Teasing: Chapter 10

They say laughter is the best medicine.

I disagree. It’s coffee.

—Emmie’s Secret Thoughts

Sundays might be for football, but Saturday mornings are for baby ballerinas. Twelve of them, to be precise. That’s the size of the summer class this year, and each and every one of these babies brings a much-needed smile to my face.

“Miss Emmie.” Neveah twists and turns, playing with the way the sheer skirt swishes against her little legs. “Watch me.”

She does her very best plié, then beams with pride.

“That was fantastic, Neveah.” I hug her, then clap, getting the girls’ attention. “You all did such a good job today. Now remember, we don’t have class again until September. So I won’t see you for a few weeks. I hope you practice between now and then, but make sure to have fun too. And if your parents want to take pictures of you practicing and send them to us, we’ll add them to our pin board for everyone to see.”

Twelve little girls squeal with excitement as I open the door, and they run out of the studio into the waiting area we’ve dubbed the fishbowl, where their parents wait with smiles and open arms for the girls. But one parent in particular catches my attention. The mouth-wateringly handsome one talking to Annabelle Sinclair, while Briar Rose sits on his hip, her long legs dangling down. I guess he finally gave in and is registering little miss Rosie for ballet class.

I stop to talk to a few parents before making my way over to my boss . . . well, bosses, I guess, and tap Rosie on the shoulder. “Well hello, little rose.”

“Emmie.” She basically throws herself at me with no worries that I might not catch her. Not that it would be an option when her father refuses to let go until he’s convinced I’ve got her securely in my arms.

Oh, Cujo . . .

“What are you doing here?” she asks, and Annabelle giggles behind the desk.

“She just finished teaching class, silly girl.” Annabelle’s grin grows as she looks between Maverick and me. “I’m guessing Emmie is the reason your daddy finally agreed to ballet classes, isn’t she, Maverick?”

The way Maverick blushes has me so shocked, you could knock me over with a tutu.

Literally blushes.

“What kind of magic do you have that I don’t?” she asks me, and I bite back my smile. “Because I’ve been bugging him for months.”

“She’s been teaching me in the backyard,” Rosie proclaims, loud and proud, the way only a child can.

“It sounds like I’ll be teaching you here in the fall, my little rose.” I hoist her up a little further on my hip when she starts to slide down. “Did your daddy tell you I’m coming over tonight to stay with you?”

Her big brown eyes widen. “You are?”

“I sure am. How does some homemade, Rosie-approved ice cream and a little movie marathon sound?” My plan starts to form in my mind, grocery list and all.

“I can’t have ice cream, Emmie.” My heart breaks for this poor little girl who looks so disappointed at the thought.

“You’ll be able to have this ice cream. I promise. Even your daddy will approve.”

Mistake number one . . . looking to her daddy for approval.

Mistake number two . . . liking what I see looking back at me.

“Oh, I bet he will,” Annabelle murmurs before handing Maverick a Heart & Soul Academy of Dance folder. “I’ll see you at the game next week, Mav.”

“Thanks, Belle.”

Maverick takes Rosie from me and plants her feet on the floor. “Come on, kiddo. We’ve got errands to run.”

“Do we have to?” Rosie pouts, and I hide my smile because that right there is a whole mood. She blinks up at her father, smiles at me for a hot second before looking back at him, and I swear I feel that single smile from the tips of my toes to the top of my head.

Damn . . .

“Briar Rose . . . I told you we had errands to run after this.” Mav stands firm, or at least he tries to.

“Can we stop by Aunt Amelia’s for a cupcake?” Rosie tries to negotiate. “I’m really hungry, and she always has special ones for me.”

“Aunt Amelia doesn’t work on Saturday mornings,” he tries to reason, but Rosie’s ready for it.

She shrugs her little shoulders. “But the cupcakes will still be there.”

I can already see him giving in, “You’re going to grow up to be a hostage negotiator at this rate, kid. You know that, don’t you?”

