Erik got to watch the dancing from several vantage points: the stage catwalk, the ceiling catwalk, the balcony, the wings. It was here he found himself watching the Prelude and keeping a low profile, trying to disguise how for once, he wasn’t doing much of anything.
He noticed Will was standing by him, watching as well. They both raised chins in silent acknowledgment but said nothing until the dancers reached a passage Erik particularly liked. He stepped closer to Will and asked, “The step they just did, when their leg whipped around, what’s it called?”
“Renversé,” Will said. “I love this part, they repeat the same phrase but in a round, and when they do the renversé, here it is, look. One leg after the other. Looks like a windmill.”
“It does.”
“We met but we didn’t. I’m Will.”
“Erik.” They shook hands and Erik noticed both Will’s arms sported a number of tattoos.
“David calls you Fish.”
“It’s what my last name means.”
“Ah.” Will gestured to the theater at large. “First time at the rodeo?”
“Yeah. In between Leo running me ragged, I think Kees is trying to graduate me from Neanderthal 101 in one week.”
“It’s a good course. Chicks like going to the ballet, you can’t go wrong if you know how to talk a little shop at intermission.” Will’s accent was interesting. His English was natural and slangy, but some of the words seemed to shimmy through his nose or get breathily stuck in the corners of his mouth.
Erik turned to the stage again, watching Daisy in her solo passage. Her leotard was pale green today, again with the black tights pulled over. She also wore a short black skirt, thin as a tissue. It flew up with her jumps and floated down against the high, tight curve where the back of her thigh met her—
“Dude,” Will said. “Is that not the sweetest ass you ever saw in your life?”
Almost angrily, Erik flicked his eyes to Will, but Will wasn’t looking at the stage. He was looking off in the wings to a girl with crazy spirals of blonde hair, a little compact body in jeans and a T-shirt, the clothes clinging to hourglass curves, full breasts, full hips, tiny waist.
“Who’s she?”
“She’s called Lucky Dare,” Will said. His eyes were intent, a little smile played around his mouth.
“Seriously? That’s her name?”
“Her name’s Lucia, they call her Lucky. She’s Daisy’s roommate.”
“She’s not a dancer though, and she’s not tech. What does she do around here?”
“She’s a sports medicine major, studying to be a physical therapist. They all have to do a dance rotation at some point. God, would you look at that body. And her hair, Jesus. A hundred years ago she’d be burned as a witch.”
“You go out with her?”
“I don’t know about going out but she gave me a toe-curling blow job last night.”
Erik’s eyes widened. “Thanks for the visual.”
His eyes not leaving Lucky, Will put up a hand and ruffled Erik’s hair. “Entre nous.”
Erik looked again to the stage, watching Daisy and feeling Will’s palm print lingering on his head. Unrelated men weren’t supposed to touch each other with such casual intimacy. At least those were the rules in Erik’s small universe. His eyebrows wrinkled, remembering David’s conviction of Will’s bisexuality—a murky concept. Erik expected to feel uncomfortable at least, disgusted at most. But the sense memory loitering on the crown of his head was benign and unthreatening. It had been a brotherly touch. Unquestionably masculine and friendly. Almost like a secret handshake.
Michael called fifteen minutes for everyone. Will turned back to Erik. “I’m going to have a smoke, come with.”
Erik didn’t smoke but he went. As they passed by Lucky, Will tugged one of her spiral curls and she grabbed his ass in return.
“Funny, I thought you and Daisy were a thing,” Erik said, once they were clear of the auditorium
“Everyone does,” Will said, sounding bored.
“You can’t blame them. You guys have sick chemistry onstage.”
“Onstage, sure. Offstage? Not happening.”