Cut Loose Page 2

  I turned around and immediately located James. He stood near the entrance and appeared as though in a trance. His eyes were locked on my exposed thighs as he absentmindedly rubbed his chest.

  “Here’s your drink!”

  Twisting around, I picked up the glass. I took a long swallow and then with beer in hand, slowly walked back to the table, making sure my path took me right by James. I knew I looked good, and for an inexplicable reason, it felt important to make up for my absurd behavior the last time I saw him. I wanted to leave him with a memory of me that did not involve sounding like a farm animal.

  I slowed down as I drew near. His eyes were on my face now and I rubbed my bottom lip with my fingertips. When my shoulder brushed his, I met his heated brown eyes.

  “Hi, James,” I said huskily.

  He cleared his throat and just stared at me for a moment, his gaze roaming from my red lips back up to my eyes. He inclined his head slightly. “Frannie.” He let his eyes trail down to my lips once more, then walked away with his hands deep in his pockets.

  I stared after him, watching him duck under the bar and stand still with both hands on the back of his neck. He stood like that, completely frozen until he suddenly shook himself out of it and got to work serving waiting customers.

  I sat back down with Laurel and she had a smirk on her face.

  “I saw that,” she teased.

  Resting my chin in my hands, I sighed and admitted defeat. “Mission failed.”

  Three

  I sat on the floor with my legs in front of me, pointing and flexing my feet. Then I brought my legs to my chest and extended first my right leg, then my left, doing the same pointing and flexing of my feet.

  As I stretched, I looked down at my phone resting on the floor between my legs. I browsed my Tinder app, rolling my eyes after each swipe. Too Hipster-y. Swipe. Too Pretty. Swipe. Ugh, monocle guy. Swipe, swipe, swipe!

  Lately, no man had been striking my fancy. It had been months since I’d gotten laid, and I thought I might be developing carpal tunnel syndrome from all the masturbating I’d had to resort to. Even though I’d had mind-blowing sex post-James, he occupied every corner of my mind.

  I’d tried to ignore him and the feelings just seeing him stirred up in me, but it was no use. I’d even met dates at Bar Royal—much to my friends’ disapproval—to show James and myself I was unaffected and could move on. None of that worked. He’d gotten under my skin and I thought about him and his stupid beautiful beard more than I’d ever admit.

  “What in the world is happening in here?” my friend Rachel asked when she walked into the break room of our salon.

  I smiled up at her and continued my stretches. “My legs were cramping, so I’m stretching.”

  She sat down next to me on the floor. “Busy day, huh? This is the first time I’ve sat down all day, and I’m really not sure if I’ll be able to get up!”

  “Busy day,” I agreed. “Do some stretches with me, then you’ll be all limber to go home to your man.”

  Rachel laughed. “Joe manages to bend me in ways I didn’t know I could be bent, but I’m sure a little pre-stretching couldn’t hurt.”

  She moved so her legs were in front of her and I guided her through some pointing and flexing exercises.

  “Hey, Eliza and I were talking about grabbing a drink at the wine bar. Want to come?”

  Eliza, my good friend and boss, co-owned the salon with Rachel. The wine bar down the street from Salon 410 was our spot for after work drinks and tapas. Somewhere along the line, it had become a habit for one of us to say ‘wine bar’ whenever we were having a rough day, had something to spill, or just needed a little girlfriend time. We usually ended up there once or twice a week, though we’d been going less often now that Rachel had fallen madly in love and I’d started taking dance classes.

  “I’d love to, it’s been too long since all three of us had a glass of wine together, but I’m actually going to a dance class tonight.” I glanced at Rachel and from the laughter I could tell she tried unsuccessfully to suppress, I knew what she wanted to ask. “No, Rachel, there won’t be any tutus.”

  Rachel let out a giggle. “I’d really love to see you dance. With or without a tutu.”

  I hopped up from the floor and pulled Rachel to her feet.

  “That might be possible. I’ve been staying after class to work on a piece. Maybe I’ll record myself if I can get it right.”

