Chapter Three
Loud barks sounded from inside the house as Izzy steered her car into the garage. The rest of the space stood empty, the plain white walls reflecting back at her. Pushing off her disappointment that Daddy still hadn’t returned despite his promises, she grabbed her dance bag and headed inside, where she was accosted by her two best friends.
“You’re a good boy, Dozer. Yes, you are.” She turned to pet Roley, the other mastiff. Both dogs were her constant, and most of the time only, companions. Roley flopped onto the tile to get a good belly rub.
“There you are. I was starting to worry.”
Izzy frowned at her friend and housekeeper. “Anna Maria, you’re not supposed to be here this late.”
She put her hands on her hips. “And you are supposed to be home by ten. Call it even?”
Izzy smiled and nodded.
“Are you hungry?”
She shook her head, still dividing her attention between the two dogs. “I had a protein bar before my last class.”
“I figured that’s what you’d say. Come on, I made a salad.”
She led the way to the kitchen, and Izzy and the dogs followed. Her father had hired Anna Maria three years ago to keep an eye on her when he was out of town and to manage the house. In exchange, she had her own apartment over the garage, he paid her tuition to the University of Texas at Permian Basin, and if he was elected to the U.S. Senate, she would have a place on his staff in Washington. Her father spent more time in Austin than he did here, and though Izzy resented having what amounted to a babysitter, she enjoyed Anna Maria’s company. She was the closest thing to a sister Izzy would ever have.
She sat on one of the stools at the kitchen counter, and Dozer and Roley settled at her feet. Anna Maria dropped a plate in front of her. “Mixed greens, cucumber, pomegranate seeds, chicken breast, and vinaigrette. We’re out of tomatoes.”
Izzy bit back a smile. She was a finicky eater but was lucky not to have to worry about her weight. If anything, she was too thin, but as tall as she was, she needed to be light or none of the guys would be able to lift her.
Her conscience wavered. It really wasn’t fair to blackmail Garret, who just happened to be at the wrong place at the right time. But if he wouldn’t dance with her, she was out of options. She had to figure out a way to convince him to do it. She pushed the salad around on her plate.
“How did you and Tanner meet?”
“I’ve already told you this story, Izzy. We met in biology class.”
She rolled her eyes. “I mean, how exactly did you met? Did he just come up and ask you out, or were you lab partners or something?”
“Actually, we were competing against each other to get one of the professor’s teaching assistant slots.”
Izzy suddenly got more interested. “What happened?”
“We were pretty evenly matched, so it came down to which one of us scored higher on the final exam.”
After about ten seconds, she prompted her. “Well?”
“We both had a perfect score and the professor picked me.” She pushed her hair behind her ear. “After crowing about it for a few days, I decided to let him have it, but he wouldn’t take it.”
“Really?”
“Yep. He said it didn’t mean anything if he hadn’t earned it, and he accused me of kissing up to the professor to get the job. I let him sulk for a few days then suggested we talk to the professor together and convince him that we both deserved it and he needed two TAs. It worked.”
“You weren’t mad that he’d thought you cheated?”
“I was at first, but then I thought about how I’d feel if I were him, and I decided to do the right thing. Besides, he had already apologized for being an ass before I suggested we could both be TAs.”
Izzy slid off the stool and dumped the rest of her salad into the trash can then put the plate in the dishwasher.
If Anna Maria could forgive Tanner, maybe Garret could forgive her for forcing him to dance. Not right away, of course, but someday. Maybe.
…
Being stung by a thousand bees was preferable to dancing. Being trampled by an elephant was preferable to dancing on stage. Being eaten—slowly—by a tiger was preferable to having even one of his friends see him dancing.
Garret banged his head against the steering wheel. Making his little sister happy was worth it. Being more flexible and impressing college scouts was worth it. Not having to kill himself working extra shifts while playing football and keeping his grades up was also worth it. But there had to be another way to make this work. He was not going to agree to dance with Isabelle.
Mentally preparing himself for battle, he straightened his shoulders and got out of the car. It was way too soon for him to give her even a hint that he might be willing to negotiate.
The curtains were open in the studio they’d used last night. It was full of little girls dressed in princess outfits, running around screaming and giggling while the devil herself chased them. Okay, Isabelle wasn’t the devil, but he was willing to believe she was at least a distant cousin. Yet here she was, laughing and playing and looking…happy to be doing it. Just when he’d thought he had her figured out, she showed another side of herself.
