War Paint by Devyn Morgan

Author:Devyn Morgan
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Devyn Morgan
Published: 2018-01-06T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 12

Three days later, Alfred had to admit that even though Brent was not what he would call a “natural dancer,” he had a grace of his very own. They were both crazy busy, but to his utter amazement, Brent had carved out a three hour slot in his packed schedule to drive over, take his lesson, and then get back home and crash in bed.

His own bed. He was able to feel Brent’s tired presence through the walls, as though his content, languid mood seeped through brick and plaster into the pristine dance studio Alfred had set up in his living room. He was hardly ever there – either training, or on the road – but Alfred had been giddy with happiness when he discovered that Brent had not been scared away by his first lesson. Alfred had found his own reaction both amusing and disturbing.

Brent Dixon was a closet case. Cute, messy, long-haired, a hunk of delicious man-flesh which he could never have, not unless he kept everything on the hush-hush. And where was the fun in that? Wasn’t a relationship about sharing a life together, about reveling in each other’s happiness?

Too bad about the closet detail. Brent was as nice inside as he was chiseled and cut under his brand-new dance tights and shirt. If Alfred was destined to ever fall for anyone, he could do a lot worse than Brent.

On this Tuesday night, Alfred had not left for home to observe his jealously-guarded “away from the theater” day. He came in, changed, and entered his customary Studio D, only to find Brent already waiting for him. His larger form was sprawled in the corner of the room, stretching.

“Hi, I see you’re early!” Alfred chirped, feeling as awkward as a teenager on a date. His usual motions of setting up the music and limbering himself up felt stilted, as though Brent’s observation would affect the quality of his movement.

“Hi, Alfred. I didn’t think you’d mind. I got in early, just in case.” Brent lifted his head up from the floor, and flashed him a grin. “No hamburgers this time, I promise!”

“Oh, God.” Alfred rolled his eyes. “Have you seen the videos of that?” The footage of Brent, beautifully flummoxed at having been caught doing something ordinary, had populated fan sites for at least two days.

“Yeah. My nutritionist wanted me to confess to living on soda and fries all the time, which is totally unfair.” Brent stretched into a full split and leaned forward, settling his forehead on his knee.

“You’re flexible, that’s good,” Alfred commented as he adjusted his dance shoes. He couldn’t resist a jab. “Maybe you should consider appearing on stage!”

Brent laughed, shaking his powerful shoulders. “I could perform feats of strength. Hell, I could bench-press you!”

Alfred cocked his hip, and surveyed Brent’s body from a non-lustful point of view. “Interesting.”

Brent straightened up. “Interesting? What’s interesting?”

“The idea of you bench-pressing me. Remember, I’m the guy, so I do the lifting, right? The ballerina will run and jump, I’ll raise her into a lift, and so on.

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