can sit, Nik,” he said, tapping the cushion next to him. “God knows what happens on this thing, and I seriously thought about just burning it before you got here, but it’s Brody’s. Febreze was the best I could do legally.”
“Oh, I just wanted to establish the perimeter of the friend zone first,” I joked as I walked over. I stayed as relaxed as possible, but my blood was pounding in my ears at the sight of him. Whew. He had a great personality and our friendship had really grown the last few weeks, but my eyes (and vagina) couldn’t discount that Charlie Dara was also gorgeous. His dark gaze was pinned to me, his smile curving up on one side. He hadn’t shaved in days. He was Nikki bait, basically.
“I’m really sorry about Deek and that friend zone bullshit. He just likes to say shit like that to fuck with me,” he said as I settled into the crook of his arm and the serenity of his body heat. He immediately began stroking the underside of my arm. Charlie was a very physical person when he talked. Like he wanted to constantly reassure you that he was present. That you were present. “He doesn’t know anything about my personal life. In fact, I kept my girlfriends away most of the time.”
“Girlfriends, plural , huh? Were you worried about them bumping into each other?”
He smiled. “Shut up,” he said. “Nik, I want you to feel comfortable here. So, have some lasagna…and relax. Take your shoes off...”
I shook my head. “No. Nooo. Dancer’s feet. They’re a badge of honor to us but just plain gross to everyone else,” I said, but he was already swinging my legs up to his lap and unbuckling my wedges. I put my bare feet back down and curled my toes against the carpet.
“How bad can they be?”
“Bad. Really, really bad.” I wore polish on my toenails as much as possible but that was pretty much the same as putting lipstick on a pig.
He gestured for me to put my feet back onto his lap. “So they’re like dudes’ feet?”
“Worse. Like if you combined the feet of every guy you know and then put them all in a blender.”
“Well, our feet are just ugly for no reason. You said badge of honor. It means you worked your ass off. And what, you’ve had, like, five callbacks in two weeks?” He smiled when I nodded. “So, you should be damn proud of these hammertoes…and bunions…and blisters…and calluses. Holy shit, are those two crossed?”
“Okay, Charlie, you’ve made your point,” I said, slapping the back of his head.
“When’s your final SoBe Sexy audition?” he asked. SoBe Sexy was a small-scale cabaret and Cirque de Soleil-esque show at SoBe Lounge. They’d held an open call for a new production called Sinners & Saints, which was about a post apocalyptic society run by rival female-led gangs. They’d whittled three hundred dancers down to fifty, and I’d made the cut each time. That hadn’t happened….since So Cal Ballet. I was so excited.
“Next week. We have to run through the performance of an entire show. Costumes and everything.” I pulled my phone out and showed him what the dancers regularly wore. Everything was somewhere between stripper and swimsuit, and made of leather and lace and pearls. There were feather fans and tassels. Garters and fishnets. Red lips and big hair. The show itself was mild and there was only the illusion of nudity. All the dancers were formally trained, and I’d get to show off some of my classical dance technique and learn some contemporary moves, with just a touch of naughtiness and suggestion. There were also a few stunts, too. But nothing raunchy. At least recording the show was prohibited. My future kids were safe.
“God, I want it so bad,” I whispered.
“And they’re gonna want you so bad…” Charlie said, his breath tickling my ear when he leaned over to click the lamp next to my head off. “Remember that move you were showing me the other day, where you bent over—”
“I don’t like where this is
“Oh, I just wanted to establish the perimeter of the friend zone first,” I joked as I walked over. I stayed as relaxed as possible, but my blood was pounding in my ears at the sight of him. Whew. He had a great personality and our friendship had really grown the last few weeks, but my eyes (and vagina) couldn’t discount that Charlie Dara was also gorgeous. His dark gaze was pinned to me, his smile curving up on one side. He hadn’t shaved in days. He was Nikki bait, basically.
“I’m really sorry about Deek and that friend zone bullshit. He just likes to say shit like that to fuck with me,” he said as I settled into the crook of his arm and the serenity of his body heat. He immediately began stroking the underside of my arm. Charlie was a very physical person when he talked. Like he wanted to constantly reassure you that he was present. That you were present. “He doesn’t know anything about my personal life. In fact, I kept my girlfriends away most of the time.”
“Girlfriends, plural , huh? Were you worried about them bumping into each other?”
He smiled. “Shut up,” he said. “Nik, I want you to feel comfortable here. So, have some lasagna…and relax. Take your shoes off...”
I shook my head. “No. Nooo. Dancer’s feet. They’re a badge of honor to us but just plain gross to everyone else,” I said, but he was already swinging my legs up to his lap and unbuckling my wedges. I put my bare feet back down and curled my toes against the carpet.
“How bad can they be?”
“Bad. Really, really bad.” I wore polish on my toenails as much as possible but that was pretty much the same as putting lipstick on a pig.
He gestured for me to put my feet back onto his lap. “So they’re like dudes’ feet?”
“Worse. Like if you combined the feet of every guy you know and then put them all in a blender.”
“Well, our feet are just ugly for no reason. You said badge of honor. It means you worked your ass off. And what, you’ve had, like, five callbacks in two weeks?” He smiled when I nodded. “So, you should be damn proud of these hammertoes…and bunions…and blisters…and calluses. Holy shit, are those two crossed?”
“Okay, Charlie, you’ve made your point,” I said, slapping the back of his head.
“When’s your final SoBe Sexy audition?” he asked. SoBe Sexy was a small-scale cabaret and Cirque de Soleil-esque show at SoBe Lounge. They’d held an open call for a new production called Sinners & Saints, which was about a post apocalyptic society run by rival female-led gangs. They’d whittled three hundred dancers down to fifty, and I’d made the cut each time. That hadn’t happened….since So Cal Ballet. I was so excited.
“Next week. We have to run through the performance of an entire show. Costumes and everything.” I pulled my phone out and showed him what the dancers regularly wore. Everything was somewhere between stripper and swimsuit, and made of leather and lace and pearls. There were feather fans and tassels. Garters and fishnets. Red lips and big hair. The show itself was mild and there was only the illusion of nudity. All the dancers were formally trained, and I’d get to show off some of my classical dance technique and learn some contemporary moves, with just a touch of naughtiness and suggestion. There were also a few stunts, too. But nothing raunchy. At least recording the show was prohibited. My future kids were safe.
“God, I want it so bad,” I whispered.
“And they’re gonna want you so bad…” Charlie said, his breath tickling my ear when he leaned over to click the lamp next to my head off. “Remember that move you were showing me the other day, where you bent over—”
“I don’t like where this is
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