this time.
“It was good. I had another audition, that’s why I’m late. I came as soon as I could. Although it seems you were fine waiting, though,” she says with a hint of sarcasm.
“Yeah, I was talking to Tessa. She’s having a hard time lately.” I shrug my shoulders and reach for her hand.
When she lets me take it, I lead her to the couch.
“Still? Is it Hardin still?” she asks.
“Yeah, it’s always Hardin.” I half smile, trying not to think too much about his visit next weekend and the fact that I’m a chickenshit and still haven’t told Tessa. She knows he’s coming, just not how soon.
I’m going to try to keep the new-old waiter thing under wraps for now.
Even though it’s a coincidence, Hardin will make way more of it.
“Well, she seemed fine to me,” Dakota says, looking around the living room.
“Is something wrong?” I ask her. “You seem mad or something. How was your audition?”
She shakes her head and I reach for her feet and place them on my lap. I pull off her sneakers and start rubbing her arches. Dakota’s eyes close and she leans her head against the back of the couch.
“It was okay. I don’t think I’m going to get it. The line for open auditions was still out the door when I left. I was the third—they probably already forgot about me.”
I hate when she thinks so low of herself. Doesn’t she know how talented she is? How unforgettable she is?
“I doubt that. There’s no way anyone could forget about you.”
“You’re biased.” She gives me a little smile and I return the gesture with a huge grin.
“Hardly,” I scoff. “Have you seen yourself?”
She rolls her eyes and winces when my fingers press gently at her toes. I pull off her socks and they stick to her toes.
“Is that blood?” I ask her, slowly peeling off the black cotton.
“Probably,” she says like it’s no big deal.
Like it’s a paper cut that she barely noticed.
Sure enough, it’s blood. Her toes are crusted with it . . . I’ve seen what ballet shoes do to her feet even before she was dancing full-time. They were bad then. But this is worse than I’ve ever seen.
“Jesus, Dakota.” I peel off the other sock.
“It’s fine. I got new slippers and they just aren’t broken in yet.”
She tries to move away, but I put my hand on her leg to stop her. “Stay here.”
I lift her feet off of my lap and get up from the couch.
“I’m getting a washcloth,” I tell her.
She looks like she wants to say something, but doesn’t.
I grab a clean washcloth from the bathroom cabinet and run it under warm water. I check the cabinet for aspirin and shake the bottle. Empty, of course. I can’t imagine Tessa leaving an empty bottle of anything around, so the blame is mine for this.
I glance in the mirror while the washcloth soaks with water, and try to tame my hair. The top is getting long, too long. And the back needs trimming; it’s starting to curl up on my neck, and unless I want to look like Frodo, I need a haircut soon.