“Avery’s a nice guy.”
“I know.”
Trick slid onto the barstool next to hers. “So am I.”
She swiveled to face him, sliding her legs between his. “Oh, no, you’re not. You can be very bad.”
“You think so?”
“Definitely.”
“You like me bad.”
Stella laughed. “And this is a lot like verbal foreplay.”
He slid his hands across her knees and down her legs. “I prefer the other kind of foreplay. Why don’t you go home with me tonight?”
She drew in a breath. “As tempting as that sounds, I need to entertain my sister.”
Trick looked over at the pool table. “Your sister looks like she’s being entertained just fine by Avery.”
“You know, if it was anyone else I’d say fine, they’re on their own. But I haven’t seen Greta for a few months and I promised her we’d spend the entire weekend together.”
He nodded. “I understand. But I want to see you again, Stell.”
This went against all her rules. But his touch seared through the denim of her jeans. “I want to see you, too. When’s your next game?”
“Tuesday night. It’s an away game, though. I’ll be back in town on Thursday.”
“Okay. I have rehearsal on Thursday until late.”
His lips curved. “This is why we lost touch before. Those damn schedules of ours.”
“True. But we’ll figure it out.”
“I’ll text you when I get back in town.”
“You do that.” She slid off the barstool. “In the meantime, I intend to kick everyone’s ass at the pool table.”
He laced his hands with hers and drew her against him. “You can try. And until next week . . .”
Before she could object about being in a public bar and her sister being there, he’d cupped the nape of her neck and held her still while his mouth bore down on hers for a kiss that seared her feet to the floor.
It was everything she remembered about why she’d liked being with him—and so much more. A desperation, a hunger, a need that fed her desire as well. Before she knew what was happening, she was up on her toes, her body pressed to his, and his arm was around her waist, his fingers sliding down her back, nearly coming into contact with her butt.
“Holy shit,” she heard her sister say, and that broke the spell.
But only barely. If there’d been anyone else but her sister there, she wouldn’t have cared.
Trick looked down at her, and she was lost in the whiskey depths of his eyes. He smiled down at her.
“Next week, Stella.”
She licked her lips. “Yeah. Next week.”
Chapter Three
Stella stretched and wiped sweat from her brow. It had been a grueling dance practice today, worse than usual. The choreographer was kicking their asses. There were twelve dances in this show, and as one of the leads, she was front and center in all of them.
Not that she was going to complain. A career dancer never bitched about getting work. She’d deal with sore feet and screaming muscles every day as long as she had a job like this one. It wasn’t all that often that she booked a show on Broadway, and the more exposure like this she could get, the better it was for her career.
Plus, she loved what she did. Dance wasn’t just her job. It was part of her soul. She couldn’t imagine not doing this. At the end of every rehearsal day, she felt equal parts brutalized and euphoric.
But right now, all she wanted was a long hot bath and a beer. Or a six-pack.
Okay, one beer, since Lawrence the bastard choreographer seemed to have a sixth sense and noticed every time she gained even an ounce of weight.
Prick.
She pulled on her jeans and sweater, slid on her tennis shoes and jacket, then found her bag and headed for the subway. It was late, and she was starving, so she grabbed a salad with grilled chicken at the corner restaurant on the way to her apartment in Chelsea.
She would have preferred a nice greasy pizza.
“After this show? You are totally a large pepperoni pizza,” she said to her salad as she ate once she got to her apartment. “But I’m still having a beer.”
She took a couple long swallows of beer, and sighed in contentment. She smiled at the bottle. “Mmmm. Screw you, Lawrence.”
She looked around her apartment and at the tiny, one-foot-tall Christmas tree sitting on the pass-through between the kitchen and living area.
It was as holiday as this place got, but it was at least something.
She wanted a bigger place, but she’d gone the roommate route before and that had been a disaster. Her lease was up in January, so she’d have to decide whether to try the roommate thing again and opt for a bigger place, or maybe move. She could live with Greta, temporarily, but she and her sister had different temperaments, and while she loved her sister, they could not live together. They’d done that for too many years. Growing up together was one thing. Deliberately sharing living space together? No.
She didn’t think she was cut out for roommates, so maybe she should just consider a move. Hopefully to someplace where the heat actually worked in the winter.
It was freezing in here.
After finishing dinner and her beer, she did dishes, then picked up her phone to check messages.
One from her best friend, Carolina Preston.
Dancing your ass off? Call me. Love you.
She smiled and typed a return text.
Wish ass had been danced off. Could have had the pizza I wanted for dinner. How about U? Saw your label in window when I passed by store on the way home. Want the B&W sweater! Off to take a bath. Call U later.
She sent the text, then headed into her oh-so-tiny bathroom. But at least there was a tub in here, something she’d insisted on before she’d rented the place. Dancers needed a bathtub. They couldn’t survive without a hot soak after a grueling day of rehearsals or after a brutal performance night. And her quickly tightening muscles did not like this cold apartment. A warm bath would definitely help.
She put some lavender bath gel in the tub, set the water to ridiculously scalding, then stripped and settled in with a very loud, “Ahhhh.”
She let the hot water do the trick of relaxing her muscles. When her phone buzzed, she picked it up, thinking it was Carolina replying to her text.
It wasn’t. It was Trick.
Are U naked?
She laughed and shook her head. She hadn’t heard from him since last week, and it was just like old times again.