Chapter 2

 

Hutch

The student theatre was a small venue, the seats designed for girls and scrawny dudes. I felt like fucking Gulliver in Lilliput. I looked over the program once more. Shit, how did Richie Rich manage to talk me into coming to this modern dance deal?

Hayden and I warred over the armrest. I finally conceded, slumping low in my seat. After a few performances, he shoved me awake.

“What?”

 “What do you think of that girl?” Hayden pointed toward the back of the stage where a chorus of identical looking dancers lined up. “That’s my sister.”

“The one in the black pants?”

“Um…no, that’s a dude.”

“Oh.” Squinting my eyes, I saw that he was indeed correct.

“The girl on the right.” Ten girls pranced in some kind of menacing Riverdance jig.

I didn’t want to spend the next fifteen minutes trying to figure out who she was. “Sure.”

I tried to feign interest, but I just wasn’t into it.

“The girl in the blue has a nice ass,” I commented just to make impolite conversation.

“That’s my sister.”

“Man, I’m sorry.” Someone shushed us. Thank God, cause my mouth was best when locked.

“It’s okay. Do you want an intro?”

Smooth move, Richie Rich. “Are you trying to set me up?”

“Well, I figured an ex-Marine...”

Did he honestly think Devil Dogs were good dating material? “First off, there is no such thing as an ex-Marine, and secondly, I have no interest in seeing anyone right now.”

“Suit yourself.”

The applause woke me, signaling the finished act. I yawned, wondering how many Goddamn routines I’d have to suffer through. My left leg fell asleep, which was a terrible thing possible in my world because my right one wouldn’t work on its own.

“Now, performing their East meets West choreographed Snake Dance, please welcome Lilly Franklin and Joseph Bernard.”

A shirtless dude in sparkly orange Aladdin pajamas was on his knees before a large wicker basket. He faked played a flute as some kind of Bollywood music started up. I sighed, sinking back into my seat.

The basket popped open.

Out came the kind of girl that can only spell trouble for a guy like me. You know how you think you hear normally then your ears pop, and you realize you hadn’t been? Well, that’s what happened to me, except with my eyes.

The girl twisted her body like a snake, but that was the only thing reptilian about her. She untied the long pink scarf around her waist and wrapped it around the guy, pulling him closer to her. He grasped her waist and picked her up in one swift move. An iridescent light blue, body-hugging tank top and purple pants, similar to his but much tighter and shorter, showed off her beautiful body. You’d think all those competing colors would wash out her natural beauty, but they didn’t.

Her shiny black hair, twisted into several long braids contrasted with her pale skin. She swung her hips and tapped her feet as if her body naturally moved that way. I borrowed a pair of binoculars from the couple behind me. She wasn’t tight skin over bones. Naw, this girl had curves to spare. She was voluptuous with full hips, round breasts and a plump ass…the way a woman should be.

They performed a high octane, energy-filled dance. The kind of thing I wouldn’t find remotely interesting, except that I did. I didn’t understand the high-speed foreign lyrics, but the story required no translation. It was about a charming girl who refused to be charmed despite the pathetic guy’s lame attempts. I should heed the warning.

I struggled with an odd balance of jealousy, awe, and fear when he picked her up, held her high into the air, and swung her legs across his shoulders. He held her with an intimacy that made me feel like a voyeur intruding on their private moment.

You drop her, Aladdin Pants, and I’ll kick your ass.

She was fearless, though, her body wrapping around him in effortless grace. I could only imagine the years of practice required to perfect that kind of deceit. When he put her down, she fell to her knees. I almost stood, worried she’d hurt herself, but it was all part of the act. She rotated the stage in a perfect circle in that position until she bounced back up on her feet. God, her knees had to be sore as hell. That kind of stamina was nothing short of…stimulating. Yeah, my dirty mind just went there.

Hayden’s elbow connected to my arm. “Glad something got your attention. So you interested in the guy?”

