Page 13 of Flirty Dancing

13

Cheating

Archer woke up feeling hungover Thursday morning, shoulders screaming in protest when he stretched. In an unusual turn of events, his three roommates were still quiet lumps under rumpled blankets. Archer studied Caleb in the bed next to him, long lashes resting on his smooth cheeks, plump lips parted as his chest rose and fell in the steady rhythm of a deep sleep.

The image of Caleb kissing Steve under the tree flashed in his mind again. It was a goodbye kiss, I swear… Archer’s chest throbbed. He was no lovesick kid; he knew the realities of dating. They hadn’t had any sort of conversation about their relationship status, and Caleb hadn’t broken any promises. Still… Archer’s shoulders weren’t the only thing hurting a little this morning.

Looking for a distraction, he grabbed his phone and saw the Hello? text from his dad again. Shit, totally forgot. His parents would be stewing by now, but it would only get worse if he waited longer. He forced himself to tap out a reply.

Hey, Dad. Sorry, yesterday was crazy. I meant to get back to you.

A reply came right away. Busy day dancing? We called on your birthday.

Yeah, at nine thirty, Archer thought. Yes, thanks, I saw that after my late show. Do you guys have time for a call now?

Your mother’s out.

Okay… Do you want to call me when she gets home?

Three dots, but no reply. Archer rubbed his eyes and looked over at Caleb again. He would have to wait and see, he decided. Give Caleb a chance to prove himself, but be careful not to get hurt. It was only for the summer, after all. No need to be so precious about it.

With another futile glance at the unanswered message to his dad, he sat up. He didn’t often get up early enough to catch the staff breakfast window, and his stomach rumbled at the thought of a huge plate of waffles. He eased off the bed, rummaged in his drawer for clothes, and snuck out to go shower.

He was starting up the path to the dining hall when he heard the dorm door thunk shut followed by another pair of feet pattering down the steps. “Archer!” Caleb jogged up to him and slid his arms around him. “You should have woken me up.”

Archer hugged him back. Caleb smelled the same as ever—fresh and light, like the breeze off a meadow on a spring day. “You looked like you were fast asleep, so I didn’t want to disturb you.”

Caleb pulled back, big brown eyes wide, and squeezed Archer’s forearms. “I wanted to say again that I’m sorry. It was stupid of me to keep messing around with Steve.”

“It’s okay.” Archer gave Caleb a quick kiss. “I mean it.”

“Yeah? You’re amazing.” Caleb pulled Archer in tight for another hug. “I’m all yours now. I want you to know that.”

“I know.”

“We still have almost three months together. It’s going to be so fun.”

Three months, Archer thought. The summer, nothing more. And that was fine. That was exactly what he had been thinking. Archer took Caleb’s hand and started walking again. “Absolutely.”

As the six o’clock show approached, Archer and Caleb were lounging together on Archer’s bed, sharing a bag of gummy bears and watching ballet reels, when Archer’s phone rang.

“Fuck,” he muttered when he saw his mom’s name. “I have to take this.”

“Okay, but be quick, or I can’t promise there will be any gummies left,” Caleb warned, popping another red bear into his mouth.

“No red ones, anyway.” Archer smiled and gave Caleb a quick kiss on his forehead before he headed down the hall and out the door.

“Hi, Mom. Hi, Dad,” he said when he answered.

“Oh, there he is,” his mom replied. “We called you on your birthday, you know.”

“I know, Mom.” Archer leaned against the railing, tilting his head back to take in the leafy green patterns, vibrant against snatches of blue sky. “Thanks. It was just really late when I got your message.”

“Hmm. How are things? Did you get a birthday cake?”

Archer told them about the trip into town, the surprise party, and the sweet gifts his friends had given him.

“Beer fund?” was his dad’s reply. “I hope you aren’t drinking too much.”

“What? Dad, I’m… It’s fine.”

“I was talking to Lulu Hammond, who works at the bank?” Archer’s mom said, as if this was a normal direction for the conversation to go. “And she said her brother-in-law is looking to add another accountant to their practice. You know, that big one in the building across from the courthouse?”

Archer rubbed his forehead. “I still have three months to go here, Mom.”

