“It was a brilliant twist though,” Nadia says, pulling me back to the conversation. “And it felt amazing. So touché. You won this battle.”
I give her my full attention. This might be the first real in-person moment we’ve had together. “It’s supposed to be fun, Nadia. It’s a game, not a war.”
“Aren’t they the same thing?” she asks.
“No,” I say. And even though it’s been my job to calm the girls down and make them understand what it is we do, and why we do it when we share, I just don’t have the desire to be that man this time. I don’t care enough to explain. I don’t want to make her feel better.
“You know,” she says, pausing to take a sip of her wine. “I’m going to figure out what your problem is. And when I do, I’m going to use it against you. Just like you did to me tonight.”
I want to laugh. “First,” I say. “I don’t have a problem. And second, I set up the massage to make you feel better, that’s all.”
“You set it up to make me submit. Willingly,” she adds. “I’m OK with that. But I know what you’re doing, Bricman. I’m an astute player. I read people. I look at their bodies, their faces, their whole demeanor… and I know what’s inside them.”
“You don’t know what’s inside me.”
“But I will.” And then she does shoot me the sweet smile. “You’re not such a big secret. Everyone knows you. Everyone at the ballet knows you. They talk about you, ya know.”
“What do they say?” I try to come off as unaffected, but… I’m affected. I don’t like being talked about.
“They say you’re kinky, mostly. That’s the rumor floating around. They know you play these games. So if you come by the company and they see me with you, they’ll know we’re playing.”
“So?”
“So they’ll all start telling me little bits of this and little bits of that. All the rumors will come pouring out and I won’t even have to ask for them.”
“Am I supposed to care?”
She shrugs. “Care or not, it’s gonna happen.”
Jordan returns, tucking away his phone. “I gotta go,” he says with a heavy sigh. “One of my fucking clients just got arrested.” He leans down to kiss Nadia. They linger, their lips soft and pliant, their mouths open. I can see their tongues twisting together.
And suddenly the whole scenario reminds me of that first night Quin, Rochelle, Adley, and I had dinner at the loft. When I was the one leaving early. When I was the one kissing Rochelle goodbye. When I was the one lingering in the kiss.
I didn’t love her.
“Bric will take you home, Nadia,” he says, pulling away. “Sorry about this. I’ll make it up to you tomorrow.”
There’s a flurry of commotion as Jordan excuses himself and the food arrives at the same time. Our plates are set in front of us, steam wafting up off the sea bass and asparagus. When all that settles down, Nadia looks at me. “I didn’t know I ordered yet.”
“We ordered for you,” I say, my response dry and dull. But then I add, “Jordan ordered it.”
She looks down and smiles, her fingers playing with the napkin in her lap. And then she picks up her fork and begins to eat.
She likes him, I realize. The way he likes her.
Why the fuck am I here?
“So what do you do all day?” she asks me between bites. I don’t eat. I’m not hungry. And even though I did enjoy myself upstairs, I’m not enjoying myself now.
I drink instead. “I run this place,” I say, wholly uninterested.
“What’s that like?” Nadia asks, still eating. I thought ballerinas liked to starve themselves? She must be pretty happy right now to forget she’s a ballerina.
“It’s a lot of paperwork,” I say. “And parties.”
“You make it sound so boring.” She laughs, stabbing a spear of asparagus and putting it in her mouth. “Mmmm,” she says. “This is delicious. Jordan knows what I like.”
Mmmm-hmmm. I guess he does. “Well, the parties are business,” I say, trying to keep this whole night from going bad to worse.
She raises one eyebrow at me. “All the parties are business? Even New Year’s Eve?”
“No,” I say. “I’m talking about what I do, Nadia. Not how I play. The parties are all about—” But I just don’t care enough to explain. And I don’t want to bring Smith into this conversation. “It’s just a job. Not as interesting as yours. How did you get to Denver? You’re not from here, right?”
She stops eating and gently wipes her mouth with her napkin. Takes a sip of wine. “It’s my dream job. I mean, of course, I’d love to be dancing in New York. Or London. Lots of other places. But I’m young, so this is a really good break for me.”
“How did it happen?” I ask. “Did you come audition?”
“No, actually,” she says, her brows furrowing just a little bit. “I was invited.”
“You must be some dancer,” I say.
“I’m good,” she says. “Good enough for an invitation to dance for Mountain. You should come see me some time.”
“The next show is…” I search my memory for the spring schedule. “Romeo and Juliet. Are you Juliet?”
“No.” She laughs. “But I’m Rosaline.” She seems proud of this.
“A good part,” I say. “For someone new to the company. I bet you already have enemies over there for getting that part.”
She huffs at me and squints her eyes. “I’m not the kind of girl who makes enemies, Elias.”
“Are we back to Elias?” I feel like I have this conversation about my name a lot. They never know what to call me. As Bric, I’m the master. As Elias I’m the pseudo-boyfriend. It’s confusing, even for me.
“I’ve noticed something when I call you Elias.”
“Yeah? What’s that?”
“You soften a little. You’re a frowner. Did you know that?”
Am I? “No,” I say. “I haven’t.”
“Well, you are. And when I call you Elias you soften. You like it. So I use it when it’s appropriate.”
“And how do I look when you call me Bric?”
“Like a predator,” she says, refocusing her attention back to the food. “Bric is hungry for something. Elias is already satisfied.”
Jesus Christ.
“How does Jordan look when you call him Jordan?” I ask.
She shrugs. “He’s Jordan, that’s all. He’s got no secret side to him.”
“Does that disappoint you?” I ask.
“Not in the least,” she says, putting her fork down, daintily pressing the napkin to the corners of her mouth, and placing it on top of her plate. She only ate a small portion of the fish and half the asparagus. So I guess she never forgets she’s a ballerina. “Jordan is just…” She laughs.
“Just what?” I ask. She’s got a power in her. She commands attention. And it’s not the new sexy dress or the hair. Or even her fresh face, devoid of all that dark make-up. It’s inside her.
“He’s good,” she says.
“Do you think you deserve him?” I ask.
“Why wouldn’t I?”
“Because you’re not good,” I say. “No one who plays a game like this is good. He’s not good either. I know him better than you.”
“Then why is he good to me?” she asks. Her eyes are bright with mischief. She knows the answer to that question just as much as I do.