Move (Club Kitten Dancers Book 1) (2 page)

Bailey

“What kind of milk would you like with your mocha?”

Words.

Remember to make words.

That’s what mouths do: they make words.

My mouth can make big words or little words or sometimes in-between words, but today, it seems this bodily orifice has forgotten how to function.

Fuck.

Me.

Silly.

I’m staring at a tall man in uniform, though, and I can’t quite remember how words work. One of the perks of working at Drinks on Me is that it’s close to Forrest Air Force Base, so all of the airmen come here to get their drinks.

One of the downsides to working at Drinks on Me is that it’s close to Forrest Air Force Base, so all of the airmen come here to get their drinks.

“Regular milk is fine,” the airman doesn’t seem to mind that I’m gawking. If anything, he seems amused. Are his eyes twinkling? They must be twinkling. I can’t be imagining that. There’s no way I’m imagining that.

“We have skim,” I say helpfully.

“That’s fine,” he says.

“Three-fifty,” I manage to squeak out.

He hands me cash and I make his change, trying not to touch his hand when I give it back. Of course, this means that I touch his hand extra weirdly and awkwardly, and he flashes me another smile.

The man moves to the side and I take the next person’s order, but she has to repeat it twice because I’m so completely out of it while I’m eye-fucking the airman. Seriously, it should be illegal to be so damn beautiful. His hair is cropped short, of course, and it’s Monday, so he’s got his blues on.

All the baristas at Drinks on Me love Mondays. There’s some sort of morale program where the airmen have to wear their fancy uniforms – the blue ones – on Mondays. Apparently, they all hate this, but everyone else loves it. I don’t know if the blue uniform is supposed to encourage them to love their country more, but it sure as hell makes me proud to be an American.

When his mocha is ready, I stare at it for a minute, then hand it over the counter to him. The man twists it around and looks at it.

“Is everything okay?” I ask.

“No,” he frowns and hands it back.

“Um, what’s wrong, sir?” I’m genuinely confused. I swear I got it right. I even put in the skim milk.

“You forgot to write your phone number,” he smirks, obviously proud of himself, and I raise an eyebrow.

He hands me the cup.

“Does that line usually work for you?”

He nods. His smile doesn’t falter.

I write my phone number and hand the cup back.

“What’s your name?” He asks.

“Bailey.”

“I’ll call you,” he says, and I cock my head.

“Not a text?”

“Not for you, Bailey.”

He walks away and I stare as he leaves the shop. The door jingles as he walks away, blues and all. He slides his cover on his head once he’s outside and I can’t help but wish I’d said something more clever. Anything. I should have said anything.

“Wow,” a voice says dreamily. It’s the woman who ordered after him. She’s probably in her mid-50s and looks like she’s on her way to a professional business meeting. Maybe she’s a lawyer or a CEO. Still, she’s looking at the airman the same way I am. “No wonder you got my order wrong. He’s something else.”

“Sorry,” I mumble, and hand her a coupon for a free drink. It’ll come out of my pay, but it’s better than having her complain to my supervisor.

“No, no,” she hands it back. “Don’t worry about it, hon. Watching him in that uniform made my day.”

She leaves, and I finish my shift without incident. After work, I head next door to Club Kitten and check in at the front desk.

“No Kasey tonight?” Paige asks me. She teaches level three classes and has short blonde hair. She’s cute and curvy and always has this huge smile on her face. All of the dance instructors do. Well, all of the ones I’ve met. I wonder what it is about dancing that makes everyone feel so relaxed. Maybe it’s the freedom to express ourselves without judgment or perhaps it’s simply the community of friends and likeminded women, but it’s nice.

It’s so different from the rest of the world.

“Not tonight. She’s got a night class.” I shrug. Kasey takes way more classes than me. At our university, once you take 12 credits, anything more than that is the same price. She totally milks it and takes the max amount every semester. She plans to double major, but I’m worried about her. There’s no way this is easy on her. She’s got to be stressed to the max or failing her classes, and I don’t know which.

“Good for her,” Paige says. “I know you guys have to work hard to find time to fit dancing in your schedules, and I’m glad to see you, but I hope she’s doing okay. She hasn’t been around much this week.”

“Hopefully she’ll have some time to come dance after midterms,” I tell Paige. Then I head back to the locker room to change.

Once I’m in my booty shorts and a thin tank top, I head to the dance room. Like the pole room, this one has floor-to-ceiling mirrors. Chairs are lined against one wall for easy use during classes and there are cubbies for shoes.

I grab a yoga mat and find a spot to stand during class, then start doing some stretches while I wait for the other girls to arrive. Slowly, the room begins to fill. Tall girls, short girls, old girls, young girls: we’re all the same. We’ve come to dance class for a common reason. We all want to feel good about ourselves and we all want to get in shape.

Haley bounces into the room right as class is supposed to start and grins.

“Hey everyone! I’m teaching Seductive Stretching today! Thanks for coming out. Let’s get started.”

She hits a button on a remote and music fills the room. We follow along as she leads us through a series of guided stretches and by the time we’re done, I’m sore, sweaty, and sated.

Kasey was right when she said Club Kitten was the place to go to move on with my life. All I can think about is dancing. I’ve lost ten pounds since I started and not only do I feel better, but my clothes fit better. I move more gracefully.

I’m happier.

Little do I know all that’s about to change.

***

When Professor Scranton asks for me to stay after class, I nod glumly, dreading the confrontation. I realize I’m only a freshman in college, but last time I checked, most freshmen weren’t dealing with their mom dating their teacher.

