IT WAS FRIDAY EVENING, and I’d finally settled into my house. It was a wonderful space with four bedrooms. I was pretty sure I had the intended living room set up as my den and the intended den set up as my office. I chose warm colors, creams and rusts, for the common areas and cool blues for the bedrooms. Except for the kitchen where the floor was tiled, the floors were a lightly stained hardwood. The furniture throughout was rustic wood. I was going for warm, cozy, and functional. For the first time in a long time, I felt like I could relax and be at peace.

That evening, I was going on a blind date with Michael, the brother of my best friend Arielle, or Ari, as she preferred to be called. They are twins who were both put up for adoption and had recently become acquainted. After a conversation with her adoptive mother, in which Ari found out he existed, she became obsessed with finding him. Two months before, she’d succeeded. They were born here in LA. Michael was happy to make contact with her. Two weeks after that, she’d flown out from New York, where she lived, to meet him in person in LA. Together, they located their birth records and spent a few days getting to know each other. I didn’t get to meet him then because I was in New York directing a shoot. Ari met his adoptive family. She thought his mother and brother were kind and impressive. I think he hung out with her once after that in New York. Ari really liked Michael. She said he was charming and genuinely seemed to like women.

My legal separation from my legitimately angry husband, Greg, had been made official a few days before, and I’d filed to convert it to a divorce earlier that day. My primary goal was to get Greg to agree to a settlement that wouldn’t dismantle everything I’d built and get it finalized. To achieve that, I had to lie low, avoid arguments with him, and give him time to accept that our marriage was over.

Ari wanted me to celebrate that milestone by getting back on the market. Being on the market was the last thing on my list. I just wanted to spend some time being by myself. I needed to find friends and build up my support network. That was my second goal. However, all the way from New York, she’d set up this date with her brother—drinks, dinner, and dancing—despite my goals and without my permission. She said that Michael and I had that “dance thing” in common. He was a professional, the principal male dancer for the Torus Contemporary Ballet Company, which was based in LA.

I’d diffuse things immediately by saying we should aim at being friends. Maybe I’d at least get someone I could talk technique with out of this. One thing was certain: if he was doing this for her, he was kind and patient.

I dressed in jeans, a simple but artsy designer shirt, and some strappy but comfortable sandals, in case things went well and we ended up dancing. I was playing it sexy in an understated way.

My doorbell rang, and I opened the door. Okay. Okay. The pictures Ari sent me were all headshots. I knew he had a pretty face, but I wasn’t properly prepared for the whole package. He was gorgeous. He was tall, maybe six feet four inches, slim, and muscular—dancer muscular—well-defined but not bulky. I consciously suppressed a deep inhale, smiled politely, and casually looked directly into his eyes so that my gawking remained my secret. “Hello, Michael.”

“Nice to meet you, Sammi,” he said as he offered his hand.

I put my hand in his. He had long graceful fingers, and his grip was firm but gentle. “Same. Come in for a moment. I’ll get my purse.” I stepped aside, motioning for him to enter.

“Of course.” He gave my hand a gentle squeeze before letting it go and walking into my house.

He was wearing jeans and a nice shirt with a stylish pair of loafers. I really appreciated the way he was working his jeans. Man. The place where his obliques met his hip bones was probably too much to handle. I could see he had a tattoo on each arm, but I couldn’t tell of what because his sleeves were hiding most of them. It made me wonder how he looked shirtless. I lifted my eyes to the level of his as he turned around, then glanced away, as our eyes made contact again, to close the door. “I don’t know if you’ve realized it yet, but your sister is a piece of work.”

He chuckled. “I’m starting to understand that.”

“What did she tell you about me?”

“Not much. She said that she has known you her whole life and that you’re her best friend. And we have that ‘dance thing’ in common. What did she say about me?”

“About the same. She’s still getting to know you. So far, you seem pretty nice. And we have the ‘dance thing’ in common.” He smiled and I returned it. He did seem nice. After a beat, I said, “I know that Ari planned this evening as a date and placed us in it, but I don’t want to go that route. Given that she’s my best friend and you’re her recently located, long-lost brother, I’d really like us to be friends. So can we just hang out and get to know each other on that level, okay?” I delivered that pretty well.

He half smiled, pursed his lips, and tilted his head slightly. “Okay.” He had nice lips, and I was pretty sure he was laughing at me.

I needed a moment to get a little perspective. “I’m gonna use the ladies’ room, then I’ll be ready to go. Make yourself at home. There’s sparkling water in the fridge.”

