39
Nate
The dance studio was a large brick building, and there wasn’t anything special about it. A simple sign hung over the door, so that and the address were the only indicators I was even pulling up to the right place. That and the girl lingering in the doorway, peering outside.
I parked and headed for the door, and seeing me, she glanced at her phone.
I raised my eyebrows, then she let me in.
A gust of heat blasted me as she stepped back inside. I followed, the door swinging shut behind both of us.
“You’re Nate?”
“Jesus. Now you’re hoping I am, aren’t you?” I meant it as a joke, but f**k. She was someone’s daughter.
I was now looking at females this way.
She tensed.
“I am, by the way. Next time, ask for ID, or you could’ve made me text you.”
She raised an eyebrow back at me.
