Page 33 of Santa Has a Six-Pack
I groan. “Yes, I was one of those ‘sexy kickline dancer girls.’”
“Amazing!” He puts the barbell down with a clang. Eugene gives him a look. “Sorry.” Matt winces, then turns his attention back to me. “Why’d you stop?”
“Dancing?” I take a swig from my water bottle and wipe my brow.
“Yeah.”
Do I give him the real answer? Or the safe, practiced answer?
The real answer is that while being part of that famous kickline was a childhood dream come true, and it gave me the glorious opportunity to celebrate what I used to think was the best holiday of the year, it also seriously messed up my relationship with my body. I got obsessive during that time, constantly weighing myself and counting my calories. If I wasn’t measuring my food, it was only because I was busy measuring myself against every near-perfect girl around me.
The real answer makes people uncomfortable. For some reason, I don’t want to make him uncomfortable. And I certainly don’t want him to feel sorry for me. So I go with the safe, practiced answer.
“After four years, it was just time to move on.”
“Gotcha. Variety is the spice of life and all that, right?”
“Something like that,” I say.
“Well, listen, if you have any interest whatsoever in dusting off your dance shoes, I could definitely use some help with the musical numbers.” His voice gets all excited. “I’ve written in this sugar plum fairy moment—but in our version she’s called the salty peach sprite—and I want to give her a dance number. My skills in that department are a little lacking. So what do you say? Wanna do it?”
“Ummmmmmm.” My “um” is a little too high and way too long.
Matt immediately nods. “I get it. No worries.”
“It’s just that between our work at Herald’s and whatever this is we’re doing here…” I gesture to Keira’s camera and our ‘sweat angels’ still glistening on the rubbery floor. “I think we’ll have quite enough time together this holiday season without adding more. No offense.”
“None taken.” He smiles genuinely. “I’ll find somebody.”
For the briefest of seconds, I feel a twinge at the idea of someone else working that closely with him. Hanging with kids. Helping them build a show. After all, I want to be working with kids and helping them build shows. And for some stupid reason, it sounds really appealing to do that with him.
So why did I just say no?
“See you next week, then?” Matt says as he and Eugene start walking us toward the door. “Oh, don’t forget your foam roller.” He jogs back for the roller and hands it to me.
“Gosh, I don’t know. I think maybe one workout was enough?” I look at Keira with pleading eyes.
“I mean, if you’re game for two or three more, I’d be thrilled to make this a series!” Keira says, hopefully.
“Let me see how I feel after my crotch fire descends,” I respond.
“Your crotch fire?” Matt’s eyebrows shoot up. Keira’s and Eugene’s do too.
My face heats as I come to a full stop. “You said your clients report crotch fires after doing a ton of squats!” I pause. “Didn’t you?”
“I believe I said they report a ‘ring of fire’ sensation around their upper thighs.” Matt laughs. “But listen, if you start experiencing a crotch fire, you should definitely consult your doctor immediately.”
“Great. I will do that,” I grumble and push through the door to the outside. The cool air hits my skin, but does nothing to temper my embarrassment. Desperate to change the subject, I say, “By see you next week, you mean the Thanksgiving Day Parade?”
“Yeah. Otherwise known as my Hot Santa Unveiling.” He winks.
“For the record, you were hired as the World’s Fittest Santa. Not necessarily the hottest. Keep your ego in check, sir.”
“Good luck with that.” Eugene snorts. “I’ve been trying to get this guy’s ego in check for years. Doesn’t work.”
Matt whacks him on the back, but I can tell it’s a good-natured whack. These guys seem more like brothers than business partners.
We reach the sidewalk, where it’s time for us to part ways.