A horde of parents arrived to pick up the girls, and it wasn’t long before he and Isabelle were alone in the studio. He’d thought maybe Miss Jenny would be here to teach him, but Isabelle must’ve already made arrangements with her to take over, despite the fact that he hadn’t agreed to anything. At least she looked a bit hesitant when she finally came out of the classroom with her hands clasped in front of her. She met his eyes but didn’t speak, which was fine with him.
His words stuck in his throat. Her hair was pulled up so the purple didn’t show, her face was free of makeup, highlighting how pretty she was when she wasn’t trying to hide, and she wore a shape-hugging leotard and tights. Though she was thin, there were curves in all the right places. Finally, he managed to form words.
“Where’s Miss Jenny?”
Immediately, she moved her hands to her hips. “I told her I was taking over your lessons.”
He raised a brow. “But I never agreed to your ridiculous…demand.”
“Then why are you even here?”
“I came for my lesson with Miss Jenny, but it looks like you’ve screwed that up for me, too.”
“Well, I guess we’ll be watching you dance during the first pep rally, then.”
He crossed his arms. “You do what you gotta do, and I’ll do what I gotta do.” In truth, she would show that video over his dead body, but he wasn’t going to give her any more ammunition.
She pointed her foot and tapped her toes against the floor. “So you’re on board with me playing the video at school? Won’t that be embarrassing for you?”
He shrugged. “Yeah, sure it’ll be embarrassing, but once everybody has a good laugh, who do you think they’re gonna side with when they find out you’re the one who did it? The captain of the football team, or The Untouchable?”
She gasped. “Don’t call me that!”
Crap. Was that a tear she just wiped away? Who knew The Untouchable had feelings? This whole thing would’ve been so much easier if she were a complete bitch. But she wasn’t.
Her composure returned and she shrugged. “Whatever. Maybe you’re not used to being ridiculed, but I am. There’s nothing they can come up with that someone else hasn’t already said about me.”
Since he couldn’t think of a way to gracefully exit the conversation, he kept going, hoping she would back off. “I could ruin you, you know.”
“The only opinions I care about are those of my friends, and you, of all people, definitely don’t have any power over them.”
“You might be right, but I think you’re underestimating how much worse it could get for you.”
“I’ll take my chances.”
He had to give her credit for not backing down, but it was time to put more pressure on her until she gave up her stupid plan. There was no way he was going to dance on stage, no matter what she threatened.
A few minutes of her trying to teach him should get his point across. Even if he wanted to dance with her, which he didn’t, there was no way he could learn fast enough to be ready in time.
“Since you decided to get rid of my teacher, I guess I’ll have to deal with you tonight.”
“Fine. Let’s get to work.” She turned and strode to the door, flipping off the light in the small studio and leading him into one of the larger rooms.
“Go to the barre and stretch the way Jenny showed you.”
Of course, because medieval torture techniques were the perfect way to develop more flexibility. He walked over to the barre and lifted his leg, resting his heel against it. A jolt of fire tore up the back of his leg all the way to his glutes.
Joining him at the barre, she immediately bent herself in half. Her stomach touched her thighs. How was that even possible? He’d have to detach his spine to do that.
“You need to move your arms forward and reach for your toes to stretch the backs of your legs.”
“If I want to die, maybe,” he grunted. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught her grinning like the Cheshire Cat. Except the cat looked less evil than she did.
“No, you have to keep your leg straight.” She reached over and pushed his knee down. Flames burned up from his calf to the back of his thigh.
“Are you trying to break my leg?”
“It hurts that bad?”
Beads of sweat rolled down his face, and it wasn’t hot in the studio.
“Okay… Why don’t we start with some floor stretches to get you warmed up for the barre.” Her eyes narrowed as she watched him use his hands to lift his foot off the barre. “Show me the stretches you do before you play football.”
He shrugged and went to the wall, where he placed his hands flat against it and stretched one leg out behind him, then switched and did the same with the other. Then he grabbed the top of his foot and bent his knee to stretch his thigh muscles. After repeating with the other leg, he turned to face her.
“That’s it?”
