Prep School Experiment (16 page)

“Don’t keep her. I’m talking a date. Date a girl who doesn’t know you’re loaded. Then when you go back to someone from your side of the tracks, at least you’ll recognize what sincere interest looks like.”

“My side of the tracks? Here we just say, ‘the Upper East Side.’” Thayer shrugged out of his academy jacket and tossed it on the back seat. “Girls in tights? I’m game.” He mussed his perfectly cut hair and got out. “How’s that?”

“Poor people have combs,” Rhys said.

Thayer finger-combed his hair back into place. “Good, because that was too much.”

“Lose the watch and the tie. Roll up the sleeves. Untuck the shirt.” Rhys did the same as he talked. He walked around to the driver’s door and let James know they’d be staying. He and Thayer left their stuff in the car and went up to the main entrance.

The guard looked them over. “Auditions are private.” He spoke in bored tones, as if he’d been turning away guys all day.

Rhys checked the other set of doors. It wasn’t guarded. He and Thayer could go in there once they got off the guard’s radar. Or the back. He hadn’t sneaked around in weeks. Adrenalin hit him.

Thayer pulled a money clip from his pocket and tore off two hundreds. He held them out. The guard took both and opened the entry door wide.

Thayer strode past with a nod. Rhys followed, and they exchanged the crisp autumn air for the lobby of a theatre.

“
That’s
how you fit in?” Rhys rolled his eyes, pulled out his own wallet and went for a smaller bill. It was time to introduce Thayer to budgeting, even if it was only for one night. He flipped through the cash, then paused and flipped through it a second time. The smallest he had was a fifty. There was more money in his wallet than he had in his savings account. He tightened his grip on the leather and felt a mixture of embarrassment and he didn’t know what else—security?

He peeled off a fifty and took it over to the girl at the water kiosk. Because it was New York, she had no problem breaking it. He wadded a ten and some ones in his fist and handed them to Thayer along with a bottle of water. “Here’s your budget for your date.”

Thayer took the money with a frown, staring at it. “It’s like I’m wilderness folk.”

“Yeah, you’re a real survivor.”

Thayer flattened his palm and raised the money higher, assessing it as if it would speak.

“Gold diggers don’t date guys who carry money like that,” Rhys said.

Thayer closed his fingers over the change and stuffed it into his front pocket.

They climbed the steps and took seats in the auditorium. It smelled like fresh paint, which couldn’t have been good for the dancers’ lungs, but he didn’t see anyone complaining. Wearing numbers taped to their clothes, the dancers packed the stage, warming up.

Thayer tilted his head. “Those numbers are useful. Too bad we can’t get the girls at Prep to wear numbers.”

“Guys on the football team have to, so why not?” Rhys searched for Kaitlin. Stage right, hair pinned up, stretching. #43. She did three controlled spins. She didn’t have the speed she’d had in Alaska, but something about her was so watchable.

“Pardon me.” A girl their age scooted down the row, taking the seat beside Thayer. She looked them over and set a computer tablet at her feet. She was dressed like the dancers, but didn’t wear a number. She clipped her long dark hair into a knot on top of her head, and said, with doubt in her voice, “You two choreographers?” Her accent was pure Texas.

Rhys raised his head. “We’re just here supporting a friend.”

Her mouth made an O and she held out her hand, reaching over Thayer. “Alyssa Caraway.” She winked. “From the Davis Mountains. You?”

“Trallwyn, Texas, north of Houston.”

Thayer slid forward, breaking their grip and held out his hand to Alyssa. “Thayer. Not from Texas.”

Alyssa laughed. Her dark blue eyes crinkled at the corners and one dimple flashed. “Didn’t mean to ignore you. I was frozen by the sound of home. You have a nice voice too.”

“Honed by many years of practice,” Thayer said. “You’re a choreographer?”

“Yeah.” She lifted the computer tablet from the concrete floor. “We type in our favorites and get assigned a troupe.”

Rhys tried to pay attention to them, but he was drawn to watching Kaitlin. She bent at the hips and swept the floor with her hand. So graceful. So bendy.

Several other girls moved down their aisle, temporarily blocking his view. Choreographers, he guessed, by the tablets and outfits.

Music piped through the speakers, playing random dance songs. The auditions started shortly after that. Each dancer performed a short solo and then was assigned to a group for choreography. A few dancers were singled out and asked to perform certain steps.