It’s one of those things that isn’t supposed to happen, but sometimes it does. Maybe I’m just bitter because my dad left so long ago that I can’t remember anything about him. Maybe I’m just sad because it’s not fair I have to deal with my mom’s mid-life crisis in the form of argyle sweaters and khakis.

Maybe I’m just bitchy because she found someone and I have no one. The airman from the coffee shop flashes in my mind and I remember him asking for my number. Still, he hasn’t texted me yet and it’s been a few days. If he was going to call me, he would have. I don’t need to think about him anymore.

Students file slowly out of class and I drag my feet gathering my things. Slowly, I shove my notebook in my bag. Slowly, I grab my cell and shove it in my pocket. Slowly, I pick up my pencil.

When I reach the front of the classroom, Professor Scranton is leaning against the side of his desk, impatiently waiting for me.

“Well, you certainly don’t seem to be in a rush to talk to me,” he snaps.

I bite back a reply, instead pasting a plastic smile on my face.

“You wanted to see me?” I ask.

“I thought we should talk,” he says, handing me my latest paper. There’s a big, fat, ugly
D
scribbled on the front.

I’m shocked.

I poured my heart and soul into that paper. It definitely deserved more than a “D.” My first impulse is to throw the essay back at him and say, “try again,” but I don’t. I need to pass this class in order to take more advanced English courses next year. Since I want to major in English, it’s kind of important.

“A ‘D’?” I manage to ask.

“Your introduction was sloppy,” he says simply. “And your conclusion didn’t make sense based off your main points.”

“Um, okay?” I don’t really know what to say.

“Listen,” he lowers his voice. “I can’t play favorites just because I’m dating your mom. You know that, right?”

“I never asked you for favors, but I think a ‘D’ is a bit harsh.” I shrug, shoving the essay in my bag. Maybe I can retake this class as a summer course. If Scranton won’t pass me, it might be my only option. I can get extra shifts at work or find a second job to pay for the class. Yeah, I wanted to spend the summer messing around with my friends and dancing as much as possible, but if it’s not going to happen, it’s not going to happen.

I take a deep breath.

“If you want to come see me during my office hours, we can discuss a rewrite,” Scranton says. His voice grates on me.

“A rewrite?” I didn’t realize he offered those in his classes.

“You can’t earn higher than a ‘C’ on a rewritten paper, but if you’re willing to revise the entire thing and come up with new sources to back up your arguments, I’d be willing to read it.”

This paper is worth 10% of my total grade and a “C” isn’t much better than a “D.” Still, it won’t hurt to try, and the way Scranton is looking at me, I have a feeling he’s not really giving me much of a choice.

“Of course,” I say, trying not to sound glum. “A rewrite sounds great.”

“Perfect. I’ll be in my office from 3:30 to 5:00 this afternoon.”

“See you then.”

I turn and leave the room, trying not to cry as I make my way out of the classroom. I worked really, really hard on that essay and there’s no way it deserved the grade he gave me. Still, I need to look at things positively, right?

This gives me a chance to work on my writing skills and that’s what I want: I want to be a writer.

Even if Scranton doesn’t see my potential, I see it.

Ignoring the way he makes me feel, I grab some food on campus and mess around on my phone until it’s time to meet Scranton. When I head into his office, I’m not shocked to see my mother hurrying out, looking disheveled.

Gross.

Was she here for a nooner? Really?

I slip back around the corner and luckily, she heads in the opposite direction and doesn’t see me. Good. The last thing I want to do is deal with her drama. My mom did her best raising me as a single mother, but sometimes I wish she hadn’t dated so much while I was a teenager. My mom is really insecure and tends to go from guy-to-guy and relationship-to-relationship.

I’m not more upset about her and Scranton because I know it’s not going to last the semester. My biggest concern, sadly, is that they’ll break up right before finals and he’ll take out his frustration on my grade.

I knock at the door to his office and Scranton opens it quickly. He seems surprised to see me. Did he think I was Mom again?

“Oh, it’s, uh, you.”

I nod, looking pointedly at the large clock on the wall.

“3:30, right?”

“Yes, uh, that’s right. Come on in.”

The room smells like sex and moldy books. Gross. How is Scranton still teaching here? I know it’s nearly impossible to fire professors, but come on, now. I manage to find my way to a chair amongst the clutter of books, papers, and trinkets scattered throughout his office. I hope this isn’t where he and my mother just… I shudder at the thought and push it from my head.

“So, my paper,” I yank it from my bag. “What pointers do you have?”

***

“He said what?” Kasey shrieks when I get home and tell her about my day.

“He said it’s crap. He said I’ll never be a writer. Oh, and he said I have to choose a new topic and start from scratch.”

“That’s not how a
rewrite
works!” Kasey protests, and I shrug.

“I went to my advisor and he told me to shove it. It’s not like I’m being forced to do the rewrite. I just don’t want to be stuck with a ‘D’ in the class.”

“You won’t be. He’ll grade on a curve. I’ve had him before. He always grades on a curve.” Kasey seems certain. She’s a sophomore, so she knows a little more when it comes to the professors.

“I just don’t want to deal with him.”

“Or your mom.”

“That, too.” I get up from the couch and grab a bag of carrots from the fridge. I pour a little portion of dressing into a bowl and come back over. Kasey reaches for a carrot and dips it in the salad dressing.

“Mmm,” she groans, crunching on it. “I don’t know why people don’t like vegetables.”

I resist the urge to slap her.

“Let’s just be honest. It’s not like they taste like cookies.”

We’re both trying to be healthier, though. Kasey wants to compete in the Darling Dancers competition that Club Kitten is sponsoring at the end of the year. It’s not until November and right now it’s mid-February, so she’s got plenty of time to prepare.