Falling for Her Soldier (6 page)

He wished he could just ask her, get the whole thing out there. He opened his mouth to do just that, but closed it again, knowing he had to clear it with Sam first. He owed that to his friend.

“So, you said you don’t use your degree,” Charlie said. “You don’t teach child psychology?”

“No.” She didn’t look suspicious anymore, but he definitely wanted to get back on her good side. Build a friendship. Nice and slow. That had been Jack’s advice—as pointless as it seemed at the moment.

Ellie was tugging at the neck of her T-shirt, revealing a fair amount of skin and just a peek of white lace. Charlie tried not to stare. Was it any wonder he’d lost his train of thought and said that about her aunt? He could barely concentrate with her looking all relaxed and chill in that oversize, ridiculously sexy USO shirt that kept sliding off one shoulder. He’d rather she be in one of those tacky miniskirts. He was immune to women in those things.

“I wondered, because yesterday Sam mentioned you were a teacher,” Charlie said, trying not to check out her bare shoulder.

“Oh.” Her face softened and she stopped fiddling with her shirt. A moment later, her lips pulled back into a smile. Damn, he needed to get her to smile more often. “Yes, I’m a teacher, but not at a regular school.”

“Are you trying to confuse me?”

That smile again, but there was something else behind it now. She was nibbling her bottom lip, looking pensive and a little…sinister?

“We’re almost done here,” she said after a moment, “and I have to head to work for a while. If you’re not busy, would you like to
see
what I teach?”

Charlie lifted his eyebrows. “Go with you to work?”

She pressed her lips together like she was trying not to laugh. “If you want.”

What was up with this woman? Instead of him learning more, she was becoming more and more of a mystery. Charlie racked his brain. Had she mentioned what she did for a living in her e-mails? No. He had no idea. But he was beyond intrigued.

“I won’t be in the way?” he asked. “I can just…watch?”

“Of course,” she said brightly, then she snickered.

Charlie couldn’t help tilting his head and eyeing her, feeling like he was stepping into the mother of all bear traps. “What exactly do you teach?” He wasn’t sure why he bothered to ask. If she said she worked in a meatpacking plant and was in charge of cleaning up rancid guts, he would have happily tagged along.

“Children’s ballet,” she answered.

Charlie felt the melodramatic desire to clutch his stomach. Maybe he preferred the rancid guts. “Oh.” He nodded, hoping he was pokerfaced. “Cool.”

Ellie burst out laughing. “Yeah, I can tell, you’re
completely
thrilled.” She fingered her hair into a ponytail, then let it go so it spilled over her shoulders, as she laughed all the while. “You don’t have to come. It was just an idea. Didn’t mean to
scare
you.”

Only an idiot would pass up an invitation from this woman—and he was no idiot. “Oh, I’m coming all right. Can’t wait.”

“We’ve only got S through Z left,” she said, gesturing at the table. “We’ll go after that. Or as you military types would say,
sierra
through
zulu
.”

Charlie grinned at her, impressed. “You know the phonetic alphabet?”

“Oh sure.” She waved a hand. “Couldn’t help learning that with Sam around. Let’s see, how does it start? A is…”

“Alpha,” he prompted.

“B is bravo,” Ellie added. “C is…” She cut herself off, her happy expression going blank for a split second.

Charlie stared at her, feeling a charge in the air between them.
Now is the time,
he thought.
The perfect, natural segue to bring it up. We’re both thinking the name…just tell her.

“C,” he said after a swallow, “is Charlie.” He paused, letting the word hang in the air, gauging Ellie’s reaction. Something definitely flickered across her face, but a moment later it was gone.

“Then delta, echo, foxtrot, golf,” she rattled off. “But we’d better get back to sierra.” She tossed a book at him. “Race you to zulu.”

The moment was gone, and Charlie had blown it.

They worked in relative silence for the next few minutes, as if they were both eager to move to the next step. Charlie realized he’d been having a great time just hanging out. He was surprised how easy it was to talk to her in a purely platonic manner. Even though, when they’d first entered that sunny room alone, his natural instinct was to slide his arms around Ellie, satisfying his pent-up curiosity. Was she as huggable as he imagined?