“Shut up, Van Snooty, I’m not gay.”

Someone else shushed us. Thankfully, I was able to watch the last few leaps without interruption, not that anything could tear my mind away from the stage now.

I gave her a standing ovation…or at least one part of my anatomy did.

“You ready to bail?” Hayden asked, gathering his coat. “We’ve been here long enough to meet the obligation.”

“I’m gonna  stick around for a while.”

I wouldn’t give up a minute of looking at her. I had glanced at the program out of boredom when we first got here. Time well spent. Lilly Franklin was also the finale.

I had to wait through a fucking intermission and five more routines to see her again. No doubt she needed the rest after the first dance.

The latter half of the program consisted of individual performances. The auditorium was almost empty after the intermission, allowing me to snatch a seat in the front row. I wondered what it was that made me stay. I’m no romantic. Hell, as long as I’m being honest, I don’t mind admitting I was compiling masturbation material for the lonely nights that awaited me.

She was just a pretty girl who could dance. That was all. I repeated my mantra until she appeared on the stage again. She wore a blue silk robe that stopped above the knees. She padded to the microphone her chest heaving. Are you nervous, Lilly?

“Thank you all for coming tonight.” She placed her hand above her eyes and scanned the audience. “Especially those of you who stayed. Tonight is my final performance on this stage. I choreographed it myself. I’m grateful for all the opportunities I’ve received at the Modern Dance Program here at Dewhurst. I wanted to thank all my instructors. I also need to give special credit to Colton Keyes. His song, Finding My Way Home, has always been very special to me.” She graced the audience with a coy smile.

“Sometimes you hear a song, and you think it’s written for you.” She swallowed, the microphone magnifying it to a gulp. A pink blush spread across her chest, confirming my suspicions that she hadn’t meant to say something so personal. “Anyway, that’s the reason I chose this song for my final act. I’d be remiss if I didn’t mention Colton Keyes is coming to this very stage next week. Thank you.”

She walked back into the shadows. I blinked, wondering if I’d heard her right. Was she actually going to dance to my little brother’s song? And not just any song, but the one I helped him write, in a weird way.

The familiar rhythm started up. The robe was gone. She wore a lace camisole—what I’ve heard referred to as a baby doll dress. Her long jet-black hair was loose and flowing behind her with each graceful movement. Her body was muscular and feminine, lithe and toned.

I mouthed the lyrics as she moved to them, giving the words a physical presence. I understood for the first time what people meant when they said “poetry in motion.” That’s what Lilly Franklin was — a poet, an artist, a creative in a conformist world.

The man died, but the boy still lives.

A Tin Man in disguise, ruled by bad decisions and lousy ambitions

Waiting for the sun to shine.

If you’re going to send me something,

Send me soap to wash away these sins,

Send me a coat to keep me warm against the wind,

Send me a boat, so I can sail to a warmer place,

Most of all, send me hope.

I need a little more…to make my way back home.

 

She climbed onto this fake staircase leading to nowhere, the only prop on the stage. As she lept backward into the air, my heart soared with her, beating with raw, pounding panic. Defying gravity, she landed on her feet with a flawless finish. This wasn’t a dance. I was watching pure physical emotion she shared with me…with all of us.

“Man, I wouldn’t mind those long legs wrapped around me,” some frat boy next to me commented when she took her bow.

I clapped so loud I almost missed it. I cut him a glare, trying to stifle my growl. “Have some respect.”

He opened his mouth to say something else, probably something that would make my clenched fist spring to action. I moved a step closer to him, the nonverbal threat clear in my stance, which was at least a foot taller than his. He backed away. “Sorry, man, just appreciating beauty in its best form.”

I grabbed a fistful of his shirt. “Appreciate it silently, asshole.” I pushed him back. He was smart enough to keep his mouth shut.

I couldn’t blame him, though. Wasn’t he doing the same thing I was? We were both leering at her.