“Of course, but I’m just saying, you won’t have many chances to get a job at a firm like that.”

“I have to get going,” Archer said, the words bursting out of him from the pinching in his lungs. “I need to grab some dinner before the show.”

“Okay,” his mom said. “Great to hear from you. Take care, hon.”

Archer hung up and stood blinking at the quiet green cathedral around him and, for a second, considered hurling his phone as far as he could into its mossy depths. Then he sighed and went back inside to see if there were any red gummy bears left.

“I hope Mateo isn’t still mad,” Archer said on their way down to the theater.

“Fuck him,” Caleb snorted. “I don’t know why you care so much about his opinion.”

“I know, it’s just… It’s Mateo Dixon! I worshipped him when I was a kid.”

“You did?”

Archer kicked at a rock and shrugged. “Yeah.”

“Well… he’s just Mateo now, some grumpy asshole you have to work with. Honestly, don’t worry about him for one second. It doesn’t matter what he thinks.”

So Archer tried not to worry about him. But his stomach curdled when he offered Mateo a friendly smile in the greenroom, and Mateo looked right through him.

Mateo managed to avoid eye contact the rest of the week, in fact, except where necessary for the pas de deux in Saturday’s show. But there was nothing in his eyes beyond cold professionalism, and that came through in their dance. Usually, Archer could feel the audience breathing with them, but tonight the theater may as well have been empty.

Caleb’s right, Archer told himself as he changed after the show. It doesn’t matter what Mateo thinks. Obviously, I blew any chance we had to be friends, so now I just have to dance the best I can and try not to fuck up anymore.

I can do that.

I hope.

He packed up his bag and was about to leave the greenroom when someone approached him from behind. “Archer, can I have a minute?” It was Mateo.

“Of course, sure.” Archer steeled himself for more criticism or another tongue-lashing.

“Tonight, while we were dancing, I had a thought.”

“Oh?”

Mateo stepped close to him and grabbed his waist. “I was thinking here, when I hold you…”

Archer’s mouth dried out. He was not expecting this. Their noses were nearly touching. He inhaled Mateo, sweat and moss.

“What if,” Mateo murmured, “we paused, for four counts. Just letting it simmer.”

“Simmer,” Archer repeated, like an idiot, trying not to stare at Mateo’s lips. That was a mistake because then their eyes met. Mateo’s were dark and intense, and they drilled down into Archer’s very core. He feared every molecule in his body was about to disintegrate.

“I thought it would add some tension.” Now Mateo’s gaze darted to Archer’s lips, then back up. “Then we go into the lift. We can remove the turn at the end to make up the four count.”

They were still nose to nose. “Um.” Archer breathed. “Yeah. Yes. Sure. Sounds good.”

Another pause. Mateo had not let go of his waist. Surely Mateo could hear his pounding heart.

“Good.” Mateo stepped away. The corner of his mouth twitched. “Let’s do that then.”

Then he was gone, leaving Archer’s body bereft and mind spinning.

“What game are we playing tonight?” Archer asked Caleb as they flopped onto the less lumpy of the two couches in the cabin.

“I’ll give you a hint,” Caleb said, shifting closer and sliding a finger under Archer’s waistband. “It was Archer”—he kissed Archer’s nose—“in the cabin”—he kissed his chin—“with the killer body.” He planted another kiss on his lips.

Archer laughed. “I haven’t a clue .”

Caleb grinned. “Promise you’ll be my partner tonight anyway?”

“Of course.”

“We are, in fact, playing The Simpsons Clue,” Dominik said, nudging his way past them and dropping the bright yellow box onto the coffee table before bouncing into the armchair.

“Simpsons Clue? How do you even have all these crazy games?” Archer asked as Ben and Beau took their spots on the floor next to them, and the others gathered around. Mateo wasn’t there, and neither were Gage and River.

“’Cause I’m awesome,” Dominik replied, opening the box and pulling out the character pieces. “I’m Homer–slash–Mr. Green.”

Seta rolled her eyes as she settled on the other couch with her drink. “I’d argue about why you get to choose your character first, but honestly, it’s not worth it.”

Dominik looked smug as he started handing out the detective notepads. “Glad you’re learning.”

