The Million-Dollar Question, page 5
Oh, jeez. How could Evan mess with her head so easily? And what kind of fool was she to let him?
“Liv? Are you okay?”
She snapped her head up to see Evan standing next to his open trunk, his hand out waiting for her to hand him her stuff and a confused look on his face. “Yeah.” She handed over her bags, and he locked them inside. “Thanks.”
She took two steps, then stopped. This wasn’t an ideal time or place, but it would have to do. “What are we doing?”
Evan looked at her as if she’d lost her mind. “Going to dinner? At least, that’s what I thought we were doing.”
“No. I mean, why? Why now? Considering...”
The confusion cleared and he nodded. “I could ask you the same thing. You’re the one who made first contact.”
He had her there. And she still didn’t have a plausible alternative reason for why she did. “Maybe I didn’t realize there’d be a second time.”
“There doesn’t have to be. I’m not going to drag you to the restaurant and force-feed you—even if you do look like you really need a sandwich.”
“Evan, be serious.”
“I am.”
“Do you honestly believe there’s nothing we need to discuss? No air to clear?”
Evan sighed, his face the perfect picture of resigned exasperation. “I feel I’m safe assuming the answer you’re looking for is not ‘yes.’” He shook his head. “I apologized. What more can I do?”
That was a good question, and one she should have answered for herself before asking him. She’d beat herself up over it, except Evan was far too good at scrambling her higher brain functions, turning her into a babbling idiot. “So we’re going to be friends now?”
“I kind of thought that was the point of dinner last night.”
Nothing ventured, nothing gained. “Just friends?”
“You’re a beautiful woman, Olivia. Talented, smart, charming.” He looked her up and down. “I’m not going to deny there’s still an attraction.”
“So not just friends, then?” Why did that possibility send a little thrill through her?
“That would be entirely up to you.” The wicked little half smile held a challenge and that didn’t help.
“And if I did want to be just friends?”
“I’d respect that.” He thought about it for a second. “It’d be a novel experience for me.”
“You’re saying you don’t have any platonic female friends?”
“I don’t have many friends period.”
She could relate to that, but still... “So you’re telling me you’ve slept with every woman you know.”
He grinned. “Not all of them. Some of them are married.”
“You are insufferable.”
He grinned. “So I’ve been told.”
She felt off balance. “And this is supposed to encourage me?”
“Nope. I’m just being honest.”
How could she be annoyed and intrigued at the same time? In fact, it was almost a challenge. But Evan was charming, and hadn’t she decided that a peaceful coexistence with him would be a benefit all around?
“So are we going to dinner or not?” he asked.
She had to think about it for a minute. She needed to give herself the chance to weigh the pros and cons and decide if she wanted to shake things up a little bit. Because she had a suspicion that being in Evan’s orbit—in whatever way—would not be boring. And now she understood what had drawn her bookish brother into his orbit, as well. The man was just irresistible—and not just in a sexual way. His attitude could be grating, but it was refreshing. And his ego, while quite large, made him fun to spar with. And while she’d had a problem with Evan and Jory’s friendship, Jory never had, which said a lot about Evan as a person, giving clues to facets of his personality she wasn’t aware of.
Oh, she might regret this later, but she might not, either. She might decide that they, too, could be friends, and it would be nice to have another friend. If she wanted to cross that line later? Well, she’d know what she was doing. And if, in the process of this new friendship, she decided that Evan was still a jerk, she could get out easily enough.
She nodded, trying to look regal and haughty—which was a little difficult when wearing yoga pants and a T-shirt with wet, wild hair. “We are.”
“Then let’s go.”
Had he really just agreed to be just friends with Olivia? Considering the rather adult nature of his thoughts recently, that bordered on insane. But that seemed to be Olivia’s choice. Could he keep her at arm’s length? Maybe being friends would make the attraction wane.
Or not, he thought as he watched the sway of her hips as she walked. While Olivia was elegant, she also had a girl-next-door wholesomeness about her—especially right now, barefaced, uncoiffed and yet comfortable in her skin. Normally, that wasn’t an attraction for him, but on Olivia it worked. A little too well. Oh, he’d created a challenge for himself. He’d have to play this carefully by ear with the full knowledge he might regret it later.
The MMBC studios occupied a converted warehouse on the fringe of the Wynwood Arts District. Wynwood was still primarily a mecca for the visual arts, but the performing arts were getting a toehold in the area, too. He wasn’t overly familiar with the district, but Olivia seemed to be, and she pointed out items of interest as they walked. She was passionate about the arts in general, not just dance it seemed, as well as very knowledgeable, and she told him about shows and upcoming artists and the growth of the area.
“That looks like graffiti, not art,” he said as she showed him a mural she claimed was a favorite.
“It can’t be both?”
“I want to say no, but I’m starting to think that’s not the correct answer.”
She laughed.
“You must think I’m an uncultured troglodyte.”
After a long pause that bordered on offensive, she finally answered. “Troglodyte? No. Uncultured? Maybe.” The mock-haughty tone and twitching lips took the sting out of her words.
“You’ll have to pardon me then, and blame it on my childhood. There wasn’t much in the way of what you’d consider culture of any kind in Arrowwood, Florida.”
