The Heart of the Matter by Muriel Jensen Page B

students were glaring at her. One was Dixie. The other was Jason.
    Everyone wandered off dispiritedly when she’d finished, apparently too weak to applaud themselves. Laura disappeared into the bathroom backstage where she sometimes changed when she was going out after class, and simply hid out until everyone was gone.
    She was doing it because she didn’t want to explode, she told herself. It wasn’t cowardice, it was…discretion.
    Ten minutes later Laura opened the door, sure everyone would be gone. Most of her students hurried home to families immediately after class, propelled by the guilt of having left them for the hour’s exercise. Even Dixie, who logged the day’s receipts for her, never stayed beyond tallying up the cash box. She always left it on the edge of the stage.
    Laura went to pick it up and gather up her purse and bag.
    She stopped abruptly, her heart lurching at the sight of Jason sitting cross-legged beside it. He’d changed into a fresh shirt as he always did after class, and the plain black T seemed to further darken his already black-brown eyes.
    “Yes?” she asked stiffly, picking up the cash box and stuffing it into her athletic bag.
    Out of the corner of her eye she saw him unfold gracefully to his feet. Only three classes, she thought absently, and his movements were already more fluid.
    “It wasn’t hard to see that something was bothering you tonight,” he said quietly, his voice also a little stiff. “I wanted to know if it had anything to do with us.”
    “Us?” She pushed the table that held her tape player and tapes back into the wings and tossed her bag and purse onto the auditorium floor. She spoke calmly despite the fermented stew boiling over inside her. “There is no us.”
    She leapt off the stage.
    Jason leapt also and landed a little ahead of her to prevent her escape. He caught her arm in a gentle grip. His eyes studied hers, obviously trying to read what was on her mind. She thought that amazing. Of course, he didn’t know she’d seen the blondes.
    “So, that’s official, then?” he asked evenly. “I got the impression you were more concerned that a relationship between us might be too good rather than too bad, and that you were going to think it over.”
    She pulled away from him and picked up her bag and purse. “I did think it over,” she said, a tinge of sadness reflected in the anger in her voice.
    He let her walk past him without stopping her. That surprised her. Then, as she headed for the door, he said, “I can’t believe you couldn’t see the possibilities.”
    That stopped her cold. Sadness fled and all she felt was the anger—full and hot, exuding from her pores. She turned and marched back to him, the bad stew exploding.
    “I saw the possibilities, Jason,” she said when she had reached him, straining up in a nose-to-nose, in-your-face offensive. “But I imagined they existed between you and me and not between you and a couple of blondes. Or is that among you and the blondes because blondes is plural!”
    He shifted his weight, looking puzzled.
    “Oh, please,” she said. “I know we don’t owe each other anything, and I know I probably left you with the impression that I…didn’t know what I wanted.” What had begun angrily was now more about disappointment. “It was because I cared and because I know my limitations! I didn’t want to rush into anything and end up hurting you. But you apparently experienced no such confusion. You knew quite clearly that if I wasn’t available, anyone else would do. It did take two, though, didn’t it? Does that mean I was difficult to replace, or that, unlike me, you have no limitations?”
    Something flamed in his eyes, and she got a strong and sudden impression that she was in trouble. He jammed his hands in his pockets—another indicator.
    “You were watching me?” he asked, his voice dangerously quiet.
    She folded her arms and held his gaze, her voice clear. “No. I was bringing the boys a