One Night Stand-In (Boyfriend Material #3) - Lauren Blakely Page 0,60
end of the debate.
“It never ends with them,” she says.
“It never does.” It comes out more heavily than I expect. But I’ve seen where fighting can lead. Today, the tiff might be over llamas and alpacas. Tomorrow, it could be houses and lives.
She swipes her thumb across the screen, then blinks at it. “Did you see this?”
“See what?”
“It’s just this email from Design-Off. The competition.”
I go to my inbox, opening and scanning the note. It’s a recap of the event and the details of the presentation. I read the last few lines out loud. “As a reminder, the winner of the award will have his or her work featured prominently on our website and in our literature for the year ahead. Past winners have gone on to design for Madison Avenue agencies, Fortune 500 firms, and noteworthy start-ups. We wish all of you the best of success.”
She looks up, excitement in her eyes. “Speaking of Design-Off, I need to refine my presentation. I have to do that tomorrow.”
I scratch my jaw. “Same here. Guess we better get this show on the road?” I point my thumb to the door, and she grabs her sister’s bag of clothes and the songwriting notebooks.
“Time to tango.”
As we wind around the staircase up to the tango studio, time presses heavily onto my shoulders. My boots weigh a hundred pounds.
An unfamiliar bout of anxiety zips through me, which is odd and fucking unacceptable.
I have nothing to worry about.
Lola and I are killing it in this quest. That’s what matters—we’re finishing on time. Hell, we’re finishing early.
“So,” I begin, keeping my tone light, “has it occurred to you we could have a future as career scavenger hunters?”
She laughs, but it’s short and humorless. “As long as the hunts center on our siblings.”
She seems to feel it too—like time is running out for some reason. But I give a full-court press on the friendship thing. “Nah. We have serious skills, Lo. We could crush it in competitions.”
“Then you let me know when you find a scavenger hunt league, Lucas,” she says wryly.
There. That’s better. Awkwardness banished. We’re doing this right this time, dammit.
We reach the second floor, and Lola taps on the glass door of the studio. I peer inside. A woman in a satiny red dress meets our gaze, a smile tugging at her pouty red lips, lighting up her face.
“She looks exactly like you’d expect a tango instructor to look,” I remark.
Lola smiles. “She does. She’s straight from central casting, with that cascade of black curls, those hips, and legs for days.”
The woman reaches for the door handle and pulls it open with a flourish.
“Welcome! You must be the soon-to-be Mr. and Mrs. Abernathy.” Her accent contains a hint of Argentina, adding even more to the authenticity.
I narrow my eyes, then shake my head. “No, I’m Lucas Xavier. And this is Lola Dumont.”
The tango woman takes my hand then Lola’s. “I’m Angeline. I have a lesson any minute, but if you two are here to inquire about lessons, I’d love to teach you. I can tell you’d be very good.”
“How can you tell?” I ask.
She waves a hand like she’s sprinkling us with fairy dust or something. “I can read couples’ energy.”
“We’re not a couple,” Lola cuts in.
Damn straight. “We’re just friends. Good friends,” I say with a smile.
Lola flashes her pearly whites too. “Great friends. We just reconnected.”
Angeline glances between the two of us, her eyes gleaming. “Hmm. Your energy is quite strong.” She grins, taking a beat. “What can I do for you?”
Lola bats first this time. “We’re hoping you have an iPad. Left by Harrison Bates.”
Her brown eyes sparkle. “Harrison. Yes, of course. He said you might be coming.”
“Might? Did he bet you a six-pack?” I ask.
She scoffs, laughing. “No. I’m not a betting woman. I showed him some basic tango steps and told him I’d hold on to the iPad if he came back for a lesson.”
That’s surprising. “Did he?”
She glances at the clock on the wall. “He should be here tomorrow. I can’t wait to teach him how to tango.”
Something about this information throws me off, but I’m not sure why, so I focus on the goal. Get the iPad. Finish the tasks. Snag the security deposit.
Be done.
That’s what I want right now. To be done with this fickle landlord and his absurd breakup letter. I have work piling up and projects to finish, as well as a design competition to prepare for.