“A what?”
“A snappy-looking hat. Tilted over one side of your face. Like you’re a cool dude.”
“Are you saying I’m not cool?”
She bit back a laugh. “Like the coolest dude you know.”
“Like Zac Parotti?”
“Who?”
He laughed, the big bellowing sound causing her to smile. He looked at the cameras and smiled. “I like this one. She’s a keeper.”
“Come on.” She gently slapped his arm. “Stop worrying about what you’re going to wear.”
“Do I need to worry about what you’re going to wear?”
She shook her head. She’d seen the sketch of her outfit, and she didn’t think he’d mind it. “There’s no big billowy skirt for you to get tangled in this time.”
He bit his lip for a moment, and she regretted reminding him of last night’s fail. Resolve dug deeper to make sure he was confident. Which would only come from practice.
“We need to get dancing. Now this dance means you really have to work on your musicality. You need to feel the rhythm, and hit the beats. Which means listening to the song lots of times so you know where to come in. But before we can do that, we need to get to work on all those kicks, and flicks, and your fast footwork. So, are you ready?”
“Bring it.”
So she did.
She was close to puffing by the time they’d finished, but his cardio was pretty good, his stamina impressive, as he’d barely broken a sweat. “I can’t believe I’m puffing and you look like you’ve just gone for a stroll.”
“I go running every morning.” He half-smiled. “Maybe you should come sometime.”
Blessed coolness trickled down her throat as she guzzled her water. “I know it doesn’t look like it at the moment, but I get enough fitness from leading classes here. I occasionally go to Pilates, but I don’t go to the gym and I definitely don’t need to run.”
“You’re missing out.”
“I really don’t think I am.”
He clicked his fingers. “But you are missing out on something.”
“What’s that?”
“The greatest sport on earth.”
“You mean ballet?”
He snorted, and the cameras drew near again. “Ballet isn’t a sport.”
“Yes, it is. Ballerinas are just as much athletes as you are.”
“Come on. It’s not a sport. There aren’t any goals or score lines.”
“Um, excuse me, but ballet is both a sport and an art form. The preparation elite ballerinas undergo is similar to anything you do, and requires similar levels of physical exertion, difficult skills, and long, long hours of discipline.”
“Yeah, but there’s no team or competition—”
“There is.” She stepped closer, enjoying this sparring of words. “We might not have a scoreboard you can read, but there’s plenty of competition to get into the best schools and perform the lead roles and be known as the best. In fact, ballet is so physically demanding that a study ranked ballet as the number one most physically and mentally demanding activity there is. Did you know that?”
“Really?”
She nodded, arms crossed. “So there.”
His mouth puckered into a little smile. “What are we, twelve?”
“Look, I just hate it when people think ballet isn’t a legitimate sport.” She turned around and pointed to her back. “See my muscles? They didn’t get there by accident.”
She spun back around, and she saw how he swallowed. Her leotard might have a low back with its twist-back detail and open cutouts, but it was way more modest than some of the outfits some of the other dancers had worn yesterday. But maybe he wasn’t used to noticing a woman’s back. “Was there anything else?”
He scuffed the floor with his dance shoe. There’d been no complaints about wearing them today.
“What is it?”
He glanced up. “Can you ice-skate?”
“No, no, no! This is such a dumb idea!”
He laughed, holding onto Bailey’s hands. “Come on. You can trust me. I’m not going to let you fall.”
