And I am doing very well.
A couple of feature appearances at Petals paid off what was left of my medical bills, and with the classes doing so well and my partnership with Donna, I’m truly a successful businesswoman. I’ve even drawn up a tentative five-year plan to buy in with Donna on the ballet side of the business and be full co-owners. She’s told me that she’d like to retire one day, maybe travel and see all the top ballet company performances, and that she’d be honored to metaphorically hand her pointe shoes to me. One day, that’d be a great honor.
For now, though, I’m happy.
“Thanks, Eileen! I’ll see you tomorrow. Remind Sydney to stretch her feet tonight. She’s this close to pointe.” I hold up my finger and thumb an inch apart.
“Trust me, I know,” Eileen says with a laugh. “It’s all she talks about, and I won’t have to remind her to stretch. I’ll have to tell her to stop stretching. I’ve had to resist telling her that there are much more disappointing ‘few inches’ she’ll have to deal with later.”
I laugh, loving that Sydney is so dedicated but also that Eileen doesn’t let her go too far and still wants her to be a kid. Picking up my practice heels, I change out, laying them carefully into my duffel bag and pulling on sweats and Nikes.
“Hey Logan, how was your practice today?” I ask as I enter the lobby. He’s grinning, his hair still wet from his shower after MMA practice and wearing a fresh set of athletic clothes.
Honestly, workout stuff is almost all I ever see him in now. He’s stepped back from doing shift work at Petals, focusing on an upcoming fight. He laid out his normal training day for me, up at five in the morning and down by nine thirty, and I’ll admit, he’s got dedication.
He’s thanked me and Dom for the shift in his duties, which mostly consist of escorting me from home to Encore and back again, with a midday gap where we run errands.
I think it’s a routine that works well for both of us.
“Feeling good,” Logan says, sipping at some nuclear green drink that supposedly has a bunch of protein. “How was your class?”
“Excellent,” I reply, adjusting my bag. “I even met someone I think you’d be interested in.”
It’s a common tease between us. I don’t understand why he’s single when he’s such a kind-hearted badass. But like always, he shakes his head.
“Nope. No matchmaking here. I’ve got an evil, cold-hearted mistress already . . . the ring. It’s all I have time for right now. If you’re itching to play matchmaker, work on Max or Dalton.”
He throws them under the bus easily, my mind already scheming. Now that I’m in love, I guess I want to share the happiness and let everyone experience the joy. Admittedly, my relationship with Dom might not be most folks’ ideal, but it works for us.
Even TJ is slowly coming around, now that his divorce is final and he’s let go of most of the bitterness, starting to realize that he’s going to be okay. I think it’s that he is truly enjoying his new life, though it’s different than he pictured. His new job is awesome, and he made some good friends immediately with the guys he flies with. He’s got something new to focus on and it’s good for him.
I do think he still wishes I had an easy, Hallmark movie-type love story, but he’ll at least sit down to dinner with Dominick and me now. He even jokes around a bit, once telling Dom that if he’s in charge of the city, could he please do something about the potholes on 8th Street? So he accepts the situation somewhat, but at the same time, he hugs me goodbye every time we see each other and offers to whisk me away anytime I’m ready. It’s a tricky balance but a tightrope we’re walking together.
It’ll take time, but we’ll get there.
We have to, because I love them both, and they both love me.
“So,” Logan says, interrupting my thoughts. “The usual tonight?”
“Yeah, I want to rinse off and then head home.”
‘Home’ is, of course, Dominick’s house. Well, our house. It took us about two seconds to agree to move in together after we completed a very vigorous, very angst-filled, very sweaty, and very complete weekend of negotiations. We kept my third- and his fourth-floor apartments as safehouses, but I moved all my things into the apartment across the parking lot from the studio.
It’s been a godsend to be able to have a place this close to work when I need to clean up before going home.
We walk across the lot in silence as I let Logan work, his eyes diligently scanning though there has never been a single threat toward me. Only once was there even a hint of something wrong, but it turned out to be a backfiring pickup truck. It was good to know that Logan’s not all for show, though, because he’d had me on the ground and covered to make sure I stayed safe in an instant. Once we’d realized it was safe, I’d jokingly started counting and called it a TKO. I’d declared him the winner and did a fairly decent imitation of a cheerleader right there in the parking lot, much to his chagrin.