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“I think he was kidding.” Cassie’s brows knitted. “At least, I hope so. He’s not my type.”
Folding her arms, Gemma leaned forward on the counter. “Well we all know what your type is. Miserable dancers who treat you like shit.”
Cassie sighed, because Gemma wasn’t too far off the mark. Truth was, when she was dancing for the New York Ballet she had little time for dating. Relationships with male dancers who understood her schedule were easier.
And a lot messier, too, when they ended. Which they always did.
She shook her head. There was no need to feel melancholy. She was fine. She had Gemma and rehearsals with the band to look forward to.
“Are you interested in Alex?” Gemma asked, leaning forward.
“No.” Cassie wrinkled her nose. “Not at all.” And the smell of smoke was off-putting, if she was being honest. He was funny, and he made her laugh, but that was it. “Anyway, relationships and bands don’t mix. Give me one example where it works out long term.”
Gemma tipped her head to the side, looking deep in thought.
“Um…”
“Well, I can tell you who it didn’t work out for,” Cassie said. “Either couple in Abba. Lindsey and Stevie in Fleetwood Mac. And then there was Stevie and Mick? Christine and John. I know, how about Sonny and Cher? Are they still together?”
Gemma grinned. “I’m getting the picture. They all split up. Boo hoo.”
“And Meg and Jack White?” Cassie was on a roll now. Almost enjoying herself. “How’s that relationship going?”
“Eww. Weren’t they brother and sister?” Gemma asked.
“No. They were married. It was just weird.” Cassie shook her head. “But you get my point.”
“I do.” Gemma sighed. “But it would be kind of romantic though. Maybe you and Marley…”
“Nope. He’s a nice guy, but that’s it.” It was weird how she didn’t feel that undeniable pull to him the way she did to Presley. Maybe if she’d reamed him out the first time they met it would be different.
But she didn’t think so. She hadn’t met many twins in her life. There were one set of girl twins she’d danced with as a kid, but that was it. And she’d constantly gotten them mixed up.
But now she could tell the difference between Presley and Marley easily. It wasn’t only that they wore their hair differently, or that Presley had tattoos where Marley had none. It was in their demeanor. Their expressions.
The way her heart skipped a beat every time her eyes met Pres’.
“The thing about band romances,” Gemma said, her voice soft and faraway. “Is that even if they end, they’re amazing while they happen. All that chemistry, that longing. The music.” She sighed and looked at Cassie again. “You sure you can’t give Alex a little try?”
They’d been rehearsing for a couple of weeks, and everything about them was gelling. They’d even added a weekend rehearsal to the mix and used it to jam and try out new songs. Pres was impressed by how quickly Cassie had picked everything up.
He hated to admit it, but Marley had been right. It was good to be playing again. Good to be spending some leisure time with adults, even though Pres still felt guilty every time his mom came to pick up Delilah from the studio and take her back to his house to put her to bed.
Yet Delilah was loving it. Every rehearsal day she would run to the studio to wait for Cassie to arrive, then hang around her until Marley counted them in.
Cassie was sweet with her, and he appreciated that. Not every twenty-something woman without children would be the same.
That was why he hadn’t bothered dating after they’d lost Jade. That and the fact he just wasn’t ready. He had to protect Delilah, and that wasn’t compatible with putting his own needs first.
It was hot in the studio tonight. The room had air conditioning, but the door kept opening and shutting, mostly thanks to Alex’s cigarette addiction. Pres had pulled his sweater off. He was down to a sleeveless tee and jeans. Marley had sensibly worn shorts and a t-shirt – he always got overheated – and Cassie was wearing a pair of cut-off shorts and a t-shirt she’d tied into a knot on her abdomen, exposing a sliver of her stomach.
And yeah, he kept looking at it. The woman was toned all over. According to his mom, who had obviously talked to her more than he had, she’d trained to be a dancer. She’d been with a dance company in New York when she’d been involved in a bad accident that meant she couldn’t dance professionally anymore.
He’d wanted to ask her about it during one of Alex’s many smoke breaks but he didn’t know how. God knew he hated answering questions about himself.
So they’d just shoot the breeze, and he’d try not to look too much at the pretty woman who taught his daughter dance class.
How’s that working out for you?
