Page 8 of Lance
FOUR
What was he even supposed to wear to something like this? It wasn’t like he had a closet full of dance clothes to choose from, and even if he had, wouldn’t that be a little bit too formal for this?
Jamie’s fingers plucked at his own thigh, rubbing at the fabric of his worn old sweatpants. They had started life as a jet black, but through the years, they’d faded into a dull, charcoal gray. They were the only thing that he had, that and a white tank top, that would be even remotely appropriate for this dance lesson.
What would Lance, who had been impeccably pulled together, think about this outfit? How disgusted would he be? Jamie knew that he looked like a complete mess, his hair tied back into a ponytail with wavy reddish strands escaping all over the place, as impossible to tame as always.
But he wasn’t there to impress Lance, he reminded himself, and he forced himself to stop plucking at the worn, soft fabric of his pants. He stilled his fingers with an effort, only to find himself tugging again.
Damn it. These pants couldn’t take that sort of treatment. He was going to wear a hole right through them, but he couldn’t seem to stop it, either.
Nervously, he glanced at his phone, looking at the time once more. He kept checking because he was completely sure that it must have been at least half an hour since the last time, but it had only been five minutes, and Lance wasn’t late. He was due any second.
Slowly, Jamie rose to his feet, stretching out his slender body and looking at himself critically in the silvery mirrors which were all around him, reflecting his own pale, scared face and too slim body back at him. He struck a pose, one he remembered from dance all of those years ago, and he was surprised by how it felt both utterly foreign and completely familiar all at once.
Part of him remembered, though, because it didn’t look half bad. Jamie examined himself critically, shifting his hips, his feet, in a dance routine that he’d learned years and years ago, one that he had never thought he would do again.
“Huh. That’s pretty good,” someone said from the door, one of the only areas of the room that Jamie couldn’t see in the mirror. He whirled, surprised, his heart pulsing a staccato, rapid beat in his chest, only to see that Lance had arrived and was watching him, one hand on his hip and his green eyes narrowed as he appraised Jamie.
Unconsciously, Jamie raised his chin high and forced himself to meet Lance’s gaze without shying away. His days of being shamed were over—he reminded himself. The last remnants of that Jamie, the one who avoided looking anyone directly in the eye, the one who was so scared of what people thought of him, that Jamie had fully died when he’d walked out of his demeaning, pointless, dead-end job.
He had nothing to be ashamed of. Though it was undoubtedly a relief when he saw that Lance was wearing something not so dissimilar from what Jamie had thrown on, sweats and a tight tank top. It was just that Lance, with his broad shoulders and strong chest, filled it out a little bit more than Jamie did.
It wasn’t fair, really. Lance was so beautiful, and so off limits. Jamie was not the sort of person who would ever encourage anyone to cheat. It just wasn’t him. And it had been very clear that Lance and Ken were dating. It didn’t matter that Ken seemed to dislike Jamie for no reason, he still wasn’t going to hurt the guy by making a move on his boyfriend.
Not that it wasn’t tempting. The way that Lance moved, his slow, languid, sensual grace, like a tiger stretching, it was fascinating. Jamie somehow knew that Lance would be incredible in bed, just from the way he moved his beautiful body through the world. He moved like he knew how to use that body, and it was far too easy to get caught up in daydreams about what it would be like to be on top of him, straddling him, riding him, or slipping deep inside of him …
Jamie shifted uneasily. He couldn’t go getting an erection, the loose material of the sweats would hardly cover that.
“Uh …” Jamie struggled and then regained his poise. He hoped. “Thanks. So are we gonna do this or what?”
Lance moved toward him, head tilted to the side, hair tied back, much like Jamie’s was. Jamie froze in place, wondering if Lance was going to touch him, hoping that he would but also hoping that he wouldn’t because how was he supposed to resist if he did?
But Lance walked right past him, pulling a duffel bag from his shoulder as he went. He pulled out a speaker system, plugged it in, and then socked his fancy phone into place.
“Okay. Watch.” Music started, a pop song that Jamie recognized as a Lost Boys song, though not one that he had heard before. Was he actually listening to an unreleased song? A little thrill of pleasure, of pride, went through him as he realized that he probably was.
He did watch, and it was a pleasure to do so. Sure, Lance was with Ken, but that didn’t stop Jamie from staring. Not even close. There was no harm in just letting his eyes appreciate something beautiful, right? And Lance definitely qualified.
As he watched, Lance went through a quick succession of movements, flowing gracefully from one to the next, and Jamie felt a dull wash of envy, as well as frustrated desire, go through him. There was no doubt that Lance was a hell of a dancer, and there was no way that Jamie was going to be able to come close.
God, what had he gotten himself into? He closed his eyes and tried to pull himself together. They had picked him—he reminded himself. Everyone thought that he could do it.
But what if they were wrong? He had so little time to try to catch up with these other men, who had been working together for over a year. But what other choice did he have, other than to try? Go back and beg for his job from his repulsive old boss? Or find a new one, every bit as bad?
Determination filled him, and he took a deep breath as he opened his eyes again. Lance was looking at him, and Jamie bristled when he saw a look that he assumed was pity in those lovely eyes of his.
He didn’t need to be pitied. He wasn’t pathetic. So he walked over to Lance, standing beside him, and nodded his readiness to begin.
“Here, I’ll do it slowly,” Lance said, and his voice was kind. Jamie didn’t know if he was being patronized or not, suddenly, and he wished for the certainty that he’d had only seconds before. It was so much easier to get angry, resentful, to see Lance as an obstacle.
They went through the sequence of moves a few times, and Jamie’s body felt strange, his feet as heavy as if he had had a thick layer of concrete attached to the bottom of his feet. No matter how he tried, he couldn’t seem to move as gracefully as Lance.
The more he tried, the more frustrated he got until his jaw was set so tightly that he felt his teeth grinding together, his eyes half closed as he tried to follow Lance’s smooth movements. But it was all for nothing. He concentrated too much on his feet, and as he tried to do a turn which Lance had made look so easy, he got caught up in himself and ended up on his knees, humiliated, hating himself, hating Lance. Hating his body for not knowing how to do this.
“Jamie?” Was that the first time he’d heard his name on Lance’s lips? He was pretty sure it was, and he felt his eyes burn, his heart desperately reaching for comfort, any comfort. He looked up at the other man and saw that Lance had offered his hand to help him up.
It would be stupid not to accept that help, especially when his knees were a bit sore, maybe even bruised, by his undignified tumble to the ground. Awkwardly, he grasped Lance’s hand and pulled himself up, nodding his thanks as he clambered to his feet. He felt sort of like an elephant right then, whereas Lance was more like a gazelle, or like the hunting cat that Jamie had thought of before.