  Rachel clapped softly and bounced up and down. “You have to do it!”

  I laughed. “We’ll see. Anyway, I better head out. Text you later!”

  I walked through the quiet salon. Only one client was still getting her hair cut. I found Eliza in the reception area organizing magazines when I stopped off to say goodnight.

  “‘Night, E, see you tomorrow.”

  She looked up. “No wine bar?”

  I shook my head. “No wine bar. I’ve got a dance class tonight.”

  Eliza smiled and giggled lightly.

  I growled. “No. There will be no tutus!”

  She held her hands up. “I’m sorry, Rachel is a bad influence! Have fun at your class!”

  I waved then headed out.

  Salon 410 was on a historic main street in an adorable town called Tiber City. It was only a twenty-minute drive from my place in Baltimore, and I liked getting out of the city to go to work every day. Before I worked there I bounced around from salon to salon, never really finding a “home.” But when I walked into the sunny space on the bottom floor of a one-hundred-fifty-year-old building and met Eliza and Rachel, a strong feeling of being in the right place came over me. Even after working here for four years, that feeling hadn’t waned.

  Luckily the traffic was light on the way back to Baltimore. I parked at the dance studio and ran inside. After changing into a black leotard and dance shorts, I hurried into my class, which had already started. I found a spot near the door and joined the rest of the dancers warming up with theirs arms over their heads and twisting their bodies from side to side.

  In a class of ten dancers, I stood out as the oldest by a decade. It had been years since I’d taken a dance class when I started again a few months ago, but I thought I held up pretty damn well out there with a bunch of nineteen and twenty year olds.

  Ms. Catherine was an ancient wisp of a woman with a booming voice, who had been teaching modern dance for at least a hundred years.

  She chanted, “Twist, ah-twist, ah-twist, and breathe. One, two, three, four, contract, five, six, seven, release…” and banged her cane on the wooden floor when we weren’t perfectly in time with her commands. I’d become so used to dance teachers like her from my years of classes, her dramatics didn’t faze me at all.

  When the class ended, I was a sweaty mess but also full of adrenaline and ready to dance all night. As I wiped my forehead with a towel, I heard my full name being called.

  “Francisca Rivera!”

  I looked up and smiled broadly.

  “Hey, Ryan O’Malley!”

  My favorite male dancer in the world, who also happened to be the owner of the dance school, kissed my cheek. “Good class tonight, Frannie?” Then he leaned in and whispered, “Ms. Catherine giving you hell?”

  I nodded and laughed, reaching up to bobby pin my long bangs off my face. “Really good. Dancing with those nineteen-year-old girls makes me forget I’m twenty-nine. And Ms. Catherine wouldn’t be Ms. Catherine if she didn’t give us hell. It’s why we love her!”

  He laughed lightly. “You’re as beautiful as the day I met you, when you actually were nineteen. There’s still no one with better legs than you.” He wiggled his eyebrows at me lasciviously.

  I smiled. “Oh, do go on, Ryan! I’m always open for compliments.”

  He laughed and tugged on a strand of my short hair. “If only I were into the ladies, you’d be just my type, with your legs for days and big brown eyes.”

  “You’ll always be the one who got away,” I replied dramatically, clutchi
ng my chest.

  Ryan and I were once part of a professional dance company. For two years we danced all over the world. He’d continued dancing professionally, but my path went in a different direction. We had stayed in touch off and on throughout the years, mostly through emails and the occasional text, and when he moved to Baltimore and opened his studio, I lined up to be his first student. I hadn’t realized how much I’d missed dancing until I was back in my leotard, chasseing across the wooden boards.

  We both giggled, then I asked, “Do you mind if I use one of the studios for a half hour or so?”

  He shrugged. “Sure, use studio B. There aren’t any more classes in there tonight, so take your time.”

  As I walked toward the studio I called over my shoulder, “I might ask you to record me in a few minutes, okay?” He nodded absently as I entered the empty room.