He wasn’t about to try that, though. That was something the old Hunter would’ve done, taken her by surprise then let the chips fall where they may. Following that impulse with Ellie was probably a bad idea. But what about how she’d looked at him when she’d thanked him for his military service and held his hand? Her tenderness had stunned him so much he could hardly breathe. It didn’t help that every time she smiled or tugged at her T-shirt, the natural instinct to touch her flared up again.

Sam would probably shoot him in the kneecaps if he knew what Charlie was thinking.

Not long later, they both waved good-bye to Chick and said they’d be back in a few hours. Charlie’s car was in one of the first parking spots, since he’d arrived at the WS so early that morning.

Ellie slowed when they reached the black Impala. “Yours?”

“Yeah,” he said, unable to stop from smiling. “This is my baby. My pride and joy.”

She tilted her head. “Aw. Men and their cars. Oldest love story in the book.” She walked its length, running a finger over the trunk. “I don’t recognize the make. What is it?”

Charlie was about to answer but hesitated, his brain halting the words. Had he mentioned his car to Ellie in the e-mails? He couldn’t remember. It was a restored classic. He was in Sam’s unit. She wasn’t a ditz; she would piece it together.

He took a beat before answering. “It’s a Chevy Impala.”

Ellie seemed to be mulling over this information while Charlie held his breath, preparing to see the look in her eyes when it clicked.

“Never heard of it,” she said with a shrug. “Pretty, though. Did you name it? A lot of guys name their cars.”

“No,” he said, his muscles unclenching. “I always thought that was kind of douchey.”

Ellie leaned against the bumper, her red hair falling over one eye. Hell, she could give those World War II pinup models a run for their money.

“Hop in,” he said. “We’re going to the same place. I’ll drive.”

She was biting her lip. This was obviously some kind of tell for when she was pondering something. A few moments later, her face cleared. “I’ll drive myself. Meet you there.”

Charlie frowned. “Why?”

“Just…” She was backing up toward the parking lot, like she couldn’t get away from him fast enough. “It’s on Park and Henderson. You can follow me.”

Before Charlie could say another word, she was gone. The woman was a mystery, all right. A mystery he enjoyed unraveling.

She was pulling from her parking space before Charlie had started the engine. The last thing he wanted was to lose her, so he raced out of the lot, keeping a close tail on the back of her white car with the “It’s a ballet thing—you wouldn’t get the pointe” bumper sticker.

Charlie
didn’t
get the point, but he was pretty sure the extra
e
on the end was an inside joke. He made a mental note to ask her about it.

She pulled into a lot outside the Anastasia Dance Studio. Charlie parked in the space next to her. “I wasn’t too fast for you?” She grinned over her shoulder as she strolled to the front door.

“No one’s too fast for me, baby,” he replied automatically, then mentally slapped the back of his stupid skull. Why did his tendencies lean toward tragically lame come-on lines around this woman? Like she was making him nervous, throwing off his game.

Or maybe he had no game with Ellie.

She grabbed the door handle and turned back. “
That
,” she said, giving him a playful glare, “was too cliché…even for you.”

Charlie blew out a deep exhale, laughing under his breath. “It’ll never happen again.”

“Good,” she said, then she shot him a flirty wink, again surprising the hell out of him.

As they stepped inside, Charlie was further taken aback. He didn’t know what he’d expected when he thought about going to a ballet studio. Maybe a bunch of guys wearing tights and speaking Russian or people doing splits in the middle of the lobby. Besides that twisted Natalie Portman movie, he had no frame of reference.

Except for the hot pink paint job on the walls, it looked like the front lobby of any other gym. There were three flat screens, one showing a fish tank and the others showing different angles of what he assumed to be where people did the dancing. In the corner sat a rack of black T-shirts that had the same Anastasia Dance Studio logo as the one painted on the wall. The lobby was lined with folding chairs and had a long white reception desk.

“Hey girl.” A woman with a long, dark ponytail waved to Ellie from behind the desk and stood when they approached. “So,
this
is Hunter,” she said, sizing him up.

Charlie turned to Ellie. “Huh. You told her about me,” he stated, not bothering to hide his smile.