“What does that have to do with anything? Beyond being an argument for improved arts education in Florida public schools, that is.”
Looking pointedly at a sculpture that looked like salvaged bedsprings from a fairy’s junkyard, he said, “I’m thinking art may be something that you have to grow up with to truly appreciate.”
She shook her head. “No, it’s not. It’s for everyone. You just have to expose yourself to it. You don’t always have to understand it to appreciate it for what it is. As you learn more about it, the more esoteric stuff will start to make sense. But something is bound to speak to you, if you give it time and the chance to.”
“Since I’m reevaluating my mind-set about ballet, I just might believe you.”
“That’s very flattering.” She grinned and it lit up her entire face. “I’d be happy to help you in your quest to expose yourself to what’s out there. What do you think of this?”
The bedsprings? “It’s um... interesting?”
“See, you’re becoming more cultured even as we stand here.”
“You know, I feel it.” He put a hand to his chest dramatically. “It’s like a flower blossoming in my heart, filling me with color and joy and wisdom all at the same time. This piece... it shows the waste and futility of society while celebrating the, the resilience of um, springiness. And purple.”
“Smart ass.” She shook her head as she led him away from the sculpture. “So where is Arrowwood, anyway?”
“North of Ocala, south of Gainesville, middle of nowhere.”
“And your family is still there?”
“Yep.” He didn’t elaborate, hoping she wouldn’t ask.
“Do you get to go home often?”
“No.” It came out sharper than he intended. He could tell by the look in her eyes that Olivia caught the hint that time, and while she gave him an odd look, she didn’t press further. The ensuing silence was a bit awkward and noticeable after the easiness of the conversation before, and he needed to find another topic before it either got worse or Olivia decided to ask more questions. Thankfully, he found it quickly. “Hey, look at that.”
That was a poster-sized advertisement for The Nutcracker, featuring a full-color picture of Olivia in a white-and-silver tutu and tiara. The man holding her up looked vaguely as if he might have been the same man she had been dancing with earlier. “Good picture. Cool pose.”
Olivia looked a little embarrassed. “Thanks. That’s a fish.”
“You’re a fish? I thought it was a Christmas-type story.”
“It is.” She laughed. “That move is called a fish, but I’m the Snow Queen—in that picture, at least.”
He was getting more confused, not less. “So you’re not the Snow Queen?”
“Oh, I’m the Snow Queen, but I’m also a mother in the party scene and I alternate Sugar Plum Fairy and Arabian in the second act.”
“Is that all?”
He meant that as snark, but it seemed it wasn’t. “I also had to learn Dew Drop, just in case, but I wouldn’t do them all in the same show.” Olivia also must have misunderstood the look in his face, too, as she quickly added, “Nutcracker is a big show and we’re not that big of a company. I’m just lucky we have a large enough corps to cover Waltz and Snow.”
Very few of her words made sense, but her tone was easy enough to understand. “You don’t sound very excited about the show.”
She shrugged. “It’s Nutcracker. There’s no escaping it.”
“Escaping?”
“Almost every ballet company does Nutcracker at Christmas. It’s a tradition, and because so many people consider it part of their Christmas tradition, it makes a lot of money in ticket sales. So that’s great and all, and I’m so glad people love it so much, but you have to understand—this is my twentieth year doing this ballet.”
Twentieth? His jaw fell open a little bit, causing her to grin.
“When I was eight, I went with a friend to Nutcracker auditions in Tampa, even though I’d never set foot in a studio before at that point. I was cast as a Bon Bon in act 2, and all I really had to do was skip around the stage and look cute. I was hooked, though, from that moment on, and my folks enrolled me in ballet classes in the January. I have danced Nutcracker someplace on this planet every single year since then.”
“Wow.”
“Exactly. I did the math once, and when you consider that rehearsals for a December show start in late September or early October, I’ve spent nearly five years of my life preparing for and dancing in that one show.” She leaned in and whispered, “Don’t spread this far and wide, but I’m kinda over it.”
“But...”
She raised an eyebrow at him. “Are you going to tell me that there’s no part of your job that you don’t find boring or monotonous or frustrating? Or wouldn’t be after you’d done that one thing for five solid years?”
There were plenty, but he didn’t call himself an artist, dedicated to his craft. “No, but—”
She lifted her hands as if to say there you go and opened the door to the restaurant.
“Wait a second.” He motioned her back from the door. “You’re telling me you don’t enjoy it?”
“Dancing? Yes. Performing? Yes. Nutcracker? That gives me hives. Just hearing the music is enough to make me start to twitch, and it’s everywhere this time of year.”
“If your marketing and PR people knew how you felt, they’d put a gag order on you before they let you out in public.”
“Hey, now, I can behave in public.” As if to prove that, Olivia lifted her head and in an interview-perfect tone said, “I’m so thrilled to be making my first appearance in MMBC’s production of this classic and timeless ballet. It’s truly a Christmas tradition, enjoyable for people of all ages, and I encourage everyone in town to come see the show.”
