Dancing Lessons by R. Cooper Page A

time—there was no point in fighting for someone who didn’t want you.
    “Table for two?” he said suddenly, brightly. He was hot inside where he should have been empty and cold. “First date?”
    He turned on autopilot, without waiting for the answer, and pulled a slip of paper with a phone number on it from one of the fliers. He waved it around to signal his equally busy social life before he stuck it in his pocket.
    “You’re volunteering somewhere else?”
    All Chico could see in Rafael’s smile was polite interest. His posture was straight, but it always was. His gaze was always warm. Meanwhile, he probably knew Chico was about five minutes from crawling into bed and never getting out again because he’d seen Rafael on a date.
    Chico hummed in a vague sort of way because he had no idea what he’d put into his pocket. “Can’t hang around the studio forever,” he informed both of them, so they wouldn’t think he was going to make a scene there either. Because Jase was going to figure out what Chico’s flush meant pretty soon if he hadn’t already.
    “Yes, but you—” Rafael began to argue.
    Chico wasn’t in the mood to hear about unfinished costumes or what good it would do him to take a jazz tap class. He shook his head and started moving like he had someplace important to be.
    “Night!” he called out without turning around. He made it all the way down the street before he remembered he’d parked closer to the restaurant. He waited until he was absolutely sure Rafael and Jase had been seated before he walked all the way back to his car.
     
     
    CHICO’S HEART wasn’t broken. Not even bruised, as he had insisted to Davi. He had a stupid, fledgling crush. That was all. And crushes always felt terrible, which was why they were called crushes.
    Somewhere in the middle of thinking about it, Chico began talking about it. He thought it was a good, positive change that he was comfortable enough to examine his feelings and considered it a bonus that he hadn’t discovered that by venting at Rafael.
    Possibly because he hadn’t seen Rafael.
    Like the mature adult, or scared baby deer, he was, Chico had been avoiding him. Rafael was supposed to be an indulgence. Like ice cream. Like starlight. Not something he needed.
    He didn’t know why he’d ever thought nurturing this attraction would be a good idea. There ought to be an age limit on crushes, he decided aloud, something that the irritated teenager in his clutches was oddly okay with. This was likely because that teenage boy stared with moony eyes at one of the girls during rehearsals.
    Chico sympathized, he truly did. But he also needed Travis to quit squirming and hold still. He couldn’t feel like crap and be expected to be patient with a teenager at the same time.
    “How the hell can you hold a position for as long as you can, but I ask you to stay put while I pin these damn epaulets into place, and suddenly you’re all over the place?” Chico didn’t believe in pretending teenagers didn’t swear.
    Travis rolled his eyes. He was the weirdest combination of an athlete who was sure of his body and complete insecurity whenever Chico asked him a question about his role in the ballet. He also was striving to act bored and jaded with his fitting, or maybe with life, but at least he wasn’t giving into any “no homo” dramatics.
    Travis was dancing the role of the king. This apparently meant epaulets. Chico’s problem was ensuring they would stay on. So he had Travis move, then he’d add a few pins, then they’d do it again.
    To be honest, while Chico understood saving money on the costumes, he didn’t get why the king would wear something turn of the century unless that was when the ballet was set.
    “All right, move your arms,” he mumbled. He rolled his eyes in return when Travis waved his arms around as though being asked to do it was a huge burden. “I’m seriously considering ‘accidentally’ sticking you with a pin,” Chico