Time of My Life (Oceanic Dreams #2) Page 8
He nodded and took a couple of deep breaths. “I always get a little tense before a show. I’ll be fine. I just need a few minutes alone to collect myself.”
“You couldn’t have mentioned that earlier?”
“I’ll be right back.” Before I could say anything, he bolted toward the bathroom.
Once again, I wondered at the wisdom of all of this. Maybe I should’ve spent the week trying to come up with a singles routine that would wow Max as much as the doubles presentation Penny and I planned. Or maybe the two of us should have written a new routine she could do…while vomiting?
I shook my head at the thought. Impossible. We’d had no choice but to find a replacement, Frank truly was a gift horse, and I needed to stop looking him in the mouth.
Even though he had very nice lips. And soft hands. Muscles that went on for days. Muscles I absolutely, positively should not touch outside of the practice studio.
The third contestant finished to thunderous applause. I gave him a standing ovation, more than happy to recognize the work that went into putting on such a show. For the first time, as he walked around the stage taking bows, I realized that bar patrons were tipping him, both men and women. Cash littered the stage. Maybe I’d be able to make a few bucks even without taking home the grand prize. The thought cheered me a bit.
When the fourth performer took the stage, Frank still hadn’t reappeared. I glanced between the bathroom door and the bar’s front door uneasily, but even in this crowd, it would be tough for him to escape without me seeing him.
Contestant Number Four went on and off the stage practically before I could blink. He might have been good, but with only a trick or two, he didn’t stand a chance. Good news for Frank.
A moment later, Tabby called my name. Head high, I sauntered onto the stage. A couple of people in the crowd must have recognized me, because I heard a whistle here, a hoot there. Better news. Hopefully my fans tipped well.
The music started. For this performance, I’d chosen Girl on Fire, my go-to girl power song. I didn’t want to use the song from our routine and have Frank follow me with the same tune a few seconds later. Instead of the routine we’d been practicing, I went through the motions I’d done at the Welcome Aboard show the first night. It didn’t contain my best tricks, but I spun and swung and got the crowd on their feet, warming them up for Frank.
When I finished, the crowd landed on their feet, smiles from wall to wall. I walked around picking up bills, grinning widely. The money scattered around my feet more than covered the drinks I’d bought when we arrived.
My smile faltered only when I looked at the side of the stage and realized I didn’t know where Frank went. He easily could have escaped while I pranced around the stage. Even if I’d taken my attention off the routine to notice, I wouldn’t have been able to stop him.
A pulse fluttered frantically in my throat at the possibility. If Frank abandoned me for this show, I didn’t know what I’d do. He couldn’t do the Talent Show finale if he wasn’t able to handle a drunken bar crowd. With a final bow, I jumped down the few steps to the ground, eager to find him. He didn’t seem like the type to sneak out; Frank wasn’t a coward. On the other hand, he also didn’t seem the type to hide in the bathroom, and he’d been in there a while.
The announcer took the stage behind me. “Next up, our fifth and final performer. Mr....Baby Cakes? Does that say Mr. Baby Cakes?”
On the stage, the announcer called Frank a second time. I was torn between wanting to show my faith in him and stampeding the restroom to find out what was taking so long.
“Come on, Mr. Baby Cakes. Don’t be shy!” The announcer said. “We’re all friends here. Aren’t we? Let’s give him a bit of encouragement!”
Applause scattered around the room. Still no sign of Frank. I held my breath. The spotlight moved around the room, unsure where to stop.
Terrified, I covered my face with my hands.
“Last call for Mr. Baby Cakes! Come on, sweet cheeks. You can’t be worse than my cousin Leonard.”
The audience erupted into cheers. I didn’t dare look, but then the opening strains of the music began. Peeking through my fingers, relief flooded through me when I saw Frank strutting to the pole. I let out a whoop of joy, and he found me in the audience.