“Okay. Thanks.”

Once in the bathroom, I looked at myself in the mirror. It had been a minute since I’d been in the game. I liked the game, and I still had it. I adjusted my hair. I was wearing it out, a kinky-curly mane. I decided on red lipstick instead of nude. I hadn’t prepared to deal with a pretty boy ego. I don’t know why I didn’t anticipate he’d be fine. He looked like what I’d expect Ari’s brother would look like. He had creamy high yellow skin, big brown eyes, and dark brown, almost black, mixed kid hair, just like Ari. His hair wasn’t as curly as hers though. They both had nice, perfectly rounded noses with beautifully shaped lips and high cheekbones, like people from West Africa. And his body was banging. I wondered if he’d put all his eggs in the “I’m hot as hell” bucket. Well, my bet was he was either incapable of having an actual conversation or his ego was the size of Everest. Whichever, at that moment, I was about the fishing, not the catching. I needed to get out of the net I was in. I had no intention of getting into another one anytime soon.

Maybe I could screw him before we settled into the friendship phase. My bet was that he was a player, which would make him the perfect prospect for a casual encounter. I located the condoms I’d bought for just such an opportunity. I put them in my purse, just in case. Shit. It hit me that I was horny. I hadn’t had a thought like that in a good while. I needed to slow my roll—but I was bringing the condoms. I took a deep breath. I knew how to deal with pretty boys.

“Would you like to use the facilities?” Yep, he was sexy.

“Nope. I’m good.” He had his back to me, so I could really take him in.

“We’re ready to go then. Do you know where any of the places where Ari booked us are?”

He turned to face me. “Yeah. They’re not too far from where I live. Ari asked me for options.”

Hmmm. Well, he’d probably just rattled them off from in his head. “I’ll drive my car, so if things go really wrong—”

He choked down a laugh as he interrupted me. “I think we’ll be okay. I’ll drive. No matter what happens, I’m sure I’ll be fine with bringing you home.”

“Are you laughing at me?”

“I am.” He grinned. He stepped aside and motioned toward the door. “After you.”

I didn’t expect him to be honest. I didn’t know what to say and found myself grinning too. I shook my head and headed for the door.

He was driving a BMW 4 Series coupe.

“So you like cars?” What I really wanted to ask was how he was driving this car on a dancer’s salary.

He responded, “Some of them,” as we got in.

As he was driving to Ari’s first place, he asked, “Are you from here?”

“No. I’m from Atlanta. After college, I met a boy and decided to stay with him out here in California.”

“And that didn’t work out?”

“Nope. But I like California. So, for now, I’m staying. How about you?”

“I grew up here. I’ve traveled some but have never had the urge to move anywhere else.”

“Did you go to college?”

“Yep. Caltech.” He smiled and glanced at me. He arched one of his eyebrows.

“Really?”

“I studied chemistry.” He was still smiling, pleased with himself. He had a brain to go with his beauty. And he’d used it. Okay. “So how did you end up dancing professionally?”

“Dancing was always my passion. I got an opportunity to audition. I was accepted and have never looked back. What did you study in college?”

“Engineering undergrad. Fine arts masters.”

“Where?”

“Georgia Tech then NYU.”

He nodded in assessment. “So what’re you doing now?”

“Directing and producing. Mostly film. Some television.”

“So where does dance come in?”

“I used dance to keep me sane and focused. It was my escape in college and how I got the energy to get through school.”

He nodded. “So on some level, you’re a geek?”

“Yes, pot.” I smiled and wondered if my humor would make sense to him.

He chuckled out loud and responded, “Okay, kettle.” He was just as corny as I was.

We walked into the cheese and wine shop where Ari had booked us for drinks and chose a flight of wine and cheese. The conversation flowed easily.

“Since Ari and you went to all the trouble to arrange this elaborate date, I think we should toast the occasion that prompted it.”

“Which is?” he asked.

“Ari didn’t tell you anything? Really?”

“No. She asked me if I was free on Friday. When I said yes, she asked me if I’d take you out.” He half smiled. “She said I could consider it a mercy date.” He quickly covered his mouth. I narrowed my eyes and gave him the finger.

He held up his hands and said, “I’m kidding. I’m kidding.”

I stayed silent for a moment to let the discomfort hang a little. Then I said, “We’re celebrating the fact that I filed for divorce today. This ‘mercy date’ is her attempt to get me back on the market.” I raised my glass. “Here’s to letting bygones be bygones.”

We clinked glasses.

“So this is the same guy that you stayed out here to be with?”

