LUKA (The Rhythm Series, Book 2)

  I had to get her off the stage. There was no time to do anything else, so I ran forward, doing a knee-slide, so I was beneath Beverley’s eye-line, then I scooped Alice into my arms and ran offstage.

  I carried her right up to the women’s changing room. By then the shock was wearing off and when I dumped her into a chair, she wrapped her arms around her knees and started rocking.

  “Ohmygodohgmygodohmygod!” Then she looked up at me, tears staining her cheeks. “I’m so going to get fired.”

  That was my thought, too. It just depended on how good her contacts really were.

  Gretchen came bustling in followed by a glowering Kathryn.

  “Worse things happen at sea, liebchen. You must not worry.” She patted my arm. “You are a nice boy.”

  I think she would have said more, but Kathryn was steaming.

  “Luka, would you give us a moment?”

  Alice shot me a panicked look.

  “Yes, ma’am,” I said reluctantly, heading back to the basement.

  The yelling started right away, and I had a feeling Alice wouldn’t be dancing in the second half.

  I didn’t see Alice leave the theater, but I heard she was in tears. Kathryn was furious, and we were all keeping our heads down.

  She wasn’t fired even though Kathryn wanted to.

  “Luka,” she snapped, striding toward me. “You’re freestyling the sections you’d have danced with that idiot. And for God’s sake get Bev’s airplane lift right and the overhead one.”

  When your D.C. talks to you like that, there’s only one answer.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  The second half went okay, I wouldn’t say any more than that. If I’d been D.C. on the show, I’d have pulled my role completely, even though I was the guy doing the airplane lift with Bev. It was putting a lot of trust in someone on their first night, especially after what had happened. I appreciated the vote of confidence, but everyone was slightly on edge, and we all lost our groove, just a little.

  I don’t think the audience noticed, or if they did, it didn’t stop them cheering at the end. Felt good.

  I took my time showering and getting changed. I was tired, not having slept much the night before, but a good kind of tired—which meant I’d sleep really well tonight. Although the thought of going back to an empty apartment didn’t hold much appeal.

  Seth had been sending me texts all day, but we hadn’t arranged to meet. Maybe tomorrow, after I’d . . .

  “Hey, handsome.”

  Seth was leaning against the wall next to the artists’ entrance, a huge smile on his face. He was wearing a suit, so he must have come from work. His hours were crazier than mine.

  “I couldn’t wait to see you again,” he said. “I plan on becoming your new favorite stalker.”

  “You know, you’re kind of crazy.”

  “In a good way?”

  I laughed. “Works for me!”

  “Oh, that’s a relief. Look, I don’t know if you fancy it, but a friend texted me to say they’re all meeting up at The Yard.”

  “I’m pretty tired . . .”

  “It hasn’t got a late license, so they’re only open till midnight, but they serve food. Besides, you have to eat. Let me feed you, baby. And we have to celebrate your opening night. I would have come, but work . . . how’d it go?”

  He raised his hand to stroke my cheek gently, dropping it when some of the musicians walked past, giving me a wave as their eyes skated over Seth.

  “Sorry,” he said quickly.

  “I’m fine with you touching me, Seth,” I said, pulling on the lapels of his jacket and kissing the shit out of him.

  I heard the theater door open a couple of times, but I ignored it.

  When we pulled apart, he was grinning.

  “Still sorry?” I asked him.

  “Absolutely not. Best idea ever. I am a genius.”

  “Are you going to get bigheaded?”

  “Nope. My head is of perfect proportions, much like your arse.”

  “You’re an ass man.”

  “You noticed.”

  We walked through the busy streets, people enjoying the warm summer night, sitting at tables drinking wine or sipping coffee. I love that about cities—you can feel companionship with strangers.

  Or it can feel like the loneliest place on earth. Perspective is everything.

  The Yard was a non-descript building decorated with hanging baskets and arranged on three floors. But best of all, it had an outdoor area that was lit with tiny strings of lights, and had a chill vibe.