  I turned on my music and threw myself into dancing. As much as I enjoyed taking classes and following routines dictated by the teacher, there was nothing like finding a song that called to me and expressing the feeling it evoked within my body. I never felt more like myself than when I danced. I wasn’t a sassy sidekick or a party girl or a man-eater. I was just Frannie, and that seemed to finally be enough.

  Over the past few weeks, I’d loosely choreographed my steps, so I let the feel of the music and lyrics direct the movements of my body. It was freeing to dance by instinct and after I ran through the piece a few times I felt satisfied with the result.

  When I was ready for him to record me, I opened the door and called out, “Ryan, get your booty in here, I need you.”

  He stuck his head out of his office and yelled across the lobby, “I’m in the middle of something in here. If you can wait a minute, I’ll send my little brother to do it.”

  I gave him a thumbs-up, then stepped back into the room and cued up my music. I looked up as the door opened and almost dropped my phone. Taking up most of the doorway was James.

  He raised his hand. “Hi, Frannie.”

  Four

  “Hi, James.” I swallowed, hard. “What are you doing here?”

  He gestured over his shoulder. “Ryan’s my brother. I was helping him out with something in the office.”

  My eyes raked over him, from his scuffed leather boots up, up, up to the top of his unruly auburn hair. “You’re the little brother?”

  I’d been vaguely aware that Ryan had a brother, but we’d never really talked about family. Our conversations veered more toward snarky pop culture references.

  James smiled, and I barely held in a whimper at the sight. “Well, younger brother. I don’t think anyone’s called me little in a long time.”

  I stared at him. “No, you’re certainly not little.”

  He cleared his throat. “So, uh, Ryan said you wanted me to record you dancing?”

  I stared at him blankly for a moment, then shook myself when I realized what he said. “You don’t have to. I just told my friend Rachel…” I trailed off, lost for words for the first time in my life.

  “I know Rachel.” He picked up my phone and held it out. “Are you ready? Where do you want me to stand?”

  I motioned with my hand weakly. “Um, right there’s fine.”

  I guess we’re doing this.

  I pressed play on my music and ran over to my spot on the floor. I lay down in the middle of the room with my back arched when the opening beats of my music began. I rolled across the floor and slowly stood. As the song played, I found my eyes were on James instead of watching myself in the mirror like usual. He focused on me with such intensity, goose bumps blossomed along my skin. My gaze locked with his as I grand jeted across the room. When I landed right in front of him, I let the music flow through me as I pirouetted around and around. As the song ended, I lay back on the floor, this time in a split with my chest resting on the ground.

  When the music stopped and the only sound in the room was my heavy breathing, I stood up slowly then walked over to a solemn James and smiled at him. “Thank you.” I held my hand out for my phone.

  He handed it to me. “That was—wow. You’re a beautiful dancer.”

  I nodded. “I may be a mess of a person, but there are two things I know I’m good at—doing hair and dance. Thank god one of them pays the bills.”

  “Don’t talk about yourself that way,” he said softly.

  I cocked my head. “What way?”

  “You know. You’re not a mess. Don’t say that.”

  I stepped closer to him, close enough I could have reached up and felt his silky beard. “How do you know I’m not a mess? My nickname is Frananas because I’m so bananas.”

  “I’ve been watching you for a long time, Frannie. I know.”

  His deep voice pulled me even closer to him like a magnet. I could feel his body heat on my already overheated body.

  “Did I miss it?” Ryan asked as he came through the open door. I stepped back from James and smiled.

  “You’re a day late and a dollar short, mister.”

  “Damn.” He tapped his fingertips on the doorframe. “So, my brother tells me you two know each other. Small world, huh?”

  I glanced at James. “I wouldn’t say we know each other. We’re mildly acquainted.”

  James grumbled in response.

  Brushing by them both, I went into the lobby and pulled my leggings on over my dance clothes, then slipped on my boots and jacket. When I looked up, both Ryan and James were watching me.