The look he gave me thrilled me to the core. He might be a bit shy, but Frank was a professional, and at heart, he loved to perform. He should be fine.
On the stage, Frank began the routine, moving competently, if a bit stiff. When he finished his first spin, the crowd applauded, and he loosened up. With every cheer from the crowd, his confidence grew. I let out another whoop, and he rewarded me with a giant smile.
Then the moment of truth arrived. The big move, the one that always gave us so much trouble in practice. The one we argued about yesterday.
Clasping my hands over my mouth, I watched as Frank let go of the pole. He paced five steps toward the back wall, away from the audience, as planned. When he turned, his eyes sought mine. I dropped my hands, hoping to convey reassurance and serenity.
With a deep breath, Frank ran for the pole. Step, step, step.
He leapt in the air, beautifully, as he must’ve done a million times when he danced ballet. More than anything, I wished I’d gotten a chance to see him perform at his peak. It must have been glorious.
Frank flew across the stage, exactly as we practiced. Then he...landed on the other side of the pole, making no move to grip it with his hands or legs. Instead, he put his hands out in the gesture I recognized from the Aphrodite’s video bar incessantly playing Walk Like an Egyptian on ‘80s night. I groaned.
My hands came back up to cover my face. We were doomed.
After that brief hiccup, Frank executed the rest of the routine flawlessly. If you didn’t know what we’d practiced, you might not know he’d flubbed the steps. Well, if you didn’t know and if you happened to think funny hand motions belonged in pole performances. At least it wasn’t jazz hands.
The final two performers were passable, but not terrible exciting. Once they finished, Frank and I took the stage, lining up with the others to find out who won.
“Our winner will be decided by the audience,” Tabby announced. I’d known this, which was one reason I didn’t expect to win, but Frank looked surprised. “One of you is going home with five hundred dollars!”
“Don’t worry,” I whispered to him. “This was about building confidence, not about winning a prize.”
“You have no idea how competitive I used to be,” he whispered back.
Tabby pointed at each of us in turn, while the audience clapped and cheered. The crowd went wild for Contestant Number Three, who had done an excellent job. On my turn, I stepped forward and curtsied gracefully to a respectable response. Ah, well.
Then Frank was up. He walked to the front of the stage, as the rest of us had done. But he didn’t stop there. When he got to the front, he spun around on his toes, turned, and wiggled his admittedly fine butt at the audience. The crowd roared, but Frank wasn’t done yet.
He turned around again, ripped his shirt over his head, twirled it around, and launched it off the stage. Then he leapt up and executed a perfect ballet jump before landing in a split on the stage.
The crowd exploded. Even I couldn’t help clapping until my hands hurt. Competitive, huh? It appeared that, in some ways, the student surpassed the teacher.
Frank returned to his place in line, and the final two contestants tried to reprise his last minute dance, but it was too late.
“Well, that was certainly something,” Tabby said. “Ladies, gentlemen, and persons of all genders, we have a very clear winner here. The pole performance was interesting, but that encore certainly took the, er, cake. Congratulations to Mr. Baby Cakes!”
A whoop of joy escaped me. I’d never been so excited about someone else’s pole performance.
Turning to me, Frank threw his arms into the air. “Hell, yeah, baby! That was epic!”
I slapped his hands. “Well done, Baby Cakes!”
After Frank collected his prize, the two of us headed for the parking lot, still high on our success. We had about half an hour to make it back to the docks, plenty of time if we walked fast. We made it about ten steps before Frank stumbled in a pothole. I caught him and started to ask if he was okay, but he just shook his head, laughing.
“Mr. Baby Cakes, huh? Very funny.”
I shrugged, trying to seem cool. “We couldn’t use your real name. Seemed fitting, don’t you think?”
“It’s fine. Tonight was perfect.”
He picked me up and spun me around. My head fell back, hair streaming out behind me, and I let out a sound of pure joy. The kind of real laugh we use as children but repress when we get older and more aware of ourselves. It felt like nailing a difficult move on your birthday while finding five bucks in the pocket of a coat not worn all summer.
