Page 6 of Flirty Dancing

“We call youEntertainment, dear.” She pecked at the keyboard.

“Oh.”

He stepped aside to let Beau and Ben introduce themselves.

“Nice to meet you all. I’m Macy Cunningham, but everyone calls me Mrs. C. Any of you been here before?”

They shook their heads as she handed them each a welcome package. “Dinner is in the staff dining hall from four until seven sharp, every night.” She looked at her watch. “But I believe rehearsal is still going on. Perhaps the three of you should hustle over there first.” She pulled a map out and began marking it with firmXs like she’d done it a thousand times, which she probably had. “We are here, your bunks are here. You can drop off your bags, get changed, and head here.” SheXed another building down by the lake. “This is the theater. There’s a door for the talent in the back.” She handed the map to Archer and passed them each a room key. “Heads up, Stewart doesn’t like to be interrupted, but better that than missing altogether, hmm? Well, don’t stand there blinking at me, off you go!”

The three of them were assigned the same four-person room in one of the staff dorms, their beds waiting empty and neat. The bed on the end was rumpled and covered inclothes. They dropped their bags, threw on their rehearsal gear, and ventured in the direction of the theater, map in hand.

The building was old but lovingly refurbished. A wraparound veranda with cozy bench seating looked like the perfect spot for a drink before or after the show. They could hear “Ladies’ Night” blaring before they even opened the back door. It was dark inside, but lights from the stage reached them through the side-masking draperies and down a short flight of stairs. Archer realized he was holding his breath as they climbed the stairs and approached the stage. The air thrummed and the pounding of feet on the boards shivered down his spine. He exhaled as he took in the movement.

The troupe danced like a well-oiled machine, like the most seasoned of Broadway performers, tight, deep in the pocket, not a step missed, not a finger out of line. And young, so young. Most of them looked to be early twenties, at best. Except for one face at the front—a face that sent Archer’s jaw plummeting to the floor. A handsome face—gorgeous, really—that had been featured on his bedroom wall from the ages of fourteen through eighteen. Black hair, heavy, serious brow, a stick-straight nose, full lips, square jaw. Mateo Dixon, Broadway star, all-around breathtakingly talented and devastatingly hot. Archer was distantly aware his mouth was hanging open, but his body was not responding to signals from his brain.

Archer’s parents took him to New York City for his fourteenth birthday, and he had fallen in love with Mateo Dixon when he saw him as Danny inGrease. Archer had followed Mateo’s career, until, five years ago, Mateo had abruptly left a show and disappeared off the face of the earth.

What the fuck was he doing here?

Besides the hustle, that is. Mateo was in a very loose black tank top and black tights, chest rippling and glistening with sweat. Archer’s gaze lingered on the perfectly sculpted arms and shoulders. He had only a vague impression of Mateo’s partner, a shapely redhead spinning in front of him.

“Dude,” Ben or Beau murmured at him. “You’re staring.”

“That’s Mateo Dixon,” he stammered in reply, as if that explained everything.

“Who?” said Ben or Beau.

“Oh, I think I’ve heard of him,” Beau or Ben interjected. “He was the lead inRobin’s Egg, wasn’t he, when it took off?”

“Yup.” Archer swallowed and nodded, eyes still not leaving Mateo as he lifted his partner and spun her around on his shoulder like it was nothing.

“What’s he doing here?” Beau or Ben wondered.

“I don’t know…” Archer trailed off, realizing he was about to spend the summer dancing with Mateo Dixon. Except no, this was a mistake. Surely, he was just visiting? Choreographing? There was no way he was actually in the show?

Right. Show.Archer tore his eyes off Mateo and tried to take in the choreo. The blond slip from the callback was there already, following along by herself at the back. Now that Archer wasn’t a ball of audition nerves, he realized she was a cutie pie with a little button nose and a dusting of freckles over her fair skin. She must have made the trip to Shady Queens right away when they got selected.

But Archer’s attention went back to Mateo. His face was stern, eyes dark. He kept his gaze on the back of the theater, with the odd flick over to his partner. He was flawless and… distant.

And there was Stewart Harpham-Lale seated in the front row, one hand gripping the cane propped between his legs, the other petting a Yorkshire terrier in his lap. He wore a wrinkled linen suit, rings on each finger, and his mouth curled down in a frown.

When the song ended, the troupe held their final pose. Stewart stood and regarded them for a moment before he approached the stage, wiggling dog under one arm. “We’re lucky we have five more days,” he said in a rasp as he climbed the stairs. “That was… mediocre.” Then he turned to the three of them huddled offstage and waved them forward with his cane. “This is the rest of my troupe, is it?”

They shuffled toward Stewart while the other dancers watched.

It was very quiet in the theater when Archer spoke. “Yes, sir. Archer Read. It’s an honor—”

“Indeed, likewise,” Stewart Harpham-Lale said rapidly, already moving on to Ben and Beau as they introduced themselves.

Archer’s gaze slipped back to Mateo. His stomach jolted when he discovered Mateo was watching back. Archer offered a small smile. Mateo’s face remained blank as he looked away, wiping his forehead with the hem of his shirt.

“Well. We’re polishing up ourClub Retroshow right now, or we’re trying, God help us. Why don’t you three watch a full run-through and see what you can pick up, then the others can break it down for you after. From the top!” Stewart spoke with very few pauses. He stood at the front of the stage this time as they did another run. Archer’s brain hummed trying to take it all in.

Stewart frowned again when they were done. “Passable. Mateo, you’ll see to these three? Eight o’clock sharp tomorrow morning, donotbe late. Dominik,yes, I’m looking atyou. Come, Judy.” His dog yipped. He turned and swept off stage right, the back door clattering shut behind them in the silence.

“Alright.” Mateo looked at them like it was the last thing in the world he wanted to do. “I’m Mateo, this is Dominik, Gage, Iris, River, Seta, Caleb…” Mateo rattled through the names of the other twelve, making sixteen dancers in total. All Archer could remember was Dominik, because he had a purple mohawk and made a horrified gasp when Stewart Harpham-Lale called him out, and Caleb, because he was beautiful and smirking right at Archer. “You can learn names tomorrow. They’re going to go eat while I run you throughRetro.”

The crowd shuffled out, a few saying hi and offering handshakes and backslaps on their way. They laughed and joked with each other like they’d been dancing together for years, although Archer supposed that some of them had.

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