“Do they eat cupcakes?” she asks so innocently, I’m glad I’m standing behind her so she can’t see the look on my face. But Mav can, and he looks like he wants to kill me . . . or maybe spank me.

Okay . . . No more Sex and the City before bed.

There will be no spanking.

At least not with my ass.

Because that man in front of me is going out to a bar tonight with friends, and I’m staying home with his daughter. Pretty sure that sums it up right there, which is fine because I’m not looking for a man. Men leave. Everyone leaves eventually.

After my final class of the day ends, Annabelle comes out of her office, shutting off the lights behind her as she goes. “How are you doing, Emmie?”

“I’m okay.” And I am. Sort of. Even if it’s been a rough few days.

“How are things going at Maverick’s? I heard a rumor you were helping him out.”

“They’re going. Rosie is a sweetheart. Jamie is a giant flirt. Ryker is so easygoing, and Maverick is . . .” I trail off, unsure how to finish that thought. “Well . . . he’s Maverick.”

“That’s one way to put it. Try to be patient with him,” she warns unexpectedly.

“I don’t have much choice. He’s my boss.”

Annabelle cocks her head and narrows her gaze. “Uh-huh . . . and that’s it?”

“What’s it?” I push back, not following. I’ve known Annabelle for nearly a decade. She was there when my mom left. She’s been there through everything these past few years have thrown our way. She’s so much more than a boss or a teacher. She’s my friend, and that’s not something I allow myself a whole lot of.

“Oh, Emmie . . . For such a smart girl, you really can be hardheaded when it suits you.” She tugs me by the shoulders and moves us both in front of the floor-to-ceiling mirror in the studio. Standing behind me, she looks at our reflection over my shoulder. “What do you see?”

“Belle . . .”

“I’ll tell you what I see. I see a beautiful young woman with a heart bigger than nearly anyone I’ve ever met. A young woman who’s lived through enough heartache that you’d have every right to be jaded, but you’re not, Emmie. You have a way of looking at life that most people will never have a chance to appreciate because they’re just not capable of being as optimistic as you are, and yet you’re the one with every right to be ten times more hardened. You . . .”—she pulls my shoulders back and angles my head up—“are so special, and you just don’t see it.”

“You’re a good friend, Annabelle,” I murmur.

“I am,” she agrees happily. “I’m also not blind. I’ve known Maverick Beneventi since the day he was born, and I’ve never seen him look at anyone the way he watched you teaching that class.”

My breath catches in my throat. “What?”

She shakes her head with a knowing look. “Fireworks.”

“I’m so confused,” I finally admit.

“You’ll figure it out eventually. Just be kind until then, okay?”

“To who? Maverick? You’re kidding, right? He’s the one with a mean streak a mile long.” Even if he has gotten a little better.

“He doesn’t trust easily. You use your pain as a reason to live. Maverick uses his as a shield to keep everyone away. You’ll see.” She drops her hands and fixes her hair in the reflection. “Want to get some coffee?”

“I can’t. I’ve got to stop at the grocery store for supplies for tonight.”

“Ahh. Rosie ice cream. Right. Be careful with them, Emmie. They’re not as tough as they seem.”

I follow her through the studio, too speechless for words . . . until I’m not.

Annabelle grabs her Mary Poppins bag and hands me my dance bag.

“You don’t have anything to worry about. There’s nothing going on between Maverick and me.” The words taste like sawdust in my mouth. Dry and harsh and not at all what I wish I was saying. And it’s that thought alone that stops me in my tracks.

A slow smile spreads across Annabelle’s face. “Now she’s getting it.”

Crap.

She’s right. Now I am getting it. But I don’t want it.

Looking is one thing.

Fantasizing is another thing.

Both of those are harmless.

But wanting . . . hoping . . . those aren’t possible.

Because those are for people with a future, and I don’t know what kind of future I can plan for. I live in the here and now for a reason. The future isn’t promised. The future is a lying bitch.

Maverick

“Hey. Where are you going?” I ask Ryker as he hoists his bag over his shoulder.