My arms wrapped around his neck. After a moment, he slowed the spins and lowered me to the ground. Inch-by-inch, my entire body became very aware of Frank’s. Even though I saw him every day, I tried not to dwell on his physical perfection. (I’m not saying I succeeded.) Our eyes met when my toes touched the ground. I started to unwrap my arms, but Frank’s hands moved from my waist to my chin, cupping my face.
He kissed my forehead with an emphatic “mwah!” that made me laugh. Then he kissed each cheek, the contact sending lightning bolts down my spine. Before I knew what was happening, his lips met mine.
The crowd faded away as the fire that had been smoldering within me all this time ignited. This wasn’t an excited, accidental kiss. My mouth opened beneath his, and our tongues met eagerly. I wanted to taste him, to touch every inch of him. By the time I pulled back, my heartbeat thundered in my ears.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
I nodded, one hand covering my mouth. “What about Nellie?”
He furrowed his brow. “You want to kiss Nellie?”
“No. Don’t you?” He gave me a blank look. “I thought the two of you were dating.”
A peal of laughter rang out in response. “No. Oh, no. Nellie and I are not dating.”
“I’m glad you find that thought so funny. When Penny mentioned it a few days ago…”
He placed one finger across my lips. “Penny made a joke about ‘my little girlfriend.’ I thought she was referring to the fact that I’ve known Nellie most of my life. Our parents are old friends. But we’re not, and have never been, dating. The only person I’ve wanted to kiss all week is you.”
My heart soared higher with each word. “I’ve been wanting to kiss you, too. Since the moment I saw you.”
“I’m glad to hear it.” He leaned in, but I took a step backward. “See, I like that you’re unpredictable.”
“We’re in public. I got carried away, but we can’t. Not here. Someone could see us.”
“Right.” He pulled out his phone. “I’ll get a car.”
“I don’t think they have Uber here.”
He chuckled, a sound that made me bristle slightly. “They have taxis.”
Taxis cost a lot of money, even for short distances. To be honest, I couldn’t even afford Uber. Sure, he’d just won five hundred bucks, but I didn’t want to take his money. “It’s a beautiful night. Let’s walk back. There’s no rush.”
He looked like he wanted to argue, but maybe he sensed that I didn’t want him to pay for me to get back to the ship. The phone went back into his pocket. “I wouldn’t say there’s no rush. If I don’t get you to my cabin soon, I might explode.”
A shiver went down my spine at his words. “Good thing it’s not far, then.”
Chapter Ten
Day Five: Cozumel
We spent the night in Frank’s cabin. The moment my skin touched those luxurious white sheets, I never wanted to get up, and not just because of the gorgeous man beside me. Alas, morning found me back in the pole studio immediately after breakfast and the first shower I’d ever seen that held more than one person. The shower in the cabin Penny and I shared barely fit me.
Personally, I’d have been happy to languish all morning in that amazing suite, exploring my connection with Frank. Unfortunately, I had a class to teach before the passengers headed for the shore. After, Penny planned to join us for costume fittings. Frank obviously couldn’t wear her outfit, so we needed an alternative.
As a former ballet dancer, Frank was used to wearing extremely tight, form-fitting clothing. What he wasn’t used to was wearing very little at all. When Penny showed up with the shorts she’d been sewing for him all week, he balked. “That’s a swimsuit. No, a speedo. It’s a banana hammock.”
“That’s what male pole dancers wear,” she said. “Look at Janey’s outfit.”
Beside him, I held up my lacy white sports bra-type top and blue sequined hot pants. Both covered exactly the amount of flesh necessary to keep from being indecent. Frank’s eyes went from the miniscule clothing to my body and back, so appreciatively I blushed.
“Trust me,” I said. “Go put it on, and we’ll run through the routine to make sure everything stays in place.”
