Romance: Dance with Me (California Belly Dance Romance Book 2) (17 page)

At first, the yipping sounded a million miles away. It took a few seconds to realize it was Spike on the other side of the door, barking her little canine head off.
Shit!
Melanie stumbled back and planted her foot in a hydrangea bush. “Damn it!” The words slipped out in a coarse whisper, but it was enough to send the dog into a heightened barking frenzy. Through the window, she saw Taz walking toward the door.

A spotlight hit her. Wait, no, not a spotlight. It was headlights. Melanie shielded her eyes and saw they were connected to the giant white Escalade pulling into the driveway.

Of course. Gina.

Melanie yanked her wedged-sandaled foot from the hydrangea tangle and stood with her hands up like a thief caught in a police sting.

“What are you doing here?”

Taz was standing in the open doorway, holding the still-yipping Spike in her arms. His voice was calm, but he didn’t look happy to see her. Not in the slightest.

The dog squirmed out of his grasp, jumped to the ground, and raced to Melanie. She jumped to her kneecaps with loving excitement. It was impossible not to smile.

Before she could respond to Taz, Gina interjected: “You have a lot of nerve showing up here.” She climbed down from the Escalade’s passenger seat.

Taz leveled a hard stare at his sister. “Gina, that’s enough.”

“No, Tazarian, it’s not enough. Not after what she did to you.”

Tamara chose that moment to peek out from behind Taz, wrap her long arms around his shoulders and coo, “Oh, it’s you.”

That was all it took. Whatever hope Melanie had that she had misread Taz the night before was gone, vanished,
poof!

“I just came for my stuff,” she lied, “but obviously it was a mistake.” She set down Spike, and the dog whimpered. It was comforting to know she hadn’t misread
everybody
. She inched back toward the street. “If you could just drop my things off at the Shimmy Shop, that would be great.”

She was about to add an apology, but the words stuck in her throat. Tears welled in her eyes.
Damn it!
She wasn’t going to cry. She was
not
going to cry. She forced back the waterworks and forced her body not to betray her pain. She wasn’t going to give any of them that satisfaction.

She spun around and hurried to the street. The pain seared through her like a hot knife, tearing apart every one of her hopes. By the time she reached her car, the tears dripped from her cheeks. She started the engine and pulled away. No one could see, none of them were even coming after her. In an instant, she knew she was utterly and completely alone.

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35

“Was that the girl?” Tamara asked in a saccharine tone.

“Yeah, that was Melanie,” Taz replied. He removed the arm she had wrapped around his neck like a python.

Tamara scoffed. “She sure is a drama queen. You’d think she thought you were a real couple or something.” She laughed her usual fake half-laugh, as if the idea were absurd. “You don’t think she was getting the wrong idea, do you?”

Taz ignored her. Instead he bent down to scoop up Spike, who was whimpering and shivering at his ankle.

“I say good riddance,” Gina added, clicking the key fob in her hand and making the Escalade chirp. “I can’t believe she had the audacity to show her face around here. I think she knows now she isn’t welcome.”

“No kidding,” Tamara chimed in. “Good riddance.”

Taz clenched his teeth and closed his eyes. The pain at his temples was getting worse. He needed an aspirin or a shot of whiskey. Maybe both.

“At least it’s over,” his sister said. “You should count your blessings that it wasn’t worse.”

How in the world could it be worse? He didn’t say the words. He rubbed between Spike’s ears instead.

“I second that,” Tamara said. “Anyone else hungry? I’m starving.”

“You guys enjoy the pizza,” he said and dug in his pocket for his keys.

“Where are you going?” Tamara asked.

He handed Spike to her, but the dog wiggled until Tamara set her inside the door. He watched Spike race back inside. That dog might be small, but she sure was smart.

He pulled his keys from his pocket. “I’m going for a drive.”

“Can you at least get the box from the back seat?” Gina asked and blew on her nails. “I stopped for a manicure...”

That’s how she’d turned what should have been a ten-minute pizza run into an hour-long event. More games. More bullshit. He opened the Porsche’s driver’s side door and slid in behind the wheel. “I’m sure you’ll manage. You always do.”

“When will you be back?” Tamara whimpered.

He slammed the door. “I don’t know,” he said. He gunned the engine, and rolled onto the street without another look.

He had to get away. He had to think.

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36

When Melanie pulled into the parking lot at Abby’s apartment complex, she saw her friend walking to her car with an overnight bag slung over her shoulder.

Melanie flagged her down. “Where are you going?”

Abby hiked up the bag. “I’m staying at Derek’s tonight. I figured it would be better than having him come here.”

Melanie must have looked guilty, because Abby quickly added, “It’s not a problem at all. I love having you here. And actually, he prefers it when I stay with him. He won’t say it, but I know he misses the maid service when he’s here. How did it go with Taz?”

“Don’t ask.”

“That bad, huh?” Abby looked away like she was sorry she’d asked.

“Hey, who cares, right? We had a fake relationship, so really it’s just a fake break-up. No biggie.” If only it
felt
like no biggie.

Abby opened the car door. “That’s the right attitude. Hey, go ahead and help yourself to whatever’s in the fridge. I also brought home a couple more old movies from the shop, if you’re interested. Are you going to be all right on your own?”

Melanie ignored the gnawing feeling in her gut. The blackness pressing down on her. She scoffed. “Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”

She could tell Abby didn’t believe it. She didn’t blame her. She didn’t really believe it, either.

“All right,” Abby said warily. “Call me on my cell if you need anything.”

“Go. Have fun.” Melanie waved her off. “Tell Derek ‘hi’ for me.”

