Page 45 of Dirty Dancer

Chuckling, I headed toward him. “Can you handle seven?”

“Seven?” He pressed a hand against his chest. “You need seven boyfriends?”

“Absolutely,” I said, pushing up on my toes to meet him as he dipped his head for a light kiss. “Need, adore, and want, every single day.”

He grinned. “Fine, fine. I can take a hint.”

Snorting, I nudged him to the side as I used my keys to unlock the door. “Good. Because I expect an ice cream date on our first sunny day.”

It took him a beat and then he laughed. “Yes, you’re right. I did lose the last game of pool.” He followed me inside. “But I forgot we bet on ice cream.”

“We didn’t,” I said as I entered the code to disarm the system. “I just decided right now you owe me ice cream on a date.”

Still chuckling, he followed me in and swept the place with a look. I let him prowl through. The dance school wasn’t huge. We had three dance rooms, a dressing room, a storage area, anda bathroom. There were also lockers up here in the front for the kids to store their stuff when they came for class.

While Freddie did his sweep, I settled in behind the desk and booted up the computer. I wanted to print out the schedules before the new instructors got here. Once we went over everything, I’d be here with them to facilitate the meeting of the classes and to get the kids used to the new faces.

I’d been split on hiring new teachers, but I also enjoyed the touring and the guys were wildly supportive of it. I liked being able to dedicate the time to fund raising, and to giving new dancers and performers their first break.

“All clear,” Freddie said as he wandered back into the front.

“Thank you for checking.” As the pages printed off with the class rosters and schedules, I glanced at him. “You okay?”

There was a nervous, kind of jittery energy around him despite the playfulness from earlier. “I am,” he said, doing a little drum against the countertop. When I raised my eyebrows, he blew out a breath and grinned. “I really am, Boo-Boo, I promise. I just… I have an idea and I’ve been kind of stuck on the idea for a while.”

“Okay,” I said, stapling the two sets of pages into separate sets before focusing on him. The stapler at the school was a duplicate of my stapler, and a gift from Freddie. The corner of his mouth kicked up when he saw me use it. “Do you need to talk to me about it?”

Need. Not want. Sometimes we could want to say everything and still not get the words out. Need, however, need meant we had to find a way and sometimes we could use help to get there.

He paced away from the desk and then back again before he stripped off his leather jacket. The black t-shirt he wore was untucked from the similarly dark jeans. He cut a nice figure. I’d noticed the muscle he’d been putting on the past few weeks, but he hadn’t brought it up so I left it alone.

“When we were on the tour,” he said, halting his pacing and focusing on me. “I scored.”

My stomach bottomed out.

“There was a guy selling outside the venue, and it had been a tough week. It—you know, that part doesn’t matter. Every day can be a tough day, I don’t want to make excuses for myself. I got the drugs, paid for them from the petty cash I was keeping in case you wanted coffee or a fast sugar hit from donuts.”

His smile was a little sickly.

“I didn’t plan it, but it was there and I had the opportunity and I just…” He spread his hands and my heart broke for just how miserable he looked. “I flushed it down the toilet before the show was over that night.”

Relief spilled through me and it took everything I had not to blow out that ragged breath. Freddie needed to tell me so I needed to listen.

“I told Vaughn,” he said, then raised a hand. “Don’t get mad at him for not telling you. I begged him not to.”

“The week you came back here, when Liam came to hang out at the show with us. You said Jasper needed you here.”

Had they all been in on it? Of course they would be and that was fine, they were his brothers, his friends, and his family.

“Yes.” He grimaced. “I needed to talk to Doc and to Jas and to just… I needed to level out because even though I flushed it, I was back to thinking about it and I didn’t want to slip, Boo-Boo.” He planted his hands on the counter and leaned forward. “I never want to slip.”

“I know,” I said, accepting him at his word.

“I almost did.” He pushed off the counter and paced around the room. “The guys have wanted me to go to rehab for years, but…”

I made a face. Rehab was far too much like Pinetree. Far too much like the places that had hurt him before.

“Exactly,” he said, meeting my gaze. “Doc has been great. All of the guys have been. When I need to talk to them, all I have to do is pick up the phone. I’ve gone to a few of Doc’s support group meetings with some of his rescues.”

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