Wicked Grind (Stark World #1)(25)

Disturbing words, but he pushed most of them aside, focusing only on the try harder part of the equation. Because something told him that Kelsey was worth the effort. He just hadn't found the way in yet. She was a sweet girl, and instead of trying to really get to know her, he'd given up and gone out with Grace instead.

God, he was an idiot.

He spent the next few days avoiding Grace and trying to get close to Kelsey, something he never quite managed to do. They shared a few words, and every time, he'd see a spark of interest in her eyes. She liked him-he was certain of it. But she stayed behind her wall. 

That reality frustrated the crap out of Wyatt. He wanted to get to know the real Kelsey, because he was sure there was another girl living behind that wall of sweet shyness. But the most he ever saw was that tiny glimmer of light, and he had no idea how to break through the wall to let the fullness of her shine through.

Try harder, his dad had said, but isn't that what he'd been doing? How long should he keep trying? Wasn't it crazy to keep on and on, expecting her to suddenly smile brightly and slide into his arms? Wasn't that the definition of insanity? Doing the same thing over and over and over and expecting a different result every time?

It was. Which meant Wyatt was certifiable. Because he just kept at it, trying to think of different ways to catch her attention even while avoiding Grace, who was determined to go out with him again even though he'd politely told her that he didn't think it was going to work out between them.

Grace, however, wasn't the kind to take no for an answer, and maybe that was a good thing. After all, Grace was the reason he was finally able to find a way over Kelsey's wall.

He'd been pacing outside the rec center, planning to grab Kelsey when she came out. But then he heard Grace approaching with a group of her friends, and since he really wasn't in the mood to see her again, he ducked inside, then pressed himself against the wall as he breathed hard, hoping that the girls weren't planning to come into the center.

He peered through the windows, waiting until they'd safely passed. When he saw them disappear around the copse of trees near the picnic area, he exhaled and started for the door. He was about to go back outside when the music that had been playing in the background suddenly grew louder. He paused, confused, then realized that someone must have opened a door to one of the studios.

For just a few moments, pop music flooded the hall, the sound steamy and seductive and a little bit familiar. He moved that direction, curious to see why a provocative current chart-topper was front-and-center in a dance class filled with little kids.

Except there were no little kids. That much was clear as he got closer. The music was coming from the largest studio, the one at the end of the hall. The door was open, and Mrs. Hinson was leaning casually against the door frame. A fifty-something former Broadway chorus dancer, Sarah Hinson had moved to Santa Barbara to open her own studio, and had ended up contracting with the club to teach all the dance classes from toddler all the way up to ballroom dancing for seniors.

He paused in front of the door to the men's room, the slight offset from the wall helping him to stay out of sight should she look his way.

"Honey, you are too good to waste your time spritzing tables," Mrs. Hinson was saying. "You should be in New York going to auditions. I still have a few contacts. At the very least, you should be spending your days dancing. Goodness knows I could use your help teaching. And you'd have all the studio time you wanted between classes."

Wyatt cocked his head, trying to hear the response from whoever was in the room, but the voice was too low and the music-even though the volume had significantly diminished-drowned it out.

"Well, that may be so," Mrs. Hinson said, "but that doesn't mean your father is right. I don't doubt that man loves you, but he's not doing right by you."

Wyatt took a step closer, not sure why, only knowing that he was curious.

"Fine." Mrs. Hinson threw her hands up dramatically. "I know better than to try to convince you. But you just remember that the offer stands. And if you ever need a letter of recommendation, I'll-well, of course I mean it," she said after a pause, during which the girl she was talking to had obviously said something. "And now I've got to run. No, no. You stay as long as you want. There aren't any more classes today. You enjoy yourself. Just be sure to lock up."



       
         
       
        

The girl must have agreed, because Mrs. Hinson waved, then turned and headed down the hall toward Wyatt. She had her head down as she rummaged in her purse, and he slipped quietly into the men's room until he heard her footsteps pass.