Page 17 of King of Temptation

“I know.” Chasing the dream of a professional dancer does not leave me much time for dating and the boyfriend wasn’t all that nice. “I’ve been really busy.”

Maybe I need some coffee. I’m not a regular drinker but I need some fortification for this conversation. The truth is, I just gave up my studio hours because I can’t afford to pay for them and my class. Once I get my degree and I can get a day job, hopefully as a choreographer or dance teacher, I can afford studio time again.

The idea of spending all day teaching actually makes me happier, and the feeling perks me up enough to push myself out of bed.

I put the phone on speaker so that I can shrug on a tank top before heading out to the kitchen.

As a group of dancers who spend a lot of time changing together, none of my roommates wear very much around the apartment so it’s not weird that I’m coming out of my room in nothing but a tank and underwear.

I mute the phone as I step into the bathroom and swish out my mouth and then run a brush through my hair. My natural curls are an unruly mass this morning, but I’ll straighten them after coffee.

On the other end of the phone, my mom is chattering away. Her classes are good, she’s moving again.

I unmute the phone, bringing it to my ear. “Why are you moving this time?”

“My current landlord wants to take advantage of the hot market and sell,” she sighs. “It would be so nice to own my own place so I don’t have to move every two years.”

I wince as I start for the kitchen, sure there will be some left over coffee. We all work late as waitresses or dancers, our studio time taking place in the late morning or afternoon so there is usually coffee in the pot all day.

But the soft murmur of voices makes me stop in the hall.

I hear Chandra chattering away but, some other tone catches my notice. Did I imagine it or was there a male rumble to accompany her voice?

I stop listening to my mom, focusing on the conversation in the kitchen, but I only hear Chandra. Maybe she’s on the phone. Which is good. She’s been pestering me to interview at some club that is not my style at all and she’s being really annoying about it. Which is saying a lot. Chandra never stops talking. Not even when she’s sleeping with a guy. I would know, her room is next to mine.

I have three roommates, all Las Vegas dancers, so a fair number of guys end up sleeping over here.

Danielle, a petite blonde who’s a few years older than me, has a steady boyfriend, and he’s had to kick out some drunk assholes more than once. He’s a good guy.

But Chandra and Kendall both have terrible taste in men.

Muting the phone again, I stop just outside the kitchen, and decide I should just peek around the corner to see if more clothing is appropriate.

Sure enough, I catch a broad shoulder in my quick view, a man’s back to me as he sits at our tiny kitchen table.

Leaning back over, my brow scrunches. There is something so familiar about the set of that shoulder.

“Kim?” Chandra calls. “Is that you? Are you finally up?”

“Hang on,” I say, turning to go back to my room to put on a pair of shorts at least. But before I’ve even completed the pivot, a man stands and steps from the kitchen and I audibly gasp as a tall, dark, and devastating man catches the side of my vision.

Leo.

My chin notches up, my eyes moving from his broad chest, to his muscled arms, to those massive shoulders. They continue over the thick cords of his neck, over the square jaw, stopping at the one-sided wolfish smile he’s now wearing.

“Hello, gorgeous.”

“You,” I gasp back, my brain still not really processing. How is Leo here?

Chandra appears next to him, looking for all the world like the cat who got the milk. Did Leo hook up with my roommate?

Something dark and ugly bottoms out in my belly and I unmute the phone. “Mom, I’ve got to go.”

“But we just got on the phone,” she complains. “I’ve barely talked to you all month.”

“I’ll call you tomorrow,” I promise before I quickly hang up and then spin, starting down the hall for my tiny room before I legit start to cry.

I’m not usually emotional, but I don’t really have time to think about it as I reach my door and push into my room, grabbing the handle to slam it behind me.

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