Page 61 of Flirty Dancing

His jaw dropped. “What?”

“Not too bad, just where Leak Perry was.” She gave a weak laugh. “Now it’s a 9021-hole.”

Archer half laughed, half moaned. “Oh, Lynn! Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” She sighed. “I mean, I’m still a bit shaky, but I’m staying with Sasha for now, while it gets repaired.”

“Well, that’s good. And how are my plants?”

“Er, extra watered?”

“Perfect. How long are repairs supposed to take?”

There was a pause. “Fletcher said a month, but…”

Fletcher was an unreliable asshole. Archer gulped. “Let’s hope it’s less than three, anyway.”

“Oh, don’t worry, Archer, I’m sure it will be! Worst case, you can always crash with me and Sasha while you work things out.”

Right. “Work things out” while unemployed and homeless in the most expensive city in the world. He could picture the glee on his mom’s face when he arrived back in Ohio. “I’m sure it will.”

As the week went on, Archer’s guilty feelings about almost missing the hip-hop show lingered, especially since Mateo was still clearly pissed about it. He and Caleb barely existed, as far as Mateo was concerned, except for the odd time Archer would feel eyes on him and turn to see Mateo glaring.

But as that week passed, then another, he noticed that some of the other dancers were showing up closer and closer to showtime. What used to be a good hour of hushed backstage chatter over warm-up and careful makeup application was now down to about ten minutes of cursory stretching and a slapdash stop at the makeup table.

“We’re on in five minutes, Grace,” Mateo said to hisRetropartner when she rolled in before the show Monday night and began peeling her clothes off.

Grace looked unconcerned as she flipped through her costume rack. “So?”

“What happened to warm-up?”

She shrugged and pulled her jumpsuit off the hanger. “Don’t need long.”

Betty came over, brow furrowed. “Grace?”

“Yeah?” She zipped up her suit and fluffed her red hair out.

Betty frowned. “I thought I saw…” She turned Grace around and nodded. “Yeah. You have a ripped seam. Right here.” She pointed at Grace’s side.

“Shit.” Grace craned her neck to look.

“Four minutes,” Mateo snipped.

“I’ve got this,” Betty said, digging into a drawer for a sewing kit. She pulled out white thread and a needle and got to work.

“Three minutes,” Mateo muttered, arms crossed.

“You’re not helping,” she replied evenly, drawing the thread through the fabric.

The time ticked away. She was rushing through the finishing stitches when Francisco began his welcome announcement.

“Shit, sorry.” Betty snipped the extra thread off. “I hope that holds.”

“Thanks, hon. It’ll be fine.” Grace squeezed Betty’s arm as they raced to their places in the wings.

It didn’t hold. Halfway through the show, it came open again. A patch of skin appeared during their particularly rigorous hustle, with Grace up in the air on Mateo’s shoulder, and only continued to grow as she spun around him. She did her best to fix it with duct tape when she had a few minutes off stage, Mateo watching, lips pressed together.

After the show, as they were getting changed, Mateo slammed the door to the greenroom. “Listen,” he barked in the silence. “I need everyone in this roomone hourbefore showtime. Warm-up, hair and makeup, costume checks all done with ten minutes to spare. Got it?”

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