Kaitlin was one of them. The term was French. When she asked for clarification, several choreographers sat back, clearly ruling her out. Alyssa and two others didn’t.

After receiving the explanation, Kaitlin did the step, a small twisting leap; again not with the height she’d attained in Alaska but equal to many of the other dancers. She alone had an energy that made looking away from her impossible.

When the tryouts ended, Rhys and Thayer followed the choreographers to the hallway and hung back while they greeted their troupes and passed out rehearsal schedules. He spotted Kaitlin over by Alyssa.

“You arrange that? Have Alyssa pick her?” Rhys asked.

“No way,” Thayer said. “Kaitlin belongs to my Shay Prep world and might blow my cover.”

“It’s only one night. Make your move.”

Thayer went to Alyssa to give it a shot. Rhys wondered how long he’d last before pulling out a platinum card and a smart phone to call his driver. He gave it twenty minutes.

Kaitlin bounced over, her skin glowing with a sheen from her workout. “Hey.” She looked flushed, disheveled, happy, and sexy—the way she’d look if he got her in his bed.

“Hey.” His voice lowered and he touched her cheek with his fingertip. “Want to go out with me tonight? Get dinner?”

Her eyes glowed, golden brown, with just the faintest splash of blue in the irises. “Yes. Can we swing by my place so I can change? I’ll be really quick?”

***

Rhys sat on the leather sofa in Kaitlin’s living room. Her apartment had an unlived in feel, everything clean and in its place like the glossy cover of one of Grandmother’s interior design magazines. There was no staff wandering around, and her parents were clearly not home.

No parents meant Rhys could come over.

Figured.

Would she come down the stairs in her PJs or a robe? Even though he should be annoyed, anticipation ran under his skin.

Heels clicked on the staircase. He checked the clock: fifteen minutes had passed. He moved into the foyer.

Kaitlin wore a dark blue dress that fit her curves just tightly enough and heels that made her legs look even longer, and her sun-shot brown hair floated loosely down her back. His fingers twitched at the thought of touching it, touching her.

“It may be TMI, but I have to tell you that this is my first pick-me-up-and-take-me-out kind of date.” Her cheeks flushed and she sounded happy.

Something in his chest loosened and he smiled back at her. “We can swing by my place, and I’ll change too. I’ll be quick,” he teased.

Kaitlin’s grin grew and she practically hopped down the last steps.

Rhys took her delicate hand, twining her soft fingers with his, and led her out to the car. “My grandparents are hosting a dinner party, so I don’t anticipate we’ll see them.”

They talked about New York and other random safe topics on the way over to his grandparents’ place. He put Kaitlin in the sitting room off the entry. Then he changed and showered fast and swung by the conservatory. Grandmother kept fresh flowers in pots by the window and a few were still blooming. Without thinking too much about it, he clipped the most perfect red rose they had and carried it out to Kaitlin. He hadn’t thought her smile could grow any wider, but she practically beamed when her gaze fell on the rose.

Girls.

She skipped over to him and made an appreciative sound. “I love it. Thank you.”

He dropped his arm over her shoulders and led her out.

On the way down the marble front steps, Kaitlin said, “I thought of a place we can go.”

“Yeah?”

“Unless you’re set on someplace?”

“No.”

They got in and Kaitlin gave the driver the address. Even with New York traffic, they arrived within fifteen minutes.

Rhys got out of the car, waving at James to stay inside instead of opening the door for them. “It’s brisk out, James. I got it.” He helped Kaitlin out and took in the street. Row of buildings. Awnings. Some type of restaurant row. They didn’t have those in Texas. Two seconds later he saw their destination.

Everything in him stilled.

Kaitlin’s hand tightened on his. “I know it won’t be the same, but I googled TexMex while you got ready, and this restaurant ranked highly so I clicked for reservations…”

“I love it.” His voice came out gravelly. He stared at the sombrero over the door. TexMex.

She’d found a TexMex restaurant in New York
.

As high as his IQ was, he hadn’t thought of this.

They went inside and the aromas hit him: tomatoes, onions, and sizzling fajitas.

Wow. He didn’t know New York could smell so good.

When they reached the hostess stand, Kaitlin spoke up. “Kaitlin, party of two. Alcove.”

The hostess greeted them, sent Rhys a lingering smile, and tilted her head toward an arched entryway.

