The Sweetest Fix

“What is a Bexley doing in the Theater District?” someone asked from behind Reese. “You didn’t really just ask that. His father practically built this block.”

A male dancer in leg warmers craned his neck over Reese’s shoulder. “He wouldn’t happen to be around, would he?”

Color built in Reese’s cheeks, her expression seemingly troubled.

“No, I’m alone,” Leo answered, not surprised when everyone’s shoulders slumped. “I thought we could talk, if you’re free,” he said to Reese.

A beat passed, Reese pulled her coat tighter around her body. “Sure.” She turned slightly and met the eyes of another dancer in a BTS sweatshirt. “See you at home?”

“Oh yes.” The girl moseyed on, along with the rest of the pack, who thankfully were no longer interested. “Expect questions.”

“Sorry about that,” Reese said after a moment, ducking her head. “So you’re a Bexley.”

He grunted. “Bernard is my father.”

She stared off down the block. “I see.”

Tourists were bottlenecking around them on the sidewalk so he took her elbow gently, pulling her into the relative privacy just outside the theater doors. “Are you coming from rehearsal?” he asked, stooping down a little to catch her eye. The other night, they’d barely been able to unlock their gazes for a second. Now she seemed to be avoiding it.

“A class, actually. A dancer never stops learning.” She wet her lips. “But I guess you know that, don’t you?”

“Not really. I was raised around this world. Not in it.” He lost the battle he’d been waging with his self-control not to look at her legs. Christ. Long and toned and smooth. No doubt about it, she belonged on stage. Focus, pervert. “You ran off on me Saturday night.”

She winced. “I know, I—”

“It was my fault. I had a hunch you were a dancer and when you confirmed it…look, I really shouldn’t have judged you like that.”

Reese’s attention drifted to her group of friends who’d reached the end of the avenue. “I can see why you would.”

Surprisingly, the simplicity and understanding of that statement made him want to tell her more, to explain his wariness of dancers in greater detail, but wouldn’t that be coming on too strong? And when had that ever been a worry for him before? It was probably better to keep his skeletons in the closet, since her interest—had he imagined it?—seemed to have waned.

Hell, he was already here in Times Square standing outside of the theater where she performed. Why try and play it safe now? Besides, that same cool balm was spreading in his chest, just like the last time he’d been around Reese. The fear of saying the wrong thing wasn’t as prevalent as usual. Was it the understanding in those brown eyes or the way she seemed to lean into the silences, like he did?

“I had a friend a long time ago—I’m talking high school. Senior year.” He tossed his coffee in a nearby garbage can to give his hands something to do, then sank them into the pockets of his jeans. “My parents sent me to a performing arts high school, which is kind of like sending a bodybuilder to ballet class, but they were donors and knew the faculty. Anyway obviously I didn’t fit in. I had friends, but when they were in dance class or singing lessons, I would be baking, and we just…we’d drift after a while. But I had one friend, in particular…Tate. He kept showing up, no matter how many times I blew him off. One afternoon, I walked in and he was passing his headshot to Bernard. Pitching him, essentially. Maybe I should have realized he wanted to earn points with my father, but I didn’t know what to look for—”

“Wait, wait.” She placed her hand on the crook of his elbow. “Are you talking about Tate Dillinger? Tony award winner?”

Leo gave a nod. “That would be him.”

“Wow.” Her lids dropped. “I’m sorry.”

“I didn’t tell you so you’d feel bad, Reese. Just wanted you to know why I, uh…might have acted like a jackass Saturday night. I’ve been running every interaction with performers through a certain lens for a long time—”

“You don’t have to apologize,” she interrupted, looking almost pained. “Please, don’t.”

“I liked kissing you.”

A breath puffed out of her. “Oh.”

“I’d like to do it again.”

Her expression was nothing short of astonished, but he didn’t miss the way her eyes dropped to his mouth and heated. “Is that why you’re here? To kiss me?”

“I’m here to ask you out.” His voice had fallen several octaves. “But if you’re offering…”

“I don’t know if this is a good idea.” She hugged her elbows. “It’s not that I don’t want to. It’s not that I don’t find you crazy attractive—”

“You have weird taste, but go on.”

A laugh shot out of her, warming him. “I just…I promised myself I would put one hundred percent of my drive and focus into dancing. It’s a recent promise and breaking it already would make me pretty wishy-washy.”