Page 63 of Not Strictly Ballroom

“I do want that Nick,” I say, and I feel him take a breath next to me waiting for the but—which he knows is coming. It breaks my heart to do it to him, but I have to anyway because I really need to make sure. “That money was for you to buy a house, and that can’t happen now. I don’t want to be the reason for you not being able to have a place of your own.”

“Our own,” he says. “It was always going to be ours, D. Do you think I haven’t thought of that? So it’ll take a bit longer to save up again, but we’ll manage. We can make it work, I know we can. It’ll be hard at first. We have to fix this place up before we can do anything, but I can always do some work for my dad to keep us going. I think he’ll be happy to have Alan helping him instead of me. I think he feels a bit guilty that he can’t offer him more work. But now he can, and I can help when needed for extra money.”

“You’ve worked this all out, haven’t you?” I look at him and he turns from staring out of the window.

“Of course I have.” His smile is so sweet. I don’t deserve him, I know that, but I love him. I can’t think of anyone else I’d rather go through this with and it would be fun to do it together. I swing my gaze back to look out the window.

“That lawn would make a great space to hold events, wouldn’t it?”

He doesn’t reply, he just reaches for my hand and holds it tight.

“Twinkle Toes,” I suggest.

“Really? How old are you? Twelve?” Nick snorts and I throw Bearlero at him, which he deftly catches, but to my mild annoyance, doesn’t hand him back. I think better when I have something to do with my hands and without him, I don’t know what to do with them.

“Still younger than you,” I retort. We’re sitting on the bed, trying to come up with a name for the new dance studio. We’ve spent hours going through it all. Through all the start-up costs we can think of, what clients we know we could already have, and a marketing plan for finding more. We’ve worked out roughly what needs doing to the building, and have the start of a project plan for that. Nick’s dad has roped Alan and Barry in to help, and Doreen said she had some friends willing to lend a hand. All we need to do now is register a business, and for that, we need a name.

“Two Men and a Dance Floor,” Nick says and I let out a groan.

“Accurate, but hardly catchy.”

“Still better than it sounding like you’re a ballerina. When are you going to treat us to the ‘Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy?’” He smirks and I launch myself at him, smothering him with a pillow and wrestling Bearlero off him. No one gets to insult me and hold my bear at the same time, not even him.

“Dancing Feet,” I offer, and Nick mulls it over. It’s better than any of our suggestions so far.

“Who would’ve thought this would be so hard?” he grumbles, and I can’t disagree.

We’re both silent for a few moments and I try to come up with something else.

“Cool Shoes,” Nick throws in.

“Roll over Fred Astaire,” I reply and he laughs, but it’s not that bad. “We’ll add it into the mix.”

We lapse into silence again.

“Step by Step,” Nick offers again. He’s good at this.

“Since when were you a New Kids’ fan?” I giggle, and he holds his hand to his chest and says solemnly.

“Once a Blockhead, always a Blockhead.”

“Really? How did I miss that?” Then I catch his smirk and almost throw something at him again.

“You’re such a dick,” I mutter.

“What was that? You want my dick?” His smile turns predatory, and he moves fast. Before I can stop him, he has me pressed to the bed, sitting astride my hips, and my hands pinned to either side of my head. I make a half-hearted attempt to struggle out of his grasp, but he holds me down, a grin on his face.

He looks at me for a few seconds, as if he’s deciding what to do. Then he spots that my T-shirt has ridden up, exposing part of my stomach, and from the look in his eyes, I know exactly what he’s going to do. He grabs the edge of my shirt with his teeth and pulls it up further to gain more access, then licks a stripe right across my abs.

“Eww, that’s disgusting,” I protest, making a greater effort to throw him off. He laughs and lies down next to me while I use my T-shirt to wipe his saliva off my skin.

He props himself up on his elbow.

“Still a dick,” I say, giving him a look.

“Careful, I might not be so lenient next time.” He laughs.

“So, where were we before you started misbehaving?” He laughs again. “Oh, yes. Which one did you have a crush on then?” That gets me a glare and I figure I’ve got my own back.

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