Page 8 of The Way We Dance

It was as if she hadn't screamed bloody murder and demanded I leave, threatening me with the cops. None of that had happened, apparently. She was dancing toward me, on her tip-toes, no less, with a hand out ready to introduce herself.

Some small part of me wanted to hold up two hands and yell, "What the fuck?" But the better part of me decided to hold off on that. I mean, we had just met. I doubt she would appreciate my hysterics.

But shit.

"Mr. Black, I am Miss Giselle Metrovik," I slowly took her outstretched hand and shook it.

"Ty," I mumbled plainly, still a little confused. "Nice to meet you."

"Likewise. Now, let's get those shoes off and into the studio. We can go over what Mr. Peyton asked me to help you with and start slowly."

"So, wait," I tilted my head and backed up a little. "Are we not going to talk about what just happened? I mean, are you ok?"

"Of course, Mr. Black, but surely you can understand how frightening it was to see a large man in the doorway unexpectedly. I apologize if I insulted you, that was not my intention."

She spoke so eloquently and registered every vowel and syllable. Even in fear, her poise and perfection was unmatched. I didn't know where she had come from, but something told me she was bred and groomed from the opposite side of the tracks I grew up on.

"You didn't insult me," I pinched my nose and shook my head. “Never mind."

She clapped her hands twice and got my attention, then she strolled into the studio through a couple of glass doors. "Come now."

I cringed at her hoity demeanor. She was not the type of woman I was used to. Miss Giselle Metrovik probably had more class in her left pinky than most of the women I dated combined. I found it to be both a turn off and a turn on.

The good news was, I wasn't here to try getting her into bed. She had been hired by Coach to help me and even though I had no idea how the fuck her petite and uptight ass could help, I owed it to coach to trust him. At least for a day.

I followed her into the room and she turned quickly, giving me a tsk, "No no, remember? I said lets remove our shoes. Always remove your shoes before stepping onto the floor please. Socks only."

Looking down at my $250 pair of pristine athletic shoes, I started to ask her if that was fucking necessary. How was I supposed to exercise in socks?

Still, I went with it and kept reminding myself it was for Coach. For me, too, but more for Coach. I toed off my shoes and bent down to straighten my socks. When I leaned up, Giselle was eyeing me with her hands on her hips. I thought maybe I had done something wrong by the look on her face but she quickly clapped her hands twice and motioned for me to join her.

"First, Mr. Black…"

"Ty," I interrupted. I was called mister a lot and it never set right with me. It was too formal and I thrived on relationships that were informal, fun, and laid back. Miss Priss was no different.

Without acknowledging me, she kept on. "Come stand next to me and face toward the mirror. Let’s take a look at our poise and stature."

I trudged into the room, sliding my socks on the slick wooden floor, and lined up alongside her, both of us turning toward the longest wall covered in floor to ceiling mirrors. She stayed a few feet away from me and started telling me what she saw.

"Your shoulders are sagging, your feet are facing different directions, and your face has a scowl."

Well o-fucking-k then. I guess we were doing this.

I cleared my throat before I responded. "Giselle," I started.

"Miss Metro, is fine," she interrupted.

"Um, ok," I sighed. This lady was a trip. So put together and professional, yet, when she first spoke to me, when she first saw me, she was undone. I was kind of liking that first version of her better.

"Go on," she pressed, urging me to finish my original thought. It took me a minute because I didn't know what my original thought was. She had me flustered and confused.

"It’s just that, so we are talking about my flaws. I get it. Anymore you wanna add?" I could hear the sneer in my own voice so I was sure she could as well. But, fuck. Was Coach paying her to degrade me for the way I stood still?

"Yes, actually. A few more," she added before turning back to the mirror.

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