“Okay, ’night,” Abby said.

“’Night.” Melanie waved and headed for the apartment.

Two seconds later, she heard Abby holler, “Hey, Melanie!”

She turned back.

Abby hadn’t moved, and that worried look was still in her eyes. “I wasn’t going to say anything, because it’s just stupid gossip, but I think you should know, especially if Taz has already seen it. It sounds like he probably has.”

Melanie frowned. “Seen what?”

“Like I said, it’s stupid, and everyone will know it’s a total lie, but you should probably check out the Scribbling Gypsy blog. There are some pictures from the Pandemonium Ball that you should see. Go ahead and use my computer.”

All the terrible images came flooding back. The argument in the ballroom, the anger in Taz’s eyes and the fury in Gina’s. Those bloggers had been with her at the bar. They’d been friendly, even after the fight. “All right. I’ll check it out.”

“Call me if you want to talk about it.”

“Okay,” she said, but that only heightened her fear. How bad was it?

She let herself into the apartment with the spare key and bolted for the laptop Abby kept on her dinner table. She turned it on and drummed her fingers, waiting for the thing to boot up. It felt like an eternity before she could open the browser and type in the blog’s address.

When the page came up, there were pictures from the party. Portraits of some of the costumes she’d seen. Many she hadn’t. She scrolled down and found the one they’d taken of the Divas. All those happy, smiling faces. And then there was one of Taz, with Tamara, holding drinks and staring wide-eyed like a hunted animal caught in a trap.

A headline read, Taz the Romancer’s Dirty Little Secret.

Her heart dropped.

Below it, she read:
We’ve always known Taz Roman is bad news, but it’s even worse than we thought. A source tells us the local heartbreaker is now offering to pull strings at the upcoming auditions in return for certain favors—yes, those kinds of favors. Beware, ladies!

Then it went on to other pictures, but Melanie couldn’t see them. She couldn’t see anything besides Taz’s wide-eyed surprised expression.

This was all her fault. Her and her big, fat, stupid mouth.

No wonder he wouldn’t speak to her. No wonder Gina wanted to rip her head off.

She needed to talk to him.

But trying that had already blown up in her face. Still, she grabbed her phone and scrolled. Huh? Oh, yeah. She’d only talked to him on Abby’s studio phone.

Maybe she could email him?

She didn’t have an email address, either.

She knew where he lived, that was it.

Should she go back?

No way. It took all of two seconds to realize what a terrible idea that was. She wasn’t going to grovel in front of Tamara, especially when it was clear she and Taz were on the road to a reconciliation.

That thought ripped through her. It shouldn’t hurt, she knew that. What happened last week was nothing more than friends with benefits. Hell, they were hardly even friends. She’d just let her stupid ideas run away with her.

Still, he deserved an apology, and he’d get it. She’d see him at the audition, and maybe by then his temper would be cooled.

But that didn’t stop the adrenaline pumping through her veins or the whopping bruise on her pride. What she needed was about a gallon of chocolate ice cream and a bottle of red wine. Everything was better after ice cream and wine. If she remembered correctly, she’d seen a carton in Abby’s fridge, and the girl always had a stash of decent reds in her pantry.

She went to the kitchen and pulled out the carton—vanilla with fudge swirl. Not ideal, but not bad. Behind the cheap reds at the front of the cabinet, she found a good Cabernet. French, from a region she couldn’t even pronounce. Obviously, Abby was saving it for a special occasion, but this was an emergency. She made a mental note of the label so she could replace it, maybe before Abby even knew it was gone.

A few minutes later, she was changed into the yoga pants and T-shirt that passed as her pajamas, with a mixing bowl full of ice cream and a goblet full of red wine on the coffee table in front of the couch that was now her bed. She was about to grab the television remote control when she saw the DVDs.
Afrita Hanem
sat on the top. Her favorite Samia Gamal movie. Campy, sure—but also sweet. The dancing was fun and cheerful. Exactly what she needed tonight.

She pulled out the disc, fed it to the player, and sat back with her pity-party feast in front of her.

It didn’t take long for the old black and white to work its charm. She lost herself in the story of the genie who loved her master so much, she didn’t want to share him with anyone else. They were so perfect on screen, Samia and her leading man. It was easy to see their on-screen chemistry stemmed from feelings rooted in the real world.

There was obviously love between them, but there was also heartache. Probably more than anyone knew. Certainly more than Samia Gamal ever showed in her exuberant smiles and carefree dancing. It was a beautiful love story, Samia and Farid Al Atrache, but it must have been tragic, too, at least for Samia. Knowing her lover was pledged to another, and was unwilling to break those bonds to be with her.

But Samia never wavered. Not like Melanie was doing. Where did she find the strength? How could she hide her pain? As Melanie watched her movie-star idol flit across the screen in another joyous dance, it became clear. Samia was a dancer. Whatever pain, whatever heartache she felt, she must have absorbed it into her dance. No matter what Farid did, no matter what any man did, she could always dance.

That was what Melanie was going to do, too.

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37

The next day, Melanie felt better—she had a purpose again. But attitude was only going to get her so far. In the cool gray morning, before work, she took a detour to the Bella Garden mobile home park. She told herself she needed to grab work clothes and practice gear, since hers was being held hostage at Taz’s house.

Even as she told herself that, she knew there was another reason, too. In spite of all her faults and all the turmoil between them, Ginger was still her mother, and right now she wanted her mom.

She eased up to the trailer and caught the glowing flicker of the television through the window. A moment later, she knocked on the front door.

“I don’t want any,” Ginger bellowed from inside. “Take your magazines or your candy bars or whatever, and keep moving.”