Page 38 of Easy Out

“Are you having trouble sleeping?” Hart asks without looking away from his laptop.

“No.” Technically not a lie. Most nights, I pass out when my head hits the pillow. The problem is getting to bed at a decent hour. I can’t remember the last time I went to sleep within the same twenty-four period I woke up.

“Where do you work?” Random.

“Currently, I’m trying to work in the library, but someone keeps asking me questions.” I glare at him. He chuckles. Ugh, I hate his laugh. It’s rich and delicious. It makes me ache to hear it again. “Why do you want to know?”

“My mom asked me at dinner. I told her I would find out,” he says with a shoulder raise. Hart is trying to appear casual. The quick dart of his eyes and pink tint to his ears and neck says he is anything but.

“How often do you go home?”

“Every week until games start up.”

“Are you a momma’s boy?”

“Sí. Mamá didn’t give me much of a choice. I’m her only kid. What about you?” Crap. I didn’t think this through. I didn’t think he would ask about me.

“Uh, yeah. Same. Only child.”

“Does your mom get in your business too? My mamá is… a lot,“ Hart describes her vaguely. It’s clear he could elaborate and say more about her.

“No,” I say and go back to my work. His eyes burn the side of my face with his intense stare. Hart wants me to say more, but I can’t do that. I can answer his other question. Maybe that will appease him. “I work at the Dance Academy downtown.”

“What do you do there?”

“I teach dance.” What else would I be doing there? I suppose I could clean the studios. That’s what I did when I worked at one back in Seattle. I haven’t thought about that place in a long time.

It feels like it was someone else’s life. Maybe it was.

“Are you okay?” I startle at the sound of his voice. Hart places his hand on my forearm. His thumb glides over a freckle, releasing a small flutter in my belly.

“Huh? Yeah. I’m fine.” I smile briefly, then go back to my research while he studies me.

“I asked if you teach the same type of dancing you did at The Warehouse.” Oh. I must have really spaced out. I want to laugh thinking about teaching all the ballerinas in my class street moves.

“No,” I tell him. “I teach ballet. The Academy is a ballet school.”

“Do you like it?”

“Not really.” It’s a lot of work to come up with routines. My heart isn’t it anymore. It probably never was.

“Why do you do it if you don’t like it?”

“Sometimes you have to do things you don’t like to do, Hart. Not everyone has someone to bankroll them.”

“I’m sorry. That didn’t come out right. I understand you need to work. I mean, why not do something you love doing.”

“That would be ideal. It doesn’t always work out that way.” Sydney and I did have a lot of fun working at Ray’s last weekend. If the money continues as it is, I’m going to quit my job at the academy and focus on the kids in my neighborhood. It’s draining me doing both.

“If you could do whatever you wanted, what would it be?”

“I don’t know. No one’s ever really asked me that before.” School counselors asked, but they kept me levelheaded and practical. There wasn’t any room for daydreams.

“Really? Well, I’m glad I get to be your first.” Hart wiggles his eyebrows to drive home his innuendo. My body warms, thinking about all the other ways Hart could be my first.

Clearing my throat, I say, “I like helping people.”

“I think there are one or two career options that do that,” he jokes. “Have you ever done volunteer work or anything? I used to volunteer with my old little league team.”

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