“Yep.” I pursed my lips and stared at my hands. I felt a little sad about things not working out with Greg, but more than that, I was really going to miss spending time with his family, especially his mother and her sister. I guess it was obvious because Michael looked at a loss as to how to respond. I put the focus on him. “So are you dating? Are you serious about anyone?”

“No.” One word; then he fell silent.

I coaxed him. “So have you had any serious relationships? Or do you just play the field?”

He took a deep breath, as if considering. Then he said, “A bit of both, actually,” and stopped talking again.

I hunched my shoulders and shook my head. “And?” He looked at me as if he’d just realized something. He was trying not to smile. “I was in a really serious relationship my last two years in college. When I decided to dance professionally instead of pursuing a career in science, she ended it. She said she needed someone with a real career. Since then, I’ve been playing the field for the most part. I was with another person for a year or so, but that was never gonna work out.”

“So two years, huh?”

“Yeah. You?”

“Nothing really serious until I got married. We were together a little over two years, married one and a half of them.” I paused. He was sexy. Given that he’d given himself the space in this culture to dance ballet, I wondered where he was on the sexual spectrum. The question “Do you date men?” came out unfiltered.

He smiled slightly again. “No, I date only women.” He gave me a pensive look. “Why did you ask that question now? It’s a little forward.”

I hunched my shoulders. “You’re male and a dancer in a contemporary ballet company. I figured it would be a question you get all the time. It’s commonplace in the dance community.”

“True.” He shook his head and laughed a little.

“What’s so funny?”

He gave me a quick glance. “There was a time when I would’ve kicked your ass for asking me that question.” He chuckled.

“Why? There’s nothing wrong with being gay or bisexual.”

“I agree. However, when you’re a straight, adolescent male who’s trying to establish his sexuality, you defend it in the most demonstrative way you can: by kicking the ass of the questioner and then taking his girl.”

I was sure that being a beautiful male had made it that much worse. “So it happened often?”

“Yeah. I kicked a lot of asses.”

We drifted into easy conversation and realized we were running late for Ari’s next destination.

By the end of dinner, we were having fun. When the check came, I reached for it, saying, “Let me get this. You’ve been so gracious to go through with this ‘mercy date’ situation that your sister put you in.” “No, it’s fine. I’ve got it.”

I shook my head. “Come on, now.”

He paused and took in the fact that I was serious. “Fair enough. Let’s split it.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

As we got into his car, he asked, “Are you up for dancing? Or do you want this ‘mercy date’ to be over?”

I chuckled. He was asking me if I wanted to stop staring at him—if I wanted to forgo a chance to feel him up on the dance floor. I was cool. So I said, “I love to dance. I’m always up for dancing. That’s not logically a question, as far as I’m concerned.”

He smiled. “I can relate. I know of a really good dance party that’s happening tonight. It’s hip-hop. Are you okay with that?”

I shook my head. “I don’t see how that’s a question either?”

He smiled. “Good.” After a breath, he said, “The dance party is on me.” He glanced at me to see my reaction.

I shook my head and tried to think of something witty to say. When he could wait no longer, he said, “I can get us in free.” He was proud of that corny-ass response and went into an all-out fit of laughter and posturing. It was obvious he felt as comfortable as I did.

I kept shaking my head and took it in. Yes, I thought, at the very least, I’ll get a friend out of this.



AS WE EXITED the coat check, which I insisted he pay for, and walked into the main area of the club, it was clear that we were on his playground. Given the looks I was getting from other women, I didn’t think he usually arrived with a date. I was careful to give him space— enough so that most of the women didn’t see me as an obstacle. It wasn’t a “date-date” after all. It made me wonder if he had a reputation for callousness. At one point, we got separated when one of his fans swooped in. Clearly, he could have gotten laid that night whether I chose to jump him or not. He didn’t even have to ask. I hung back a bit to take in the spectacle. When he realized I was no longer by his side, he looked around and spotted me behind him. He hunched his shoulders and gave me a confused look, motioning for me to join him, which earned me some sharp stares.

When I caught up to him, he asked, “Do you still want to dance?

Why did you stop walking with me?” He was so used to that treatment that he was oblivious.

I chuckled and said, “I got cut off by one of your fans. So I decided to enjoy the show.”

He pursed his lips and smiled. Then he nodded his head and said, “Come on; let’s dance.”