The game proceeded pretty much as Archer remembered—first, three cards were hidden in an envelope that would reveal the murderer, location, and weapon. The rest of the cards were dealt out, then the players moved around the board and made suggestions when they had a whodunnit guess. The other players would prove them wrong by showing if they had one of those cards in their hand, so the guesser would cross those options off their notepad until, by process of elimination, someone had enough information to make an actual accusation.

It should take a while to rule out all the other suspects, so it was surprising when Dominik announced he wanted to make an official accusation very early in the game.

“What? Already?” Seta frowned. A player could only accuse once, and if they were wrong, they were out, so they had to be pretty sure.

Dominik cleared his throat. “Krusty the Clown, in the nuclear power plant, with the poisoned donut.” Dominik pulled the three cards out of the envelope, peeked at them, then, with a flourish, triumphantly laid them out for everyone to show he was right.

There was a pause. “How did you figure it out so quickly?” Seta asked, eyebrow quirked. “I don’t even have half the boxes crossed off yet.”

“Me neither,” Harley chimed in. “Highly suspicious.”

“I didn’t cheat, if that’s what you’re implying,” Dominik said primly.

“You must have, though,” Harley insisted. “Like, it’s literally impossible for you to have gotten it so fast.”

“I have a strategy,” Dominik allowed, shrugging and collecting the cards.

“‘Strategy’?” Seta repeated, with air quotes.

“I can’t tell you,” Dominik said, “or else I won’t be able to use it anymore.”

“Right.” Harley nodded. “Because it’s cheating.”

“It is not!”

Archer sighed and took a pull of his beer. He glanced at Caleb, wanting to share an eye roll, but Caleb was talking to Ben on the floor next to him.

“You’re going to have to tell us your strategy,” Betty waded in. “Or else it seems like you cheated.”

“Fine,” Dominik relented, wounded at the lack of trust.

The group waited, breath held.

“When someone makes a suggestion and then someone else proves them wrong,” Dominik explained, “I can tell what they’re crossing off by where they mark their detective sheet.”

Seta blinked at him. “What?”

Dominik rubbed at the fuzz on his head. “Like, if you guessed Bart and someone shows you one of their cards to prove you wrong, then you mark off something at the top of your sheet where the suspects are, I know the murderer isn’t Bart. So, I can cross him off, too.”

There was silence around the table for a good five seconds before everyone began yelling at once. “That’s totally cheating!”

“No, it’s not!”

“Yes, it is!”

“It doesn’t say you can’t in the rules!”

“Oh my God, are you for real?”

“It’s a good strategy!”

“That is the cheat-iest cheating I have ever heard of! ”

Archer watched the fighting, wondering what Mateo would have said. It was better with his calm, steadying presence here.

“Fine! I won’t play anymore!” Dominik announced. He got up and stormed off toward the back door.

“Don’t be a baby!” Seta called after him. “We can play again for real now that we all know how you cheat.”

The screen door slammed.

Seta snorted. “Ridiculous.”

“So…” Caleb hedged into the awkward silence. “Who wants to go for a midnight swim?”

“Yeah, sure,” Seta agreed, starting to clean up the game.

“Bedtime for me,” Beau yawned.

At the same time, Ben hopped up. “I’m in for a swim.”

Beau frowned. “You were saying you were tired, earlier.”

“Well, I’m not now.” Ben narrowed his eyes at Beau in a challenge.

Caleb smiled and took Archer’s hand. “You in?”

Archer watched the B-Boys silently fighting and vowed to keep things nice and light with Caleb. “Sounds great.” He winked. “As long as it’s swimsuit-optional.”

They had a late night, and when Archer finally cracked his eyes open Sunday morning, he was alone in their room. He saw that Lynn had texted Call me! and wasted no time dialing her number.

“So… I baked a cake yesterday,” she said as soon as he answered.

His heart leaped. “And?”

Lynn groaned.

His heart sank right back down. “Did she say no?”

“I didn’t get to ask! I went for a shower when it was in the oven and when I got out, I smelled smoke.”

“Oh my God!”

“Then the smoke alarm went off, then the sprinklers.”

“Holy shit, Lynn.”

“It wasn’t for very long, but… part of the ceiling fell in.”

His jaw dropped. “What?”

