Laney was still watching me, her expressive face tired and worried. I leaned down to kiss her again, seeing in the studio’s mirrors, over and over, the reflection of two lovers, traveling into infinity.
I kissed her once more, my lips lingering as ever. Then with a promise of more later, I headed for the showers. Gary was already dressing when I got there, discretely eyeing up some men I recognized from the weight room.
He grinned and winked as I walked past, and I raised my eyebrows.
“Hey, showboat! Your locker has been ringing for the last ten minutes. Laney must be missing you.”
I frowned. “No, I just saw her in the studio. She’s going to wait for us at the front.”
“Well, someone wants to get their hands on your cute ass, not that I can blame them.”
I sat down on the bench and pulled my phone out of the locker—there was a missed call from a local number and a voicemail alert.
I listened intently.
“Hello, Mr. Novak. My name is Selma Pasic and I’m Director of the Savannah Phillips Theater. I’ve been reading about you and your dance performance. Well, we have a two-week slot available for the last two weeks of March and we’d like to offer it to you. If you’re interested, please call me as soon as possible to discuss terms.”
I replayed the message for Gary. He stared at me in disbelief.
“Holy shit! We have a theater!”
I called back immediately but got voicemail, so I tossed my phone to Gary.
“I’m going to shower. If she calls back, set up a meeting. I don’t care when. Now, if she wants.”
Three minutes later I was trying to pull my clothes over a damp body and Gary was twitching excitedly.
“She sounded really nice,” he gushed. “Totally in love with the concept. Oh, leave your shirt undone a bit more.”
“What?”
“She’s a woman. She has a pulse. Leave the shirt open.”
“Fuck that. It’s January and five below out there!”
“Listen, showboat! Right now the woman on the end of that phone is offering you everything you want. Work your freakin’ strengths. Shirt. Open.”
Muttering to myself, I did what he said. At least no one would see until I took my coat off. I felt like a douchebucket.
As soon as Gary saw Laney, he launched into an explanation, then grabbed the handles of her wheelchair and started to push.
I elbowed him out of the way. “My job,” I growled at him.
“Much as I adore your wife,” he said pointedly, “I’m still gay. Stop being so territorial.”
“My job!” I repeated.
Laney giggled, but Gary poked me in the ribs, making me squirm.
We skidded along the rain-soaked streets, Gary marching ahead and waving everyone out of our way as if we were royalty.
“Is he always like this?” Laney asked quietly.
“Worse,” I snorted.
“I can totally hear you!” Gary snapped.
Laney buried her face in her scarf to stop herself from laughing.
God, every day I fall deeper in love.
It was a slow falling, like floating through clouds, my body weightless. It was a peaceful falling, with sun on my face, my heart warmed. Just ordinary things that nobody else would notice—the way she tapped her fingers out of time when a favorite song was playing, the way she looked at me when I walked through the door. Always the same: my eyes, my lips, my body, back to my eyes.
And she was so strong. I was in awe of her.
Also, sex with Laney was the best I’d ever had. I couldn’t figure that out. She wasn’t the most athletic, obviously; she wasn’t the dirtiest and it took a while to persuade her to try new things. But every time, the woman rocked my world. I came so hard and so often, I sometimes couldn’t believe I wouldn’t shrivel up and die happily.
Maybe it was love that made the difference.
We skidded to a stop outside a slightly shabby theater with fresh posters of new plays. It might be small and older, but they were showing some interesting work.
“Uh, maybe I should wait at that coffee shop,” Laney said hesitantly.
“What for, honey?” asked Gary, beating me to it.
“Well, she’s expecting to see dancers, not me.”
I yanked open the door, pushed her inside, then leaned down and whispered in her ear.
“Where would we be without our producer?”
“Besides,” said Gary, arching one eyebrow. “Between us, we cover all the diversity groups: gay, foreign, less able.” Then he frowned at Laney. “Can you pretend to be a black lesbian, too?”
“I can’t believe you said that!” she snorted, trying not to laugh.
A striking looking woman with long brown hair and a nice set of tits came around the corner to greet us.
“Mr. Novak?” she asked, her eyes flicking from me to Gary and back again, then dipping to Laney.
“Yes,” I said, holding out my hand and ignoring Gary’s whisper to open another button on my shirt. “Ms. Pasic?”
“Call me Selma.”
She looked at me expectantly.
“Ash,” I smiled. “And this is my wife Laney Novak, also our producer; and my co-lead Gary Benson, also co-choreographer.”