  Seth waved at a small group of guys who were sitting around a wooden table with garden furniture.

  “Finally, Mr. Wanker Banker!” said the one wearing jeans so tight they’d obviously cut off the blood supply to his brain. What a tool.

  Seth rolled his eyes at the dickhead.

  “If that’s what you call working overtime,” said another, his eyes darting to me as he smiled at Seth, “you can count me in.”

  He stood up and shook hands with Seth then gave him a quick hug.

  “Guys, this is my friend Luka, and these losers are Edwin, Jeff, Chris and Julian.”

  “You didn’t need to dress up for us,” sneered the one named Julian, eyeing my tired sweats and washed-out t-shirt.

  I shrugged and scanned his crotch-crippling jeans and expensive leather jacket. “I didn’t know we were grading on a curve.”

  The others laughed and Julian threw me an annoyed glance.

  “Luka came straight from work.”

  “Oh, please don’t say the word ‘straight’! It gives me hives.”

  Seth groaned but didn’t answer. Then he passed me a menu and I decided on a club sandwich with fries.

  Edwin whistled, his face a picture of jealousy.

  “I wish I could eat like that and keep my figure. What’s your secret? Gym bunny?”

  I laughed. “Yeah, I guess.”

  “Luka’s a dancer,” said Seth, pride in his voice.

  “Oh? Like Sarah?” asked Edwin. “I adore your sister, Seth.”

  “Yes,” answered Seth, his shoulders tightening a fraction at the mention of her name.

  I kept quiet—if he didn’t want to talk about his sister, that was fine by me. I didn’t want another awkward evening.

  “Yummy accent. Where are you from, Luka?”

  We talked about Slovenia for a while. Although none of them had been there, they’d been to a lot of places in Europe that I knew or had worked in.

  With the exception of Julian, I liked Seth’s friends. I tended to be cautious around new people, especially when I was dating a guy and . . .

  The thought brought me to a halt. Is that what this was? Dating? I glanced across at Seth and he smiled at me happily, reaching out to put his arm around my shoulders.

  Working in dance, or any creative area, people are more open about their sexuality and generally more accepting. But in the normal world, not so much.

  And it was different for Seth, especially from what he’d said about his work, so I was careful with his friends and I followed his cues on how much touching was allowed. I thought about his small freak-out when he’d touched my cheek outside the theater. He was much more at ease with his gay friends.

  I finished my food, sharing my fries with Seth. Everything was so easy with him. Just . . . right.

  “Will you come home with me tonight?” he whispered into my neck.

  “I really need to get some sleep,” I said, arching one eyebrow. “And you look trashed. You’ve been yawning for the last hour.”

  He waved a hand. “I’ll have a lie-in on Saturday. Please, Luka. Don’t make me beg.”

  “But I like it when you beg. A lot.”

  “Fine. Pleeeeease come home with me tonight. Pleeeeeeeeeeeease.”

  I laughed at how ridiculous he was being. And very cute. I couldn’t resist his pleading eyes.

  “Okay, okay, I’ll go home with you!”

  Seth leaned back
in his seat, looking very pleased with himself.

  “That was easier than I expected.”

  “Yeah, I’m totally hot to see Michael.”

  Seth cocked his head to one side. “I was right about the ears, wasn’t I?”

  “You are so fucking adorable,” I said, kissing him hard.

  Then I laughed out loud, lighter and happier than I’d felt in years.

  It seemed like a summer of possibilities, but I didn’t want to think what it would mean when the summer was over.

  “DON’T TELL THEM you’re bi.”

  I stared at Seth, my forehead creasing in a frown as he cringed and looked away from my stunned expression.

  He was hosting a dinner party on Monday evening, my day off, and had invited several of his friends. I got the impression that it was a big deal for him, although he hadn’t admitted as much.

  I was still staring at him, wondering if I’d heard right.

  “What? Why not?”

  He shoved his hands in his pockets and shuffled his feet, watching me from the corner of his eye.

