Love is Always Write Anthology Volume 5

doesn't work, I get frustrated. I drop to my knees and physically put Tyler's feet in the right spots. I realize too late that this puts me in very close proximity to him, and I can smell his sweat. I'm ashamed to find it arousing. I back away and say, "Keep your feet like that." I model the steps again. He's better this time, but he's not moving his hips at all, and it has the effect of making him look like he's stomping.
    "Now move your hips like this," I say, demonstrating.
    He stares at me and tries to ape the movement, but it's all wrong and he looks uncoordinated. Again, without thinking about it, I grab his hips and move them the way they should move.
    His skin is warm under the soft fabric of his yoga pants. His hipbones seem sharp, too. Hell, his whole body is hard, which is evident up close. And I do mean his whole body; the fabric of his pants can't hide his erection. I've been in enough dance classes that I know this is hardly unprecedented, but I have to fight to keep my eyes away from it.
    "Better," Rob says. "Now pretend Sam is Carrie."
    Tyler chokes on his laugh. The actress playing Carrie, a gorgeous girl named Evie, is close to a foot shorter than I am. But Rob glares at us, so Tyler obeys, moving behind me and putting a hand on my waist. I don't know these steps well, and it's clear that Tyler is supposed to lead me, so I do my best to follow him through the routine. He is improving; he already looks less awkward than he did earlier in the rehearsal.
    When Rob is satisfied, he declares us done for the day. Tyler says, "Thanks."
    "No problem."
    He follows me back over to my shoes. "Look, I know you don't like me."
    I shrug. I figure, though, that it's a good idea to bury the hatchet, particularly if we're going to have to work together after all. "Just don't make fun of Jess, all right? Leave him out of this and we'll get along fine."
    I sit on the nearby folding chair. I pull my sneakers on, aware that Tyler is hovering over me. I opt to ignore him. I grab my bag and stand up.
    But he's right there. He's standing very close to me. Considering all the ways he touched me while we were dancing, his invading my personal space doesn't feel as weird as it should.
    Man, he's hot. The beard makes him look masculine instead of scruffy. His blue eyes are piercing.
    "Let's leave Jess out of this," he says. He leans in.
    I hop back and throw my bag over my shoulder. I move toward the door.
    He chases after me. "I'm sorry, Sam. I'm so sorry."
    When he doesn't say anything more, I glance back to look at him. His gaze is cast downward and he's chewing on his thumbnail.
    I sigh. "It's all right."
    "I like you."
    "I know. But I'm in a relationship. I'd like you a lot more if you respected that."
    "I do." At my dubious glare, he adds, "I will. I promise. Friends?"
    I don't want to be Tyler's friend, but in the spirit of show camaraderie, I nod. When he extends a hand, I shake it.
    ****
    JESS
    After finally getting some work—four modeling gigs during Fashion Week, so nothing permanent, but decent money just the same—all I really want to do is go home and go to bed. I spent most of my last go-see of the day dreaming of my soft, warm bed at home, perhaps with my sexy boyfriend— partner —there, but that's not even a requirement. I'm so tired I can barely keep my eyes open. But Sam called just before I got on the subway and asked me to meet him at a bar on Ludlow, so even though I don't want to, I'm headed there instead of home.
    Sam's not there yet when I get to the bar, but Matt sure is. He's sitting on a stool, sipping from a beer, and he gives me such a lecherous once over as I walk in that it makes my skin crawl. I look around, hoping Sam really is there but not in my initial line of sight. Unfortunately, it's a small bar. Unless he's in the bathroom or hiding behind the jukebox, he's not here yet.
    "So we meet again," says Matt.
    I'm sure it's a coincidence—we all live in the same neighborhood, there's no reason for us not to run into each other—but I wonder sometimes if Matt is stalking me. Or, more likely, if he's stalking Sam. I shrug to acknowledge I heard him.
    "You know, I don't know your name," he says.
    "Jess."
    "Is that short for something?"
    It is, but I hate my real name, and I sure as hell don't want to give Matt the power of knowing it. The only people in the world who know my real name are my parents and Sam. I shrug again.
    "Look, maybe we got off on the wrong foot," Matt says. "Can I buy