“I want you to know I’m doing this against my better judgment.”
“And I completely appreciate that,” I said. “You’re the best.”
“What are you doing, Janey?” Penny asked when Frank disappeared back into the locker room to change.
“It’s fine. I’m fine.” Quickly, I removed my warm-up clothes and slithered into the outfit, turning to model the ensemble for my friend.
“Are you? Because it looks like you’re about to get fired.”
“I’m being careful,” I said. “And it doesn’t matter. We’ll never see each other again after he leaves the ship on Saturday morning.”
She started to say something, but a sound from the locker room stopped her. She simply shook her head and made some adjustments to my clothes as Frank re-entered the room, holding a large towel in front of his crotch.
“Come on,” I said.
He stared at me for a long moment but finally dropped the shield. The shorts looked fantastic on him, leaving little to the imagination. Despite my better judgment, I allowed my eyes to feast on the flesh I’d so enjoyed touching only a few hours earlier.
Nervously, Frank tugged at the fabric, trying to get the shorts to cover more of his butt.
“Stop,” I said. “You look great.”
“Mmm-hmmm. Great,” Penny said. “Look, I gotta go before Max comes looking for me. Janey, I’ll talk to you later.”
“Wait.” Frank went to his bag and pulled out an envelope. “Before you go, I want you to have this.”
“What is this, a tip? I haven’t done anything for you,” Penny said.
“It’s the money I won last night. Five hundred dollars.”
She gasped. Her incredulous expression must have been mirrored on my own face. He was just going to give her five hundred dollars, like it was nothing. I couldn’t believe anyone would do something so nice for someone they barely knew. “You’re joking, right?”
“I’m dead serious. I don’t need the money. You’re about to have a baby.”
“I’m not taking charity,” she said.
“It’s not charity,” he said. “I would never have been there if it weren’t for you. I loved every second of it. Consider it a thank you.”
She continued to protest, but I moved between them and took the envelope, pressing it into her hand. “Say ‘thank you, Frank.’ You need this, Pen, and we both know it.”
“Thank you, Frank.”
“You’re welcome,” he said. “Now go rest. And thank you, Janey.”
We stood in silence for a moment after she left. “That was an incredible gesture.”
“Yeah, well, I thought about giving you the money, but I figured you wouldn’t take it.”
“Don’t give me too much credit,” I said. He didn’t know my dad was sick, though, and I really wouldn’t take his money. Probably.
“Not too shabby, I guess,” Frank said. “Shall we practice?”
I took his hand. “Let’s do this.”
After our second time through the routine, I found myself extremely grateful that I’d talked Max into investing in the good crash mats for the pole studio. He probably never envisioned the use Frank and I put them to, but until about twelve hours earlier, neither had I.
A week ago, I never would have begun to consider having sex in my studio with anyone, much less a passenger. Frank made me throw all caution to the wind. Now I understood what people meant when they said someone made them feel like a teenager again. The difference was, with my mom leaving and dad’s illness, I never got a carefree childhood. Frank made me feel like a teenager for the first time.
“Tell me about your mom,” Frank said as we recovered from our session. “You don’t talk about her.”
Talking about the woman who gave birth to me required me to think about her, something I resolved never to do unless absolutely necessary. She certainly never thought about me after she left.
“Painful memories?”
I swallowed. “Very few memories. My dad raised me and my sister alone.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. Did she die?”
“Might as well have,” I said. He flinched. “She never wanted kids, but somehow wound up with two. Resented the way her body changed and her career stalled after the two of us were born. When I was three, she called a baby-sitter, went out for groceries, and never came back. My sister remembers living with her, but I don’t.”
“That must have been rough.”
“Yeah.” Once I started talking about her, the words bottled up in my chest, all desperate to escape at once. “They divorced a couple of years later. Dad asked for sole custody, and she didn’t even fight him. She did, however, take him back to court once a year, every year, to reduce her child support payments.”