Page 34 of Boyfriend of the Hour
“You look good, kiddo,” Tom admitted when I sidled around him to grab another glass. “Like your old self.”
I grinned up at him, cheeks tight with pleasure. “Thanks.”
I couldn’t lie. I was pretty damn excited, even if only to shimmy around like an idiot. For the last four months, I’dachedevery time I watched the girls who had taken my place, knowing I could do better.
Last night, after sending out my sixth job inquiry, I’d gone for a long walk around Belmont. I found myself loitering outside the community center where I took my first dance classes. Through the windows, I could see the little girls in tutus fumbling their way through barre work. I envied every plié and port de bras.
So, I didn’t care if this was a bad idea. I would have givenanythingto be on a stage again. I would have given my very soul.
I returned to where Rochelle was sitting and presented her with a finished rum and coke. My cousin took a sip and almost spit it out.
“Fuck, Jo, how much rum did you put in this?”
I eyed the beverage. “Um, I don’t know. I just estimated.”
“Well, it tastes like half the bottle.” Rochelle took another sip and grinned. “Eh, I’ll take it. Four buzzes for the price of one, am I right?”
Beside me, Tom groaned. “Joni, I told you, use the jigger until you really know your drinks. You’re wasting liquor and costing me money.”
I gave him another bright smile. “I’m sorry. Of course. I’ll use the thingamajig?—”
“Jigger,” Tom said again. “It’s called ajigger.”
He stomped away, muttering something about “dumb kids” under his breath.
I just turned to Rochelle and giggled. “I can’t say it. It sounds like a dirty word, don’t you think?”
“You better learn,mami. Otherwise, you won’t be able to keep this job neither.” She stood up and grabbed her duffel. “I gotta go. If I don’t start at Diamonds before midnight, the house fee doubles.”
I made a face. “What does that mean?”
“Come dance with me, and I’ll show you,” she said. “Bye, baby.”
We traded kisses, but when she straightened to leave, Rochelle froze.
“What is it?” I asked. “What’s wrong?”
My cousin’s mouth dropped open as she nodded toward the door.
“A stone-cold hottie just walked through the door, and he is staring right at you,mami,” she said. “Something you haven’t told me about this here job?”
I frowned. “What? No.”
“Joni?”
At the sound of that familiar deep voice, something deep within my chest thrummed, like that velvety baritone called to the same part of me that hummed with excitement with every bass drop, every infectious beat coming from the DJ booth. I tensed—not, I realized, with dread or nerves, but because apparently, every cell in my body wanted to leap in the direction of the voice’s owner.
Traitors.
I set the water glasses in front of my customers and turned. There he was, my very own Dr. McSteamy. Dr. Judgy-As-Fuck.
Nathan—excuse me,Nathaniel—Hunt. Looking at me like he had been searching for me my entire life.
SEVEN
HOW TO MAKE A GIN MARTINI
#4 Legit WHO CARES this drink is for old people