“That’s better,” he admitted as Olivia grinned at him again. No one would be able to tell she hadn’t been grumbling about it five seconds before. “You’re a good liar.”
“I’m not lying,” she protested. “Every word of that was true.”
“You’re good at lies of omission, then.” A strange look crossed Olivia’s face, and he wondered if he’d in-suited her somehow. “But I respect that. I’m in advertising, remember? It’s all about the image.” He opened the door to the restaurant and motioned for her to go in. “Now let’s eat.”
Olivia’s order tonight was far more in line with what he’d expect—a hummus and veggie pita with a side of fruit and iced tea. “I can’t eat like I did last night all the time,” she explained with a shrug. Then, over his protests, she insisted on buying both their dinners. “If we’re going to be friends, you can’t buy all the time either.”
Evan couldn’t quite find his balance in all of this. Olivia’s grudge had somehow been appeased, but he still felt as if he was on probation with her—regardless of her easy, friendly attitude. It was the quick switch that bothered him. People didn’t just adapt like that.
But he saw no danger in enjoying it, as long as he didn’t forget who she was.
And there was no danger of that.
CHAPTER FOUR
TONIGHT WAS EASIER by far than last night, Olivia thought. Having an understanding—even if she didn’t fully understand it—with Evan helped, and she was actually able to relax. His very bald “it’s up to you” kept a flirty undercurrent running under the dinner conversation that was actually kind of fun.
Plus, after watching that little bit of rehearsals, Evan suddenly had an interest in ballet and peppered her with questions.
“Have you ever been dropped?” Evan had a keen interest in the lift he’d seen.
“Yes. But not ever from that particular lift and never by Theo.”
“So you trust him.”
“With my life.” She laughed. “I’ve known Theo since we were really young. He was my partner when we took silver at Nationals. We’ve done thousands of lifts together.”
“But you have been dropped before.”
“Of course. It’s not fun, but it does happen. I even ended up with a mild concussion once.” She took one last sip of her drink and started cleaning up the debris of their meal.
Evan wasn’t quite letting it go, though. “You say that like it’s nothing.”
“It was an accident. Like I said, it happens. Sometimes it’s something I did, sometimes it’s something he did, but there’s no sense assigning blame. You learn from it and go on.”
“And if you get hurt?”
“You’re much less likely to make that mistake again, that’s for sure. But it’s his job to do his best to catch me before I hit the floor. Partners who goof around and make it more likely someone’s going to fall will soon find themselves without partners at all.”
“Are there men you won’t dance with?”
She nodded. “But most of the time, I just do what I’m supposed to do and trust my partner to do his part.” She stood. “You ready?”
Evan stood, too, and led her toward the door. “But to let some guy hold you upside down with one hand? That’s a lot of trust.”
“It goes both ways, you know. If I mess up, he could get hurt. I could injure his back or his shoulders or kick him in the head. Or he could get hurt trying to keep me from getting hurt from something that was my own fault.” It was fully dark outside now, cool, but not cold, and the neighborhood’s nightlife was warming up. “We have to trust each other, or else we’ll both end up hurt.”
“How very Zen of you,” Evan scoffed, as he fell into step beside her, adjusting his pace to hers.
“I know it sounds cheesy, but it’s the truth.”
“Trust has to be earned,” he said seriously, causing her to do a double take at the emotion in his voice. Before she could answer though, he continued. “It takes time. You just show up and trust that this guy is not going to drop you on your head.”
“That’s not how it works.”
“No?”
“Of course not. It’s like sex.”
It was a common joke in the studio, and she said it without really thinking how Evan might interpret it. When he stumbled, then looked at her with wide eyes, she regretted saying it. But when he reached for her elbow and pulled her out of the flow of foot traffic next to a Picasso-inspired mural to ask, “Sex?” she lost the regret. This might be fun.
She couldn’t quite name the look on his face—horrified interest? shocked interest?—but it was enough to spur her on. “Just like you shouldn’t jump into bed with someone you just met, you don’t introduce yourself to a new partner and then do the most complicated lift in the program.” She tried to put the right amount of earnestness into her words. “It would be all awkward, you know, feet and hands in all the wrong places, and getting frustrated because it’s not feeling right and it’s not any good for either one of you. And what’s the point of having sex if you’re not going to enjoy it? Sex is great, but good sex is better, and great sex takes an investment. That kind of great sex requires a little trust in your partner.”
Evan cleared his throat and Olivia felt wicked.
“So you start slow and simple, feeling each other out.” She ran a hand lightly over his chest. “You look for quirks that you’ll need to adapt to and learn how his body moves.” She ran her hands up his arms and squeezed his biceps gently. Wow. “You have to find your partner’s strengths, learn how his hands feel, and how you’ll fit together... that’s the foreplay. And you can’t rush that, can you?” Evan shifted uncomfortably as she moved her hands up and over his shoulders, but he shook his head. She leaned in, lowering her voice, moving slowly around his body, trailing her fingers. “You’ve got to get in sync with your partner first, and then... then you can trust him to do what needs to be done. Then you’re free to go at it hard, full-out, over and over, until you’re sweaty and exhausted, but satisfied with what you accomplished. And that feels amazing.”