He could move. We went at it step for step, song after song. It was timeless. He was fun to dance with. He wasn’t clingy and domineering like some men. He didn’t have a need to direct my movements. We made contact, but it wasn’t inappropriately intimate. Dancing together was even easier than conversation. I was thinking, Oh, shit, because I was really turned on. He was kind and silly—and intelligent. Up to that point, it seemed that he had his ego in check. He was good at the game.

Two hours after we hit the dance floor, we were both drenched. He said, “Let’s get something to drink. What would you like?”

“A Syrah if they have it.” The thought, Can I trust him not to put something in my drink? flitted across my mind. He was Ari’s brother, and he seemed to value that relationship. So I pushed it aside.

“Cool, I’ll get it. Sit here. This is my favorite spot to watch the crowd from.” He looked at his phone as he walked away. I wondered who was trying to get in touch with him.

I looked at my phone, which had buzzed a few times in the past two hours. There were texts from Sylvia, my mom. As usual, she’d written essays I’d have to read later. I was sure she just wanted to know where things stood. I responded in a quick text. “The separation is official. Divorce papers are filed. I’m out having fun. Talk to you tomorrow. Love.”

When he came back, I asked, “Were the drinks free too, or do you need help covering them?”

He narrowed his eyes and gave me the finger.

It was all I could do not to say, With pleasure. But I was cool. So I just laughed and imitated the posturing he did earlier.

He narrowed his eyes a bit more and focused on the glasses of wine.

I asked, “What’s up?”

“I don’t know which is mine and which is yours. Do you mind if I taste both of them?”

“No. Go ahead.”

He tasted one and then the other. He set a glass in front of me. “This one is yours.” He kept looking at it.

“You’re not sure, are you?”

He laughed and shook his head. “Nope. Not at all.”

“Let me try. Do you mind?"

“Of course not.”

I tasted both. I gave him a serious look. “You got it backward. This one is definitely yours.” I switched glasses.

He smiled. “I’m positive that you’re wrong.” He tasted and switched them again. We played that game a few more times. Ultimately, we ended up sharing the two glasses of wine and giggling until we settled into a comfortable silence.

A slow song came on. He offered his hand and said, “May I?”

I put my hand in his and followed him to the dance floor. Finally, I got to touch him. I put my hands on his shoulders, and he rested his on my lower back. All the muscles in his shoulders were clearly articulated. The slow set lasted awhile, and we relaxed into each other a bit. My cheek was resting just above his defined, but not overly developed, chest, and I felt comfortable putting my hands just above his hips. He had that wonderfully sexy furrow between his hip bones and obliques. Soon, I was thinking about the dimples in his lower back and the goody trail on his sculpted abdomen. I shook my head to bring myself back to reality. I was glad he couldn’t see my face.

He said, “I’m hungry. Would you be up for grabbing something to eat?”

“Sure.”

“Good, let’s go.” He took my hand and led me from the dance floor. He glanced back. “I think you’re beautiful, by the way.” He kissed my knuckles.

I was sure he’d made that move a thousand times. He was good. I had no complaints as I followed him out of the club like all of those who had gone before me. “Thank you. I feel the same about you.” I knew he was smiling, but he’d earned it. I was right. He was the perfect person to sleep with casually. Maybe I could end up with a friend and a fuck buddy.



WE FINISHED our snack and leaned on the side of his car to look at the moon and the ocean. While holding my hand, he said, “I guess I should take you home now. Did you have fun?”

“Yes, you?” I was a little tired, but I was having fun.

“Me too. This is the best ‘mercy date’ I’ve ever had.”

In response, I pushed him playfully. He pulled me into his arms, looking shocked by his own reaction. We both stood there, wrapped in each other’s arms, motionless. I wasn’t sure who moved first, but we kissed. A short, sweet, chaste kiss. He closed his eyes and shook his head. I cleared my throat.

He stepped back. “We should go.”

“Yes.”

We got into his car. He took my hand, kissing my knuckles absentmindedly, and said, “I like the way you dance. I want to do this again soon.”

I followed suit by taking his other hand. “I’d like that.” I kissed his knuckles softly.

Then we were exchanging tender kisses that deepened ever so slowly. When we came up for air, I wasn’t sure how we’d ended up kissing so deeply. I lost myself in his kisses. I couldn’t remember the last time that happened. I felt an intense connection between us. I wasn’t sure why, but I asked, “You live near here, don’t you?”

He looked at me for a moment. “Yeah.” He released my hand and pulled out of the parking spot. The next thing I knew, we were parked in what I assumed was his driveway.

“This is not what I meant,” I said.

“I know. Do you want me to take you home?”

“No.”