The main dining room flashed with vibrant colors: pink, blue, orange, and red. Colors that shouldn’t have worked together but somehow did.

“Wow,” Kaitlin said.

“It’s festive.”

“And the rounded booths. It looks like the teacup ride at Disneyland.”

“They’re shaped like tortilla bowls, not tea cups. Have you really never had TexMex?”

Kaitlin shrugged. “My parents don’t like ethnic food.”

“Ethnic food. Huh.”

They crossed the central dining room and went up a few steps. That led to a platform where rows of booths overlooked the main dining room. The back half and sides of each booth were draped with a red velvet curtain. The front was open and tied with dramatic bows.

Kaitlin slid in first. “The alcoves are supposed to be like theatre boxes.” She blushed. “Best seats in the house.”

The hostess handed them menus and moved a heart-shaped vase that held two pink daisies to the side so she could reach the white, heart-shaped candle in the center of their table.

Kaitlin pushed both hands on the cushy bench seat and glanced at the privacy drapes. “I honestly haven’t been here before.” Clearly the over-the-top romantic section embarrassed her from the squeak in her voice. Her expression brightened. “Oh, wait. I have had TexMex. We had nachos at school Monday.”

Rhys tightened his grip on the leather-bound menu. “You mean those tortilla chips with microwaved cheddar cheese on top?”

“Yeah. They were pretty good.”

“No.”

“Yeah.” Kaitlin laughed at his expression. “My parents and I eat at home mostly. Or sometimes at a fund-raiser or the hospital cafeteria. Raven likes Thai. Regina likes Italian. The semester overseas didn’t have Mexican, and you know what the food was like in Alaska.”

Rhys gave her a pitying look. “I don’t believe in ordering for your date. But somehow I feel the need to offer.”

Kaitlin beamed at him and put her menu aside. “Just this once, please.”

They ate chips with salsa, Chile con queso and table-side guacamole for a starter. The main course consisted of a mixed grill: steak, chicken, and vegetables served with homemade tortillas.

***

Kaitlin watched him load the tortilla with some of each of the ingredients and then tuck the end inside the wrap. She copied his motions.

Rhys took a bite and closed his eyes, his expression blissful. He looked like a male model on a Times Square ad for something decadent. “Do you like the food your grandparents serve?”

“It’s odd. Not really like food. It’s either the most sublime thing you’ve ever tasted or the most god-awful.”

Kaitlin laughed. “What do they say when you only eat half?”

Rhys shrugged. “I eat it anyway.”

The entrée was yummy. She couldn’t tell what she was enjoying most about their date, the food or watching him savor it. If the girls at Shay Prep saw him like this, it would be madness—like the time J.R.A. had a New Year ’s Day shoe sale—competitive madness.

For dessert, Rhys ordered sopapillas, which were puffed, fried dough sprinkled with sugar and cinnamon. They were served with honey on the side. “They’re like triangular donuts.”

“No. It’s dessert.” Rhys broke off a corner, dipped it in the honey and held it to her mouth. He ate the rest while watching for her reaction.

“Mmm,” Kaitlin murmured around the bite.

Rhys grinned and tore another in half, handing it to her.

“Yum.”

Rhys’s green eyes brightened, but instead of offering her another bite, he leaned toward her. His shoulders blocked the light from the candle. His lips pressed to hers. The kiss lit a flush of sensation through her whole body. Just a quick touch of his lips. Intense. Vivid. Brief.

Rhys lifted back, his face half shadowed. He blinked and appeared a little stunned, as he’d been the first time he’d kissed her in the dream. His hands cupped her face and he tilted her head. His mouth landed full on hers, his lips opening, coaxing. He tasted like electricity and sugar and cinnamon and Rhys. Her hands fell to his biceps and squeezed. She pushed as close as the booth would allow, but her hip hit the side of the table, forcing her to stay separated from him. “Mmmm,” she murmured as his lips left hers. She forced her eyelids open.

More intense than the dream, on every level.

Rhys motioned for the waitress. He handed her several bills, way over-tipping if the size of her grin was accurate. He held out his hand and helped Kaitlin slide from the booth. She walked from the restaurant, her hand in his.

The chilled evening air was a shock to her senses. Thankfully, they didn’t have to walk far. Rhys held the door to the Bentley open. “My grandparents are home. Want to go back to your place?” He lowered his voice, and his gaze was steady while he asked the question.