“Hi, Prosper.”
“Hello.”
He opened the door for her. “You’re late.”
“I was getting breakfast at that coffee shop down the street. The waiter always talks my ear off.”
“What coffee shop? There’s one nearby?”
They both crossed the lobby to hang up their coats. A dozen other dancers milled around, but he only saw her.
“Yeah. It’s just called Coffee Place. Creative, huh?” She laughed.
He was spellbound. Like a true fetishist, he noticed everything about her—the novelty of her light laughter, the graceful way she stretched to hang her coat.
“It’s beside the dry cleaners. It’s not fancy, and it’s almost always empty, but the coffee is good,” she said.
“Oh well, that’s the important thing, yes?”
“Yes.”
That lovely laughter again. How had he never heard her laugh? Didn’t they ever joke around during rehearsals? No, they didn’t. He barely even smiled when he was working with her. Trying too hard, he supposed, to hide how he really felt. Trying too hard to resist spanking her tight little ass. If she still held that against him, she wasn’t showing it now, thank goodness.
“Is Blake rehearsing with us today?” she asked.
“No. Just you and me.”
He thought they could use Blake. A chaperone. The other dancers were watching them. No one knows. No one knows the things you think about her. Still, it made him uncomfortable, all those eyes on him. Someone would see. He took a deep breath and gestured to the rehearsal room.
“Well, it’s time. After you.”
She ducked her head in that way that drove him wild and went ahead of him. Still aware of the many pairs of eyes on them, he tried not to stare at her ass in her tight little sweats.
He stayed for the show that night, a glutton for punishment. He hoped Julie came through for him. Anything to take his mind off this girl. When he got home, he logged on to find a handful of messages but no Julie. The messages contained nothing worth responding to. Mostly offers for massages and one badly misspelled message asking if “bleech blond hair insted of red iz ok????” But just as he was about to log off, he got a pop-up chat invite from Julie.
JulieM467: George, are you on?
Again he hesitated. So many fakes. But then she was his only prospect at present. He typed a greeting before she disappeared.
GeorgeA405: I’m here, Julie. How are you?
JulieM467: Great. I got your message. Glad to hear you know what you’re doing. That’s kind of important. But why only fun, no strings? Are you married?
He chuckled. Savvy Julie.
GeorgeA405: No, are you?
JulieM467: I’m too busy to be married. I’m too busy for anything. I actually just got a new job. A second job.
GeorgeA405: What’s your first job?
JulieM467: I can’t really tell you. Not yet. So are you really safe? Or a maniac?
He chuckled again. He just might like this girl.
GeorgeA405: I can be a maniac. But I’m mostly sane. So are you really fit? Met with a girl who claimed to be fit but wasn’t in any sense of the word. Can you e-mail a pic?
JulieM467: I don’t have an anonymous e-mail for stuff like this. Can I post one through this site?
GeorgeA405: I don’t think so. :(
JulieM467: I promise I’m fit. I’m in pretty good shape. What about you? Beer belly? Hillbilly teeth?
GeorgeA405: I do all right. Missing front tooth okay? The gap’s not that big.
JulieM467: Hahaha. You are kidding, right?
GeorgeA405: Yes, no worries. I have all my teeth and more. Why don’t we just meet? You seem fun. Of course you’ll be a good girl and meet me somewhere public first. Well, somewhere public where we can talk privately.
He hit Send and held his breath. She would either say yes or no. She was either for real, or she was yanking him around. He hoped she was real. Her response took so long that disappointment set in, but then:
JulieM467: I know a place like that. An empty little café. How about coffee to start?
He thought about sitting through another awkward blind-date dinner.
GeorgeA405: Coffee sounds SPECTACULAR. Where is this empty little café you speak of?
JulieM467: It’s uptown. It’s on the same block as the Townsend Theater. Do you know where that is? It’s just called Coffee Place. Silly name but the coffee is really good.
Jackson sucked in his breath and pushed back from the desk. His first impulse was to look around for cameras. His next impulse was to quickly log off. It might not be her. How could it possibly be her? It was just a coincidence.
No, it had to be her. On the heels of shock and horror came an intense impulse to try to engage her in impromptu cybersex. What perverse proclivities was his serious little ballerina hiding?
JulieM467: Are you still there?
GeorgeA405: I’m here. Just a minute. Googling your café. I’m actually in the same part of town.
JulieM467: Oh that’s good. But it may be too tiny to be on Google.
GeorgeA405: No, I know it. It’s beside a dry cleaners, right?
JulieM467: Yes, that’s the place. Have you been there?
GeorgeA405: No.
The quick volley of messages halted for a moment. You have to tell her. You can’t just show up. But if he told her, she wouldn’t come. But if she did come, what would happen? How would she react? What would happen to their working relationship? His mind turned and argued against his will. You shouldn’t let this happen at all. You should log off and ignore all future messages from her. But what he finally typed was:
GeorgeA405: Do you want to meet for coffee Sunday? Are you off your two jobs then?
JulieM467: <g> Yes, free from both jobs all day. What time? Noon?
He hoped he wouldn’t live to regret it. He posted one last message.
GeorgeA405: Okay. Noonish at the Coffee Place. I’ll recognize you by your red hair.
Prosper slept in Sunday morning after a night of tossing and turning. She got up and waxed. Bathed and pampered herself. She washed her hair and let it air-dry naturally so it curled up a little. She missed her curls, always straightened and smoothed into a bun. She was feeling curly today.
She’d logged on to the personals site last night after the performance and found a message waiting from George.
Looking forward to coffee tomorrow.
I’ll be there right at noon. I’ll be in a
blue shirt. I have blond hair that will
probably look messy. Still coming?
Messy blond hair. Why did she get so excited over that? She’d never been into messy hair until she met a certain choreographer. She’d written back:
Yes, still coming. I’ll look for the guy
with the gap in his smile.
When she’d checked once more before bed, he’d written back:
It’s really not that big. ;)