“Pretty much, as far as stretches go.” What had she expected? “We usually jog a few laps around the field to warm up, and of course we do knee jugs and lunges and inchworms and stuff like that.”
She raised a brow. “Inchworms?”
“Do you want me to show you?”
“I’d like nothing more.”
With her arms crossed, she watched as he got down on the floor on his stomach, then pushed up onto his hands and slid his feet back and, keeping his back and hips straight, began to inch them forward until his body was in a reverse V. Then he walked his hands out and followed them again with his feet.
“That’s not a stretch.”
“Well it hurts like one.”
“No wonder you got injured. For stretching to work, you have to hold the position for at least a ten count. Preferably longer. And to do you any good, you need to start stretching at least half an hour a day. More would be better.”
Maybe she did know what she was doing.
“What type of stretches are we talking about?”
“Clearly, you’re not ready for splits yet, but there are some simple stretches I can show you.” She patted his arm. “Don’t be afraid. These are the stretches I use for the princess camps. Even toddlers can do them.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence.”
“Anytime.” She grinned, and he shook his head. He had no idea how to read her. One minute she looked ready to cry, and the next she was giving him crap.
“Stand with your feet parallel, and with your legs straight, slowly bend your torso forward.”
She bent and placed her hands flat against the floor. He could barely touch his kneecaps.
“O-kay…well, keep practicing.”
He tried again, this time stretching his fingers just below his knees. Isabelle put her hand on his back and pushed down until it was flat. “Does that hurt?”
Her warm hand against his back sent a jolt through him. Then intense pain. “It burns a bit,” he panted out.
“Good, that means it’s working.”
“Sadist,” he mumbled.
To his surprise, she laughed. “You’ll soon be calling me worse than that. Just remember, your goal is to be able to put your hands flat on the ground with your legs and back straight.”
“Sure, ’cause that’s gonna happen. Not.”
She gave him the evil eye. “The more you stretch, the more flexible you’ll be. Practice makes perfect.”
“Gah. Now you sound like Coach.”
“Excellent. Now, with your arm straight but not locked at the elbow, reach up over your head and bend to the side slowly while maintaining your lines.”
“My what?”
“Stay aligned.” She circled around him while sweat dripped off him.
“Good, but remember to keep your headlights straight.”
What the… “Excuse me?”
She grinned. “Sorry. It’s something we tell the younger girls in class.” She walked over to him and grabbed the outside of his hips.
“What’re you doing?” She was way too close to places she shouldn’t be. He was getting lightheaded. Probably because he stopped breathing when she touched him.
“Think of your hips as your headlights. When you drive you follow their path, right?”
He nodded rapidly, unable to focus with her hands still on him.
“So make sure you keep your hips straight to keep your body aligned properly. Your headlights, or hip bones, lead the way.”
“Um, okay.” He tilted his head down to stare at her hands, which were still on him.
Finally catching on, she pulled her hands away as if he were on fire. Which he kind of was.
“Sorry!” Her face colored and she turned away from him. “We don’t have any boys around here, so I’m used to just”—she gulped—“manhandling everyone.”
Under different circumstances, he might not have minded her manhandling him.
“Go ahead and try again.”
He did. “That’s not so bad.”
“See? Now repeat that on the other side.”
She watched closely as he did it. Once he’d recovered from her groping, he was glad there was finally something he hadn’t epically failed at.
“How do you stretch your hip flexors?”
Not the hips again. “You mean like the pigeon stretch and the Spiderman stretch?”
She sighed. “Show me.”
He did, and she nodded in approval. Or at least, that’s how he took it.
“What have you been doing to rehab from your injury?”
“Lots of stuff with exercise bands. But I’ve been cleared to play, so I’m not doing rehab anymore. I have to work on my strength and flexibility.”
She sat on the floor. “Yeah, the need for more flexibility is pretty obvious. Are you ready to work hard? Even harder than you do on the field?”
“Are you serious? Dancing can hardly compare to football.”
Her eyes flashed. “We’ll see about that. I won’t waste my time helping you stretch again. You’re responsible for doing that on your own. Before we can move on to actual dancing, you need to learn the five positions.”
“I haven’t agreed to dance with you.”
“You will.”
“I don’t care who your father is. I’m not going to dance on stage.”
She stiffened. “We’ll just see about that. And my father has nothing to do with this. Now show me first position.”
