesn’t matter what you wear if we don’t have a dance.” She spun around and marched down the hallway. He guessed he was supposed to follow her.
They entered their usual studio, and Lauren was there waiting for them. “Are you two ready to get started?”
They both nodded, still grumpy from the costume disaster. At least he was.
“Izzy, I know you’re a perfectionist, but you’re going to have to go easy on Garret, since he’s never done this before. Please keep that in mind as we practice.”
While she finished tying her pointe shoes, Lauren turned to him. “Garret, you have a lot to learn, but the most important thing for you to know is that you have to do very little dancing. All eyes will be on Izzy. Ideally, we want you to be invisible.”
That didn’t sound too hard. If only he could get an invisibility cloak to hide the hideous costume.
“Let’s start with some weight transfer exercises. Izzy?”
She went up on her toes, and he stood next to her, waiting for Lauren to tell him what to do.
“Okay. Garret, I want you to put your hands at her waist and tilt her forward and back, and side to side.”
He wasn’t sure if it was better to keep his hands low or high. Both options were very close to places where his hands shouldn’t be going. He wiped the sweat from his forehead and carefully placed his hands just above her hips. She was so light he almost pushed her too far.
“But I’m not actually going to tilt her during the performance, right?”
Lauren shook her head. “This is just practice, so you can get used to how her weight will shift.”
“Yeah, there’s no problem with that.” Except for hand placement, but there was no way he was going to bring it up. Awkward much?
“All right. Izzy is going to go to passe and I want you to practice turning her.”
“So when she lifts her foot against her knee, that’s passe?”
Lauren nodded and Izzy dropped back down. “I’ll try not to throw so many ballet terms at you. You need to have your hands at her sides before she lifts her leg. If she’s not moving, it’s difficult for her to balance on one foot.”
Oops. He’d already messed it up, but it was very…intimate to be touching her through the thin material of her leotard. He hoped his palms wouldn’t sweat. She got in fifth position, and he put his hands on her waist, then waited for her to lift her foot and slowly turned her.
“That’s it. Now switch directions.”
He turned her the other way. This was easy. As long as his hands didn’t slip. He took his left hand off of her for a second to wipe the sweat off of his forehead. No way was he going to risk having his vision impaired when his hands were so close to so many parts of her that he shouldn’t be touching, accidentally or not.
“Okay, now Izzy is going to do a triple pirouette on her own. You need to keep your hands near her waist in case you have to steady her, but be careful not to restrict her movement unless she gets off balance and needs your help. Count the three rotations, then stop her.”
Whoa. She turned so fast he stopped her at about three-and-a-half turns, and in his rush, his hands were too high. His fingers slid over her ribs a lot farther north than they should’ve been. Her honeysuckle scent intensified as they worked harder and their bodies got warmer, and all of those things were messing with his concentration.
“That tickles!” Isabelle giggled.
“Sorry.” He knew she was thin, but the girl needed to eat more. If there were more of her to hold, it would be easier to keep his hands from slipping somewhere they weren’t meant to be.
Lauren laughed. “Keep your hands right by her sides without interrupting her turn. You can touch her as long as you don’t affect her momentum. When we move on to more difficult things that will be important. Basically, you’re spotting her, and if something goes wrong, you need to catch her so she doesn’t fall.
“That’s all I’m going to teach you today. You two need to practice together. Garret, you need to practice everything I just showed you, and Izzy, you have to work with him until you trust him not to let you fall. Then you’ll both be ready to learn more. Got it?”
They spent the next hour with her doing turns over and over again. He lost track of how many she’d done. “Do you trust me yet?”
She put her hands on her hips. “I trust you not to let me fall, but…”
“But what?”
“I’m just not sure this is going to work. Even seasoned dancers have trouble with partnering.”
“It’s kind of late to change your mind now. What other options are there?”
Isabelle clasped her hands. “Will you do something for me?”
“Aren’t I already in the middle of a favor for you?” At least she smiled.
“This is related. Consider it an add-on to the first.”
She was something else, but the hesitant smile she shot him made him think he’d probably be willing to give her anything she wanted. “Okay, lay it on me.”
“You’re athletic and strong enough to partner me, but I think it would really help if you watch some clips of pas de deux so you can see what we’re supposed to be doing.”
“If you think it’ll help, I’ll do it. Is there a link or something you can give me to watch online?”
“I can send you links…or you could come to my house and watch. That way we could practice as we go and really get this stuff down so we can start learning the dances during our next lesson with Lauren.”
Go to her house? It was either a great idea or the worst idea ever, but he wouldn’t find out which unless he went. “I could come Wednesday after practice.”
“Great.” She smiled, lighting up her face in a way he’d never seen before. His mouth went dry.
“There are a ton of partnering videos online.”
“I’ll have to take your word for it.”
He turned toward the door. He might catch up on the summer reading by the time the football season ended. With luck, that would be in December.
“Garret?”
He looked back over his shoulder. “Yes?”
“Thank you for working so hard to do this for me. Even though I was desperate, it wasn’t right to blackmail you. I appreciate you giving me a second chance.”
Wow. He hadn’t expected her to admit she’d done something sketchy. “You’re welcome. Come on, it’s time to go.” He tilted his head toward the door.
“I’m going to stay and practice some more.”
She was the most determined person he’d ever known. “I think you’ve practiced enough today. Besides, you can’t partner yourself, and that’s what we need to work on. C’mon. I’ll walk you out.”
She looked at the door, then glanced at the clock.
“Let’s go, Harley Quinn. My invitation to walk you to your car expires in thirty seconds.”
“Oh, does it?”
“Yep, and you won’t like phase two of my plan to get you out of here.”
She crossed her arms. “Does it by chance involve a lift?”
He had to give her credit for quick thinking. “It does, but it won’t be a ballet lift. It’ll be a football lift, and you’ll end up over my shoulder if you don’t get moving right now.”
“Horrors!” She grabbed her bag and shot past him out the door.