Page 15 of Jessica, Not Her Real Name
She stumbled, the momentum of her spin tipping her into a downward spiral, her elbows and knees slamming hard against the floor.
For a moment, she just sat there, winded. Then she turned toward her unexpected audience.
He was still watching.
And then, unbelievably, he started to clap.
Heat flared in her cheeks. She leaped to her feet, stormed to the glass doors, shoved them open, and strode toward him. But as she reached his table and looked down at him, she realized she had no idea what to say.
So, the only word that came out was, “You.”
Daniel looked up at her, shielding his eyes from the sun. “Don’t you get dizzy doing that?”
She blinked. Then glanced over her shoulder at the studio, realizing he meant her fouetté fail.
“Yes,” she said, then quickly shook her head. “No.”
He smiled, a dimple appearing in his left cheek.
“What are you doing here?”
The dimple deepened. “Disfrutando del espectáculo.”
She frowned. “I don’t speak Spanish.”
“Enjoying the show.”
She stared at him. He was very good-looking. Smooth, tanned skin. Bright hazel eyes under dark brows. A dangerous smile. A thin scar cut through his left eyebrow, disappearing into his hairline. That, and the tattoos on his face, kept him from being too pretty.
He wore a backward blue ball cap, a white tank, and battered jeans. Silver glinted in his ears and around his neck.
His dog stood, sensing her attention.
“Tequila,” Daniel warned. “Compórtate.”
Julia tensed, but the dog just grinned up at her, tail wagging. “She’s friendly?” she asked.
He nodded.
Tentatively, she held out her hand. Tequila butted her head into it, drooling in gratitude.
She looked back at Daniel. “You’re a builder?”
He chewed a thumbnail and stared out at the pool, seeming to give the question a lot of thought. Then he sat back and shrugged.
Before she could probe, he reached into his pocket and pulled something out. Something small. Something that glinted in the sun. He placed it on the table.
“My necklace.”
“I found it in my trailer,” he said. “Thought you might want it back.”
He lifted it and held it out. She opened her palm, and he dropped it in.
“Thanks,” she murmured, closing her fingers around it. “I thought I’d lost it forever.”
Daniel scratched his jaw. His knuckles were raw, like they’d recently been scraped. Across his fingers, she noticed the letters inked into his skin.
L-M-N-1-3.