  Now that they were standing next to each other, I studied them briefly and recognized their familial resemblance. They both had the same auburn hair, chocolate brown eyes, and heavy brow, but that’s where the similarities ended. Ryan was average height, with the long, lean muscles of a dancer, whereas James had to be at least six-foot-four with a broad chest and shoulders that looked like they’d come from years of hard physical labor.

  “Sweetie, do you think you could give James a ride home? I told him I would, but I still have some work to do in the office, and his place is right by yours.”

  I glanced from Ryan to James, who studied a spot over my shoulder, back to Ryan and shrugged.

  “Sure. Come on, fella, let’s hit the road.” I grabbed my bag, blew a kiss to Ryan, and walked out to my car, not glancing back to see if James followed. I didn’t need to see him, I could feel him close behind me.

  Seated in my small sedan, I watched James bend himself like a pretzel to fit in the passenger seat. A laugh burst out of me when he moved the seat back as far as it would go but was still crammed in.

  He raised an eyebrow. “What?”

  I shook my head. “Nothing, you just look like you’re in a clown car. Your poor knees.”

  He smiled tentatively. “I’m pretty used to it at this point. You should see me on an airplane.”

  I smiled back at him. “I pity your seat mates.” I started the car. “Where to?”

  “You can just take me to the bar.”

  “Are you sure? I can take you home. I don’t have anywhere to be tonight. My roommate is out at some lawyer-y function, so I’m just going to sit home and vegetate.”

  “I’m sure,” he said quietly.

  As I drove, I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye. He studied me, his gaze locked on the side of my face.

  “Like what you see?” I asked playfully.

  James grunted softly. “I do.”

  I shivered at his short, gruff reply. There was something a little caveman about him. Something untamed tempting me to explore. I had a feeling James was full of hidden depths that would take years to discover. I pushed the thought away, though; I was strictly a snorkeler, never a scuba diver. The fish near the surface were pretty enough for me.

  James didn’t seem to want to talk, only stare, so I let him take his fill as we drove in silence. I reveled in the feeling of his eyes on me.

  We met in the spring when he started bartending at Bar Royal. The first time I laid eyes on him, I wanted to climb over the bar and have my way
with him, right then and there. Instead, we engaged in a weeks long battle of who could maintain eye contact the longest without saying a word. One late night, I couldn’t take it anymore; I held out my hand and told him to come with me. He stared at my hand for so long I thought he might turn me down, but then he threw down his towel, walked around the bar, and placed his hand in mine.

  Once we were in my apartment, I led him to my room. His gaze was intensely heated as he watched me remove my clothes, piece by piece. Completely naked, I pressed myself into his clothed body and when our lips met, my first thought was finally. The kissing had been sparks-flying, heart-meltingly good. Everything after that, though? Soul-crushingly bad. He left me naked, horny, and confused.

  When we pulled into the parking garage below my apartment building, I turned off the car and twisted in my seat to face James. This was the first time we’d been alone since our dreadful one-nighter and I wasn’t going to waste the opportunity.

  “So, James…”

  He turned to me as much as he could in the small space. “Yes, Frannie?”

  “What the hell were you doing that night? It felt like my pussy was your penis’ sworn enemy and your mission was to destroy it.”

  James made a strangled sound and studied his hands. “Was it really that bad?”

  I scoffed. “Come on, I stopped you in the middle. You can’t think that was good?”

  “I wasn’t sure. Didn’t you, you know…?”

  He still wasn’t looking at me, so I reached out and pulled his beard lightly. “Did I come? No, James, I didn’t come. What the hell, man? You’re acting like you’ve never banged before.”

  He muttered something I couldn’t hear.

  I leaned closer to him. “What did you say?”

  He finally lifted his head and met my eyes. Our faces were only inches apart, tempting me to lean in and brush my lips against his, but I waited.

  He took a deep breath. “You were my first.”

  I gasped, and my mouth hung open. So stunned by his bombshell, I couldn’t seem to form words.