  “They won’t understand.”

  I could feel a hot burn of anger in the pit of my stomach.

  “Seriously? At a dinner with gay guys, I have to hide my sexuality?”

  Seth flushed, looking upset.

  “Luka . . .”

  “No.”

  I said it quietly, but there was no doubt he heard me.

  “Please.”

  I blew out a calming breath, trying not to over-react, but I was pissed.

  “I can’t believe that you’re asking me to do this, to lie to your friends. Fuck’s sake! You of all people know what that means.”

  “I know and I’m sorry. But . . . I just want the evening to go well.”

  I scrubbed my hands over my hair.

  “This is bullshit!”

  He tried to grab my hands and hug me, but I pushed him away roughly.

  “Please, Luka. These are my friends.”

  “And what am I?”

  “Everything.”

  His reply stopped me in my tracks, but then my lip lifted in a sneer.

  “If that was true, you’d accept me as I am.”

  “I do! I do accept you! I lo—I really like you.”

  I blinked, pain and pleasure shooting through me. He said the words like he meant them. Almost. But what was love? Just one chance to get it right? Or horribly, horribly wrong.

  “You . . . you love me? It’s too soon to say that.”

  “Is it? Maybe, I don’t know. I’ve never felt . . . so much. It scares me how much.”

  His beautiful blue-gray eyes were glazed with passion and a little desperation.

  I dropped my gaze. “I didn’t know that.”

  “Now you do.”

  I chewed on my lip and looked away.

  “So now if I don’t do what you want, that makes me an ungrateful bastard.”

  “That’s not why I said it.”

  His voice sounded pained but lined with exasperation, too.

  I didn’t want to love him—that wasn’t part of the plan. It was supposed to be a summer thing, casual, fun. Not . . . not what it was becoming. I didn’t do serious. I stayed away from complicated. Being bi was complicated enough. People would say they accepted it, but I could see the questions, the doubt in their eyes. Even Seth. Especially Seth.

  I stayed away from relationships and kept everything platonic with my work friends. Or I tried to. But this felt like the beginning of needing someone.

  I was fucking terrified.

  “You understand what you’re asking me to do by lying to them?”

  I could tell from the look on his face that he knew.

  Coming out as gay or bi is one of the hardest things you can face as a teenager, even as an adult. To be confused about your sexuality, to know that you’re different, but not to understand how or why. First, you have to face the truth yourself—that’s really hard, really painful, because you know you’re separating yourself from the norm for the rest of your life. No wife and 2.4 children for you.

  Then, you have to tell your friends and your family. And that can go really, really badly. Speaking from personal experience.

  It took even longer to recognize and acknowledge my bisexuality. So for the man who was becoming important to me, for him to ask me to lie—it really fucking hurt.

  He was watching me, his eyes pleading.

  “Fine. I’ll do it. But don’t ask me to lie for you again.”

  He walked up and put his arms around my neck, resting his cheek against mine.

  “I won’t. I promise.”

  I let him hold me for a second, and then I pushed away, picking up my jacket and keys as I went.

  “Where are you going?”

  “Home.”

  “But . . .”

  “I need some space.”

  “Luka, I . . .”

  “Just for tonight.”

  He nodded, his expression torn. My place in his life seemed fragile, uncertain.

  “I’m sorry,” he said again.

  “Yeah, I got that.”

  “I love you, Luka.”

  I didn’t reply.

  By Monday evening, I’d let the irritation fade, and I’d let Seth make it up to me in bed. He was a very sensitive lover—he seemed to know what I needed before I did. It made the sex hotter. If it meant more than that, I wasn’t admitting it.

  Seth had planned to bring in caterers until I reminded him that I could cook.

  “But I don’t want you spending your day off in the kitchen,” he said.

  “I don’t mind. I like cooking. I was thinking pea and mint soup, mushroom rižota—risotto to you—with kislo zelje—you’d call it sauerkraut, and palačinke for desert.”

