Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 92417 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 462(@200wpm)___ 370(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92417 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 462(@200wpm)___ 370(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
“And he’s how old?”
“He’s twenty-eight. Lives in Boston.”
“What about Dash?”
“Dash is twenty-six. He was wild as a kid, tons of energy, always breaking the rules. But he was always such a ham, he got out of trouble pretty easily. He could sweet talk anyone.”
I smiled. “Did he always want to be an actor?”
“Yeah. Have you seen Malibu Splash?”
“No,” I admitted. “But the twins told me it’s good.”
Austin laughed. “That’s because they’re the target audience. Sometimes I feel bad for Dash because he wants to be a more serious actor, but he got popular on this show, and now he’s kind of trapped by his contract. Other times, I see his photos online attending a party or premiere, and I think, you know what? That asshole’s doing just fine.”
I smiled. “Does he have a girlfriend?”
“Not that I know of. Dash says dating is too hard in Hollywood. Everyone seems fake.” He was silent a moment. “I’d never want to be famous.”
“No?”
He shook his head. “Nah. I mean, the money would be nice, but it seems like it comes with some pretty big downsides. No privacy, no freedom to do normal things without people in your face, no way to know for sure who you can trust. And you always have to be on, you know? Fuck that.”
“Yeah.”
He glanced at me. “What about you? You’ve got all kinds of talent. Did you want to be famous?”
I laughed. “I have one kind of talent, and it’s not really the kind that takes you to Hollywood, not these days anyway. I missed the golden age of the Hollywood musical by about eighty years. But I like the stage better than the camera, anyway.”
“Yeah?”
“It feels more immediate, more exciting. I love a big audience, the applause, the energy in the air. Honestly, being a Rockette was my dream from a really early age. My mom cleaned for a wealthy family that gave her two tickets to see the Christmas show when I was young, and she scraped together train fare and took me—I had stars in my eyes from the moment the curtain went up. I knew what I wanted to do with my life.”
He glanced at me. “Do you miss dancing?”
“Yes,” I said without hesitation. “Without dance, it’s like a huge part of me is just dead—my soul or something. It’s always been my escape, my passion, my happiest place.”
“How old were you when you started?”
“Two. And it was pure luck that got me started. My mom took a job cleaning a local dance studio on Sundays when it was closed, and she had to bring me along. I used to spend hours twirling and jumping and dancing to music only I could hear in front of all those mirrors. One day, the studio owner was there doing paperwork or something, and she saw me and thought I had potential. She invited me to take a class for free, even though I wasn’t even technically old enough.”
“And you loved it?”
“More than anything.” The childhood joy of arriving at the studio before class hit me all over again. “Growing up, I was never happier than when I was dancing. Not just because I got attention for it, although the attention was nice. But I was home alone a lot, and the studio was always so busy and noisy and welcoming. It was a second home. My teachers and friends were like family.”
“I bet you were the best one there.”
I laughed. “You know what? I was good, but I wasn’t always the best. I just worked my ass off, and it was obvious I loved being there and wanted to learn. I was determined—eyes on the prize.” I smiled at him. “What was your prize when you were young? Did you always want to run the family business?”
“Not really.” He was silent a moment, eyes on the road. “I wanted to go to college to study architecture.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“My family needed me at home.”
I waited for him to go on, but he didn’t, and I realized that for Austin, it was as simple as that—his family needed him, and he wasn’t going to let them down. He’d set aside his own goals, stayed home, helped raise his siblings, and worked with his father. Then he watched every single one of his siblings leave the nest to chase their dreams. It made even more sense to me now that he’d insisted on raising the twins on his own rather than give them up. He’d never put his own needs or wants first.
It was honorable—and undeniably sexy—but it also had to result in a lot of pent-up frustration, didn’t it? Did he ever feel angry? Did he ever resent being the one left behind? The one who never got to go after what he wanted? Even now, he refused to abandon the family business and treated his furniture business more like a passion project.