Page 17 of Shadow Dance

I follow the woman down a glass hallway dividing two large rooms. The room on the left is full of people on yoga mats, their asses up in the air. The one on the right seems empty, save for strange machines that look like torture devices.

“I see her,” I mutter, stopping when I spot Maeve on one of the machines. Her foot is strapped in, and a guy in loose pants and a tank top hovers behind her, helping her stretch. It’s like the start to bad porn, down to the ethereal music.

“Oh, Florian’s got her on the reformer. He’s the best,” the woman says approvingly. She flashes me a smile as she returns to the front desk. “Feel free to observe. I’m sure they’re almost finished.”

Yeah, well even if they’re not finished, they’re about to be. I step inside the room, immediately zeroing in on how this guy is gripping Maeve’s thigh.

“How’s that feel?” he asks, leaning in.

Nope.I begin making my way over so that I can remove Mr. Helpful’s hand before it goes any higher.

“Not bad,” Maeve says, bending and straightening her leg. “I’ve been working it, but maybe I haven’t been pushing enough.”

“Go easy on yourself,” he says. “It takes time. Last thing you want to do is re-injure it.”

I clear my throat loudly. “You about done, Maeve?”

Her eyes widen when they meet mine in the mirror and she looks back at me, surprised. “Jaime, hey!”

“Hey.” I glance pointedly at my watch. “What’s going on?”

“Yeah sorry, I lost track of time,” she says, not sounding sorry at all. “Florian was showing me a couple of stretches I could do.”

“Great,” I say, hiding my irritation. “You ready?”

Florian seems like he wants to say something, but I give him a look that tells him not to. Reddening, he slips Maeve’s leg from the device before helping her to her feet, though I’m pretty sure she can do it on her own. What a cheesy fucker. I bet he runs game like this all the time, making every woman who works out here think she’s his girlfriend.

Maeve thanks him as she hurries over to her stuff, her cheeks rosy and eyes bright. She looks good. She probably did need this class, for more reasons than one. “Sorry for making you wait,” she says when she’s closer, searching my eyes.

She seems like she means it, but I can’t be too soft with her. Nodding, I gesture for her to go ahead.

“Hold on, let me just …” Reaching into her bag, she grabs the pink sweater she had on earlier and pulls it on over her tank top and tights. She might be thin, but she’s muscled and toned. Strong, but not hard. I wonder what she looks like when she’s dancing.

The driveway isfull by the time we get back to the house. I can almost see Maeve shrink into herself as we park, a blank look shuttering her face. Grabbing the groceries from the trunk of my car, I follow her inside.

It’s only two o’clock in the afternoon but Cal and his friends aresmoking and drinking in the living room, the haze so thick it rivals the fog we drove through this morning.

“I’ll put this stuff away,” Maeve says as I set the grocery bags down on the island in the kitchen. “Thanks.”

“I don’t mind helping.”

“It’s okay. You should go hang out.” She turns away, dismissing me by opening a cabinet.

It’s hard to tell if that’s really what she wants, but she’s right. Maeve is my responsibility only when Cal’s not around, so there’s no reason for me to stay in here with her. Besides, she isn’t my target; he is. Pocketing my phone, I go into the living room where Cal and some guy I’ve never seen are playing GTA. Mac holds out his fist for a bump and I give it to him, sitting down beside him.

He hands me his blunt, chortling when Cal’s character pulls his lime green Pegassi into a police station and begins shooting it up. I glance around as I smoke, cataloging the faces. Griffin, I know. Roman and Jabari were with us on the trip. The rest, I don’t recognize.

Cal’s roar of triumph pierces through the din, his eyes wild with reckless abandon. The shit-talking and violent video game clash with the mundane task of putting groceries away, a stark reminder of how different Maeve’s world is from this one. She’s always like this when Cal’s friends are around, retreating into herself, a ghost in her own home.

“That’s how you fucking do it!” Cal tosses his controller down with a loud whoop of victory. “Fuck yeah!”

He stands up and stretches, swaggering off as Roman takes his place. Our eyes meet as he gulps down a bottle of water, and he points at me, wiping his chin. “You’re back,” he says.

Nodding, I take one more hit of Mac’s blunt, letting the smoke curl through my lungs and ease into my bloodstream.

Cal inclines his head like he wants to talk, so I get to my feet, following him into the study off the living room. He shuts the door and folds his arms. “Where’d you take Maeve?”

“Yoga, then grocery shopping,” I reply, wondering why he cares all of a sudden.

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