One of the women glanced his way with a frown, then nudged the woman next to her. Soon, they were all staring at him, and not in a friendly way. “Go,” one of them whispered to another. “Just go on inside.”
What the hell was that about?
He knew the answer quickly enough, because a moment later, Kelsey stepped outside, her brow furrowed as she looked up and down the sidewalk. But when she saw him, her expression cleared, and she laughed. “It’s you,” she said.
“It’s me. Why is that funny?”
“The ladies in my Zumba class thought you were a Peeping Tom. Or possibly a deadbeat dad out to kidnap one of my students and whisk her off to the South Pole or something.” She nodded toward the windows. “Lots of drama in there right now.”
“Sorry to disappoint, but I’m drama free.”
“I doubt that.”
“Well, I’ll make an effort, anyway.”
She nodded, and they stood awkwardly until she finally cleared her throat. “So, I need to go teach . . .”
“Right. Sorry. I just needed to see you. Can we talk?”
“How’d you find me?”
“Your brother.”
“Mmmm.” She drew a breath. “Listen, I don’t think this is a good idea.”
“Why not? I just want to talk. Really.”
She glanced down at the sidewalk. “You’re bad for me, Wyatt Segel,” she told the ground. “You make me lose my self control.”
“Is that so horrible?”
She lifted her eyes to meet his. “Have you met my brother?” He cocked his head, trying to follow her train of thought. “I don’t know exactly what happened to him, but I’m certain it wasn’t my fault.”
“Maybe not. But it was mine.”
“Kelsey—”
“I have to go. Time for warm-up is over.” She started to walk away.
“Wait!” He heard the desperation in his voice, and hated himself for it. But for fuck’s sake, he was desperate, and now really wasn’t the time for cool, distant pride. “There,” he said, pointing to Java B’s, a coffee shop on the far side of the parking lot. “Please. After your class. I’ll be waiting.”
She didn’t answer.
“Please,” he repeated. “Please, Kelsey. Don’t walk out on me this time.”
20
Wyatt finished two black coffees and a blueberry muffin as he waited for her. Although technically he didn’t finish the muffin. He destroyed it by picking it apart as he thought about what he was going to say, about how he was going to convince her.
He had a plan, sure. One he’d been thinking about since the party last night. Revising and refining it in his mind.
It would work. Hell, it was practically perfect.
All he needed was Kelsey.
He froze, a third cup of coffee almost to his lips.
It.
All it needed. The plan. Not him.
This was about his show, not about him and Kelsey. There was no him and Kelsey, and there hadn’t been for a long time. And even if he was inclined to start something up again, now wasn’t the time to do it. Not when everything rested on her participation in the show. Not when a personal quarrel could unravel everything.
Not when he didn’t even know if she still wanted him.
Fuck.
His mind was running in circles. One hour sitting there staring out the window and his head was in the goddamn clouds.
He swept a mound of muffin debris into his palm, then walked to the trashcan by the door to toss it. As he did, he saw the door to the studio open, and he felt an unexpected chill of nerves, as potent as the first time he’d met with his advisor in Boston to show off the photos for his senior project.
And why not? Back then, his future had been riding on that project and his advisor’s reaction. Now, his professional life was riding on this show and Kelsey’s participation.
He grabbed a napkin and roughly wiped the muffin crumbs off his hands, along with the sweat on his palms. Then he stood there, barely breathing, as the women emerged, sweaty but invigorated after their workout.
They waved to each other, piled into Volvos and BMWs, then drove off.
But Kelsey was still inside.
Wyatt wished he had the coffee he’d left on the table. At least then maybe he could wash down the fear that she was simply going to blow him off.
He started to turn away, intending to do that very thing, when he saw the door to the studio move. He stood still, holding his breath, as Kelsey emerged wearing a flowing skirt in some sort of knit and a simple white T-shirt. A lime green duffel hung over her shoulder, and she scanned the parking lot before heading toward a blue Mustang. Then she opened the door, and, for a moment, just stood there.
His chest ached, and he realized he was still holding his breath. Slowly, he exhaled, his eyes on Kelsey as she looked toward the coffee shop and then back to the car.
“Come on,” he muttered. “Just come on over.”
An elderly man pouring cream into his coffee looked sideways at him, as if Wyatt might be the dangerous sort.
Well, if Kelsey made him wait any longer, he just might be.
As he watched, she tossed her duffel into the backseat. And then, after one more glance between the car and the coffee shop, she started walking his direction.
“Yes.” Wyatt did a fist pump, which was more than the elderly man could handle. He scurried away as Wyatt headed back to his table.
He was seated by the time Kelsey entered, pausing just inside the door as she looked around. He waved casually, as if he’d just been sitting there doing nothing more interesting than checking his emails.
She came over, flashed a tentative smile, and sat down. “Hey,” she said, then tucked a strand of hair that had come loose from her ponytail behind her ear. Her face glowed from exertion, and beads of sweat dotted her hairline. She wore no make-up at all.
Wyatt thought she’d never been prettier.
“Thanks for coming,” he said, forcing himself to keep a business tone when everything inside him wanted to reach across the table, grab her hands, and beg her to do the show.
“I—well, I guess I thought I owed you that much.” She had a small purse with her, and when she pulled out a lip balm and rubbed it on her lips, Wyatt caught himself staring.
Get a grip. The order was swift and firm and accompanied by a mental kick to his own ass.
“I appreciate that,” he said. “And I wanted to ask you a question.”
“Okay.” She made the word into two long syllables, as if she was apprehensive about what he was going to say next.
“If it wasn’t for your job—teaching kids, I mean—would you do my show?”
He leaned forward, expecting her to say yes. Why wouldn’t she? He’d seen the way she danced at X-tasy. Not to mention her ease in front of the camera once she got over the initial trepidation.
And he knew for certain she needed the money.
She’d say yes, and he’d launch into his idea. She’d agree, and they’d move forward from there.
It was a perfect plan.
Except for the fact that she foiled it by saying no.
“I’m sorry,” he repeated. “No?”
“Or, well, I don’t know. But I don’t think so.” Her brows had drawn together, and her straight posture had dissolved to a slouch. She looked like a little girl called in to confess to the principal.