  “Sounds wonderful. Um, what’s paller-chinker?”

  I laughed at his butchered pronunciation.

  “They’re thin pancakes filled with nuts and apricot jelly, topped with melted chocolate and served with sour cream.”

  “Wow, you can do all that?”

  “My babica—my grandmother taught me.”

  “Have I told you lately how amazing you are?”

  “Not since I was fucking you last night.”

  His eyes crinkled at the edges as he grinned back at me, running his tongue over his teeth. Then he glanced at his watch.

  “Ah, shit. I’m going to be late. You’re really okay with making dinner?”

  “Sure. Just bring wine. Lots of wine.”

  “Got it. Or I could bring champagne.”

  “Are we celebrating?”

  “Always,” he winked at me.

  I pulled him toward me and kissed him hard. “Now get your sexy ass out the door. I’ll see you later.”

  “You think my arse is sexy?”

  “Yeah, especially when I’m pounding into it.”

  He left, grinning, with a promise that we’d be returning to that topic later.

  I spent a chill day shopping for groceries, cooking and hanging out with Michael.

  I stared at myself in the bathroom mirror. I wanted to make a good impression for Seth’s sake because it seemed to matter to him. But it was my night off, so I wasn’t shaving and pale gold stubble covered my cheeks and chin. Arlene insisted that her dancers were clean-cut. No body hair either, so once a month, I got a chest, armpit, sac and crack wax, as well as a spray tan. Fun times. Contractually, I didn’t have to do the manscaping, although a lot of male dancers did. For one thing, it makes your dick look bigger, not that I had any concerns in that department. But when I dance, I sweat a lot, so I just prefer it.

  I changed into my favorite jeans and a long-sleeved knit tee that belonged to Seth. But then he texted me to say he was running late.

  I’m on my way. Promise. Please don’t boil Michael!!

  But he still wasn’t back by the time his first guests arrived. Unfortunately, it was the dickhead Julian with a new guy that I didn’t know, named Eugene.


  “Oh!” Julian said with exaggerated surprise. “You’re answering his door now?”

  I smiled and moved to let him in. “Looks like I am.”

  “Something smells good,” Eugene said politely, handing me a bottle of Prosecco.

  “Seth uses this amazing catering service that . . .” began Julian.

  “Actually, I didn’t,” Seth said, appearing from behind and shrugging off his jacket. “Luka cooked. Sorry I’m late, baby,” and he kissed me firmly on the lips and squeezed my ass.

  I raised an eyebrow, surprised by his territorial possessiveness. I hadn’t seen this side of him before.

  “Eugene’s right—it smells amazing. I’m just going to jump in the shower. I’ll be right back.”

  “What do you think of Seth’s little Euro twink?” I heard Julian say to Eugene.

  Yeah, I wasn’t going to let that go.

  “Do you have a problem with me?” I asked, leaning against the doorframe so my biceps bulged and my six-foot height towered over him.

  “Not at all, darlin’,” Eugene answered for him with a smile. “Just crazy jealous of your hotness, that’s all,” And he winked at me.

  I turned my eyes to Julian who seemed surprised that I’d called him out. He refused to look at me and pushed past into the living room.

  “Don’t worry about him,” said Eugene, slapping me on the shoulder. “He’s been PMSing all day. Now, let’s get this party started.”

  More people arrived, including Jeff, Chris and Edwin that I’d met at the Yard, and a couple of older guys, until there were ten of us sprawled out in Seth’s enormous living room, drinking and chatting in small groups.

  Seth’s friends were welcoming and curious—except for the dickhead—appreciative of the fact that I’d cooked for them.

  Seth helped me serve the food, and I was pleased with the sudden silence that descended as they tasted each course.

  Jeff turned to Edwin with a grin.

  “I’m trading you in for Luka—he cooks better than Paula Deen and has eyes like Paul Hollywood.”

  “And a body like Steven Chevrin. Flirt away, darling, he won’t look twice at a teletubby like you.”