She was glaring at the other woman, but then became preoccupied by her phone. “No, I just told her I was, ya know, bringing you along in case she needed help with anything. Apparently we’ve gotten kind of busy with the fittings. This is Jane. She helps run the Stacy Studio.”

“Nice to meet you,” Charlie said, then looked at Ellie. “Who’s Stacy?”

Ellie didn’t answer, but the dark ponytail did. “Stacy ran the school before,” she explained. “And it’s
very
nice to meet you, Hunter.” The way she gawked at him made Charlie feel unnerved, like a piece of meat in a window.

“Jane,” Ellie snapped. “Ease up. He’s never been to a ballet studio. Don’t scare him.”

“First time, eh?” Jane walked around the desk and straight up to him. “Don’t worry, I’ll be gentle.”

Charlie looked to Ellie for a little help, but Ellie just rolled her eyes. “Take care of him,” she said to Jane. “I have to go change.”

He wanted to follow her, but Jane suddenly had ahold of his arm. “Hey,” she said, “I know you’re all hot and everything, but don’t play her.”

“What?” Charlie asked, eyeing her fingers gripping tightly around his arm.

Just then, the front door swung open and some moms and little kids entered. But Jane didn’t let go. In fact, she tightened her grip.

“I…” Charlie said. “I won’t.”

Jane dropped his arm, batted her lashes, and smiled up at him. “Good,” she said sweetly, as if nothing had just happened, “because Stephanie called in sick.” She looked past him and waved. “Hi Brooke, hi Maggie. You look adorable.” Her eyes shifted back to him. “So it seems I’ll need your help after all. Big strong guy like you.”

“Uh, sure,” Charlie said, getting that meat-in-the-window feeling again. “Anything I can do.”

Jane walked behind the desk and pulled out a big box with some kind of pink netting spilling out. It was puffy and out of control. “Take this upstairs to the costume room,” she directed, unloading the stuff from the box and shoving it into his arms. It wasn’t heavy, but he couldn’t seem to get a good grip on it, either. “Not so tight. You’ll smash it.”

“Okay,” he said, a little dazed, trying to see over the netting that seemed to be expanding in his arms.

“Hurry.” Jane waved toward a hallway. “They’re up there sewing now. Drop this off then come straight back.”

“Right.” Charlie nodded. “Upstairs.” As he turned to head in the direction of the stairs, he almost ran over a tiny girl dressed all in pink. “Oops,” he said. “Excuse me.” He stepped around her just as another wee girl ran across his path. He almost tripped over her, too. Suddenly it was like the lobby was swarming with little bodies in curly pigtails. Solely so he could see where he was going, he held the netting high over his head and weaved his way through the lobby.

There was less traffic and noise in the hallway, and he felt relieved the second he started up the stairs. He didn’t know where the costume room was, but he was pretty sure he could figure it out without a map.

As he walked down the narrow, low-ceilinged hallway, he passed by an alcove that looked down onto the dance floor from the second story. There were a few women—mothers of the students, he assumed—sitting on a row of benches in front of the glass. Maybe ten girls, older ones and dressed in black tops, were in a straight line, holding onto a shoulder-high bar that ran the length of the room. They were bobbing up and down, doing some kind of routine. Charlie had no idea. He’d never dated a ballet dancer, and Tess was into music growing up.

“Hey.
You
.”

Charlie peered down the hall at a woman’s head poking out of a doorway at the end.

“Is that the tulle?”

“Um.” He lifted the stuff in his hands as if displaying it. “I don’t know.”

“Get it over here. We’re waiting.”

“Yep.” Charlie hustled down the hall and skidded around the corner, entering a large room with a row of sewing machines, about a million racks of puffy dresses and sparkly skirts and two women standing before a half-dressed mannequin.

“You’re not Stephanie. Where’s Stephanie?” one of them asked. She had pins sticking out of the corner of her mouth like tiny silver cigarettes.

“Called in sick,” he answered, a little out of breath and more than a little disoriented. “I think
I’m
Stephanie today.”

“Fine,” the woman said. Thankfully, she relieved Charlie of his load and carried the netting to a long table. “We need Emily and Melissa up here.”

“Who?” Charlie cocked his head.

When he didn’t move farther, she glared at him impatiently. “Emily and Melissa,” she repeated, pointing at the door. “Go.”