Much to Paul’s shock, they did get to work. Sweet actually had good suggestions, and, even more surprising, so did Jack. Paul kept waiting for the other shoe to drop, for Jack to pull another stupid stunt, or embarrass him in front of Sweet and Jeff. But he stayed focused. The hours slipped by, and Paul soaked his clothes through with sweat. Moisture dripped from his brow, his hair, down his neck and back. He could dance for hours, but even he had his limits, and his muscles began to burn. Jack looked almost as wrung out, his pale skin gleaming from perspiration. But he didn’t complain. He didn’t ask to stop.
Paul’s respect for Jack climbed. Just a little bit. Not that he’d ever admit it. Especially since Jack kept shooting him insufferable little smiles.
Sweet and Jeff both scampered ou
