Total pages in book: 133
Estimated words: 128069 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 640(@200wpm)___ 512(@250wpm)___ 427(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 128069 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 640(@200wpm)___ 512(@250wpm)___ 427(@300wpm)
I have a lot of dreams right now, but there’s one dream I’ve had my whole entire life. I give it to the ocean with my voice. “I want to be happy.”
It feels like it might be coming true. But not because I put it out there. Because I’ve been doing the work.
39
DANCE LESSONS
Josie
Dance practice might be the perfect time for me to ask Wes the next thing—would you want to try long-distance?
If I can’t get a job in time—and really, the clock is ticking—would you want to try to stay together? I mean, it’s not like I’m going to ask him if I can stay here and freeload while I look for work. That’s not happening.
“Are we really doing this?” Wes asks, groaning on the couch the next night, slouching deeper into it. He returned home late last night from his road trip, but barely has a break since he has a game tomorrow evening. “I could play video games instead. That’s kind of like dancing.”
I laugh as I grab his hand, trying to tug him up. “Video games are not anything like dancing. How is it that you don’t like dancing?”
“I’m bad at it.”
I scoff. “Doubtful. You’re an athlete.”
“Yeah, and hockey is not ice dancing.”
“It’s not creating a charcuterie board either, and you still do that in your free time,” I tease.
“Seriously. Dancing is like the opposite of hockey.”
“You’re an athlete. You know how to move your body.”
“In bed and on the ice,” he says, then pulls me onto his lap. “Speaking of the first one…maybe dancing is a euphemism for sex. See? We’ve already crossed it off ten million times.”
He’s picking up my fine art of exaggeration, but he’s wrong here. I reach for the chain around his neck and fiddle with it. “You got sex from the list. The first one. And number eight is dance in the park. Pretty sure my aunt didn’t want me to bang a dude in the park.”
“I dunno. She sounds like she was pretty cool.”
“She was. You tossed me over your shoulder and carried me into the improv theater. Don’t make me do that to you now.”
Begrudgingly, he lets me pull him up from the couch. I pat his firm chest, eager to move onto our practice. “But you know how you said I got you then? Well, I’ve got you now. I studied all the little foot drawings on a how-to-dance page.”
“You did?” he asks, brow furrowed, then he shakes his head. “What am I saying? Of course you did. That’s so on brand.”
I head to his record player, put on a Frank Sinatra tune, then turn around. With a resigned sigh, Wes strides over to me. “I’m only doing this because it’s you,” he says.
“Good enough reason for me,” I say, especially since it gives me the confidence that now might be the right time.
He loops his arms around my neck and as the old standard plays, we practice to dance in the park. “Soon, we’ll cross off three more things,” he says as he brings me closer. His tone is wistful. Maybe this is the time to bring it up.
“We will,” I say, then offer hopefully, “but maybe we can start a new list.” Like when we’re apart? Something that’ll help keep us together.
“Yeah, maybe.”
Except…that’s weirdly non-committal from him. Especially since he turns silent as we sway.
My radar beeps. I might be wrong. Maybe now isn’t the best time to say do you want to try long-distance if I can’t find a job?
My heart beats faster in worry as the silence extends, I should really try not to read into the silence. I try to just enjoy dance practice in the living room with him. But he’s seemed a little off since he returned home. Three losses in a row will do that to you though. Maybe that’s what his mood is about. What if he wants to talk?
“Hey. Is your dad pressuring you?” I ask, a subtle way of saying is hockey stressing you out?
He huffs out a breath. “Yes, always, but he’s also pressuring me about coming to Christmas at Frieda’s house in Sonoma. She’s having some big party with her friends, and it sounds…like hell.”
“Can you get out of it?”
“Easily. All I have to do is tell him I want to work out more, or do more yoga, or meet with the performance coach. Or get in some extra ice time,” he says it flatly. Not like it’s a clever way to avoid the visit, which it is. But more like he wishes he didn’t have to devise an excuse. “Besides, we only have a couple days off anyway.”
Did he sidestep the question about pressure? I think he did. But the answer still came through loud and clear. “Do you usually spend the holidays with your dad?”