“Not too bad, just where Leak Perry was.” She gave a weak laugh. “Now it’s a 9021-hole.”

Archer half laughed, half moaned. “Oh, Lynn! Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” She sighed. “I mean, I’m still a bit shaky, but I’m staying with Sasha for now, while it gets repaired.”

“Well, that’s good. And how are my plants?”

“Er, extra watered?”

“Perfect. How long are repairs supposed to take?”

There was a pause. “Fletcher said a month, but…”

Fletcher was an unreliable asshole. Archer gulped. “Let’s hope it’s less than three, anyway.”

“Oh, don’t worry, Archer, I’m sure it will be! Worst case, you can always crash with me and Sasha while you work things out.”

Right. “Work things out” while unemployed and homeless in the most expensive city in the world. He could picture the glee on his mom’s face when he arrived back in Ohio. “I’m sure it will.”

As the week went on, Archer’s guilty feelings about almost missing the hip-hop show lingered, especially since Mateo was still clearly pissed about it. He and Caleb barely existed, as far as Mateo was concerned, except for the odd time Archer would feel eyes on him and turn to see Mateo glaring.

But as that week passed, then another, he noticed that some of the other dancers were showing up closer and closer to showtime. What used to be a good hour of hushed backstage chatter over warm-up and careful makeup application was now down to about ten minutes of cursory stretching and a slapdash stop at the makeup table.

“We’re on in five minutes, Grace,” Mateo said to his Retro partner when she rolled in before the show Monday night and began peeling her clothes off.

Grace looked unconcerned as she flipped through her costume rack. “So?”

“What happened to warm-up?”

She shrugged and pulled her jumpsuit off the hanger. “Don’t need long.”

Betty came over, brow furrowed. “Grace?”

“Yeah?” She zipped up her suit and fluffed her red hair out.

Betty frowned. “I thought I saw…” She turned Grace around and nodded. “Yeah. You have a ripped seam. Right here.” She pointed at Grace’s side.

“Shit.” Grace craned her neck to look.

“Four minutes,” Mateo snipped.

“I’ve got this,” Betty said, digging into a drawer for a sewing kit. She pulled out white thread and a needle and got to work.

“Three minutes,” Mateo muttered, arms crossed.

“You’re not helping,” she replied evenly, drawing the thread through the fabric.

The time ticked away. She was rushing through the finishing stitches when Francisco began his welcome announcement.

“Shit, sorry.” Betty snipped the extra thread off. “I hope that holds.”

“Thanks, hon. It’ll be fine.” Grace squeezed Betty’s arm as they raced to their places in the wings.

It didn’t hold. Halfway through the show, it came open again. A patch of skin appeared during their particularly rigorous hustle, with Grace up in the air on Mateo’s shoulder, and only continued to grow as she spun around him. She did her best to fix it with duct tape when she had a few minutes off stage, Mateo watching, lips pressed together.

After the show, as they were getting changed, Mateo slammed the door to the greenroom. “Listen,” he barked in the silence. “I need everyone in this room one hour before showtime. Warm-up, hair and makeup, costume checks all done with ten minutes to spare. Got it?”

There were a few murmurs of agreement but Caleb rolled his eyes and threw a cheeky salute. “You got it, drill sergeant.”

Grace and a few others tittered.

Mateo’s eyes flashed but his lips curled in a smirk. “You can be a dick, Caleb, just be a dick in this room one hour before showtime.”

Archer fought the smile threatening to creep across his face.

Mateo’s eyes held his for a second, the hard edges maybe softening.

Caleb tilted his chin. “You realize no one actually gives a shit about a tiny rip in a costume?”

Mateo took a step closer to Caleb, his voice quieting to a near-whisper. “That’s fine, Caleb. I just need you in this room not giving a shit one hour before showtime.”

Caleb glowered. “Can we go eat now, or are you going to control that, too?” He took Archer’s hand and pulled him toward the door.

“Just be back—”

“Yeah, I know, one hour before showtime. Jesus.”

Archer thought he heard the low rumble of Mateo’s laugh as the door closed behind them.

“What an asshole,” Caleb muttered as he marched up the path.

“Mmm,” Archer said, smile now free in the long evening shadows.