“Sorry, Dad. I didn’t realize I needed to check in with you,” he claps back, avoiding the question.

“Don’t be a dick. I was just asking.” I throw a soap pod in the dishwasher and turn it on as Jamie walks into the kitchen.

“Dude. Where are you going?” Jamie asks, and Ryker groans.

“Out. Don’t wait up.” He grabs his keys from the counter, gives us a salute, and walks out.

Jamie grabs a beer from the fridge and tosses it to me, then takes one for himself. “What the fuck was that about?”

“No clue,” I tell him and put the beer back in the fridge.

“What crawled up your ass?” Jamie cracks his lid off and takes a pull of his beer. It’s Saturday. Loosen up, Mav.”

“I don’t even feel like going,” I admit after a minute. “I feel like a shit for leaving Rosie with Emmie on a Saturday night. Like I’m taking advantage of Em or something.”

“Em, huh?” The asshole kicks back against the island and crosses his legs. “You sure it’s not something else?”

“Fuck off, Murphy.”

“There it is. Don’t even act like this doesn’t have something to do with you wanting to be here with the nanny instead of at the bar with Lilah’s hot, single friends. Nice try, man.”

Asshole. “I didn’t say that, dickhead.”

“You didn’t need to. You like her.” He sounds like a little fucking girl. “You do. Don’t deny it.”

“Do you even realize how much you talk? I mean, seriously, man . . . you never shut up.” Maybe I regret putting that beer back now.

“Maybe I do, but you didn’t deny it,” he taunts.

Jamie always does this. Tries to worm his way into getting you to say what he wants. “Dude, we’ve been friends our whole lives. I know what you’re trying to do, and it’s not gonna work.”

He takes a quick breath. “I’m just trying to get you to admit the truth to yourself before you waste weeks denying it. You’ve got it bad for the nanny. And why wouldn’t you? She’s hot in a faith, trust, and pixie-dust kind of way, spreading her magic all around.”

I stare at him for a minute, trying to figure out if he took too many hits to the head at practice this week. “I can’t believe I’m asking this, but what the hell are you talking about?”

“Long legs and golden, tanned, perfect skin. A perma-smile on her pretty face . . .”

I squeeze my fists at my side, and Jamie doesn’t miss it as his shit-eating grin grows. The fucker has no idea how close he is to getting hit.

“She’s got this magic about her . . .” His eyes stray to my fists, and he slowly shakes his head. “She makes you smile, man . . . When she’s not even looking at you, you smile.”

I unclench my fingers and shove them in my pockets. “You act like I never smile. I smile.”

“Not like you used to.” Jamie points his beer bottle at me. “Think about that. And take your own damn car tonight because I don’t plan on coming home.” The dumb fuck winks, and I’m pretty proud of myself for thinking ahead and making no overnights a thing when I let Jamie and Ryker move in.

If I’m not getting any in my own damn house, neither are they.

“Hello . . .” Emmie calls out as she lets herself in the front door, and Jamie crosses his arms over his chest. staring like the cat that just ate the fucking canary.

“You’re smiling, douchebag,” he taunts, and I nail him in the balls with the back of my hand. Gotta love a good old-fashioned ball slap. I’d call it super effective as the dipshit doubles over.

“I’m smiling now.” I take two steps closer, while he groans, and bend down and whisper, “You ever talk about how hot she is again, and I might just forget you’re my best friend, asswipe. Nod if you understand.”

Jamie nods and coughs.

“Great talk. Thanks, man.”

Emmie walks into the room with a giant tote bag and pulls out a big box.

“What the hell is that?” I ask as I take a closer look.

“An ice cream maker,” she tells me like I’m a moron for asking. “What’s wrong with him?”

“Talking when he should have been listening.”

“Oopsie,” she giggles and pulls out coconut milk, peaches, and vanilla beans. “You do talk a lot, Jamie.”

Shit. Maybe I am in love with this woman. “Damn . . . even Emmie thinks you talk too much.”

He glares as he straightens. “Yeah,” he fucking hisses. “But you’re still smiling.”