Total pages in book: 122
Estimated words: 112884 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 564(@200wpm)___ 452(@250wpm)___ 376(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 112884 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 564(@200wpm)___ 452(@250wpm)___ 376(@300wpm)
The knot in my stomach forms as I walk to his walk-in closet and see a pile of clothes on the floor, not on the chair like I asked him to put them, or in the bag that is hanging on the hanger. I grab the bag and start putting the clothes in it. I spot his white shirt with a brown mark on the collar. I rub it and it looks like it’s foundation, I shake my head and put the shirt in the bag.
Anger fills my body and I pull the shirt out of the bag and place it on the chair where he dumps his clothes, with the mark on the collar showing. I know he’s going to blame me again for it. It’s always my makeup that dirties his clothes, except I stopped wearing foundation when the summer season started since it’s just too hot for it.
I put the bag in the trunk of my car, heading straight to the dry cleaner before driving over to the dance hall. I park my car in the parking lot next to a charcoal Land Rover, a car I wanted but was told it was too big and bulky for me. I slip my phone in my purse as I make my way to the door, pulling it open and seeing the room empty with only one person there, Kirby. He’s standing in the middle of the room, wearing another pair of blue jeans with a white T-shirt. With his tattoos on full display, his arms look tanned and golden. His hair looks like he walked out of the shower and just ran his hand through it. His head turns toward the door and his blue eyes find mine.
“Am I late or am I early?” he asks me and I look at the time on my watch, three steps into the room.
“You are right on time,” I answer, looking around. “Did Darryl send out the invite to all the guys?” I pull up his name on my phone. “He is the liaison between us and you guys.”
“I’m the new liaison,” he states and I take a step back. “He says he’s busy training or something, so I took it over.”
“Oh.” I try to hide my shock. “No one told me.”
“It happened in the meeting that your husband interrupted,” he fills me in, “when you had to run home.” I swallow, trying not to let that dig get to me, but also knowing that I need to clear the air somewhat from what he heard me say.
“Kirby,” I say his name, “I want to apologize for what you overheard.” His eyes stare into mine as my heart hammers in my chest and I try to calm it down.
“It’s fine, Lexi,” he says. “It wouldn’t be the first time someone thought that of me. Won’t be the last.”
“They would be wrong,” I quickly add in. “We should never judge a book by its cover. We never know what the other person is going through.”
“I guess we don’t,” he says and all I can do is nod at him, not sure what to say, when the back door opens and the dance instructor comes into the room. “The beauty has arrived,” he tells me, coming to me, putting his glasses on top of his head, and kissing me on both cheeks. “How are you, darling?”
“I’m good, David.” I smile at him. “How are you doing? How is Ivan doing?” I mention his husband.
“He’s probably at home in his garden.” He rolls his eyes. “Who do we have here?” he asks, looking over at Kirby. “A man with muscle.” He folds one arm across his front and puts the other hand to his face, his finger on his chin. “So big and buff.” I can’t help but throw my head back and laugh when Kirby just smirks at him. “I’m going to have fun watching you wiggle those hips.”
“I look forward to showing you that these hips don’t wiggle,” Kirby retorts as David turns his head to the side and shrugs one shoulder. “They have never wiggled in their life.”
“Well, prepare to be fascinated,” David tells him and then stops talking when the back door opens and five of his female dancers come into the room, while the front door opens and the guys all come trickling in.
“Don’t you dare leave my side,” I hear Kirby say in my ear.
“Aww, what’s the matter, Kirby?” I surprise myself by teasing him with the biggest smile on my face. “Afraid of what your hips can do? I’m sure you’ll be fine.”
His eyes are light and he just smiles at me. “Are you going to dance?” he asks me and I shake my head.
“Dancing and I don’t go hand in hand, sadly,” I admit to him, “and it’s not for the lack of trying. I’ve watched almost every season of Dancing with the Stars and each time I think I can do it, I can’t.” I shrug.