He brought his heels together like Miss Jenny had shown him and turned his feet to the side.
“Where should your arms be?”
He immediately extended them out, like he was hugging an invisible person.
“Your legs have to be straight.”
He forced his knees to lock.
“Right. Your heels aren’t touching anymore.”
Damn. If he had his legs straight, his heels didn’t touch, and if his heels were together, it was impossible to fully straighten his legs. He was an all-state football player. He should be able to do this. Toddlers were more flexible than he was.
“Work on your stretches. Now second position.”
Crap. He’d forgotten which was which. “Is this the one with the feet apart?”
She raised a brow, managing to look both annoyed and disappointed.
“Third position.”
He couldn’t straighten his legs any more now than he had a few minutes ago.
Ignoring the burn, he managed to slide his heels together and hold the position for about a second before he lost his balance. He tasted her disdain in the air.
“Fifth position.”
This was the worst. Determined to do it right, he shoved his feet together and lifted his arms over his head, then toppled to the side and let himself fall to the ground.
Surprisingly, Isabelle stretched out on the floor next to him, both of them on their backs.
“I admit this is a bit more difficult than I expected. Miss Jenny isn’t as much of a taskmaster as you.”
She turned to face him and smiled. An actual, genuine smile. A little zing went through his stomach.
“It gets easier the more you practice. How often do you want to meet? Three times a week would be the minimum to make this work, and that’s if you stretch on your own at least twice a day.”
“The minimum to make what work? Your performance? Or my flexibility? Because I still haven’t agreed to dance with you, and I’m not going to.”
“Both. You can’t have one without the other.”
“I’m pretty sure I could gain flexibility without performing with you.”
They were still about a foot apart and making some serious eye contact. She seemed so normal. Aside from the blackmail. He was dying to ask what the whole Goth thing was about, but he didn’t. “How about this. I’ll let you keep giving me free lessons, but I’m not going to dance with you.”
Her mouth opened, then closed, then opened again. “Fine. I’ll give you free lessons for another week, and if you don’t agree to dance with me by then, I’ll ask my father to take out a hit on you.”
A quick study of her face revealed that she was joking. He was about 75 percent sure of it.
“Deal. With two-a-days, there’s no way I can come more than three times a week. I don’t expect to have more time once school starts, either, but we won’t have to do this so late once we drop the evening practice. Assuming I can convince you to keep giving me free lessons, that is.”
“I think you mean once you stop resisting and agree to dance with me.”
“Let’s agree to disagree.” He stood and offered her his hand, which she took. It was no effort at all to pull her up. Another little zing of awareness shot through him.
She let go of his hand and cleared her throat. “You can let yourself out.” She turned away from him.
“Aren’t you leaving, too?”
“In a bit.”
Even though this was technically still the safe side of town, he didn’t like the idea of her alone in the parking lot. “Can I help you close up?”
She turned and studied him. “Thanks anyway, but there isn’t much to do but turn off the lights and lock the doors.”
Though she hadn’t said much, her tone made it clear he wasn’t needed. “See you Sunday.”
He strode down the hall and out into the parking lot. She hadn’t parked close to the building, or even near a light. His dad had grown up in a rough area of Houston, so he’d taught Garret all about how to be smart and stay safe, and a girl by herself in a dark parking lot definitely wasn’t his idea of safe.
It was almost midnight and he had to be at school by six for practice, but he wasn’t leaving until she was safe inside her car, so he inventoried everything that needed to be fixed on his Mustang. It was a long list, but it’d be a sweet ride when he finished. The hood of his car shone in the moonlight. It had been painted, but one of the side panels was a replacement from the salvage yard and he hadn’t gotten around to painting it yet. There were two other panels in the back that needed an overcoat if he could make the time. And the money.
The dent on the driver’s side mirror bothered him, but there was no way to fix it. He’d been keeping an eye out for another one to appear at the yard, but he’d had no luck so far. It was a fluke that he’d been able to find the car, let alone parts for it. Most of the 65s that were still around were too valuable to end up as junk, so replacement pieces were hard to find.
A door closed and he turned back to see Isabelle striding toward her car. The door locks beeped, then her voice carried through the parking lot. “You didn’t need to wait.”
Of course she’d say that. Sometimes being a nice guy didn’t seem worth the effort.