Page 2 of Flirty Dancing

2

Shady Queens

It was depressing how Archer’s entire New York life fit into a suitcase and a duffel bag. Just his dance gear, clothes, and toiletries, really, plus a few books he’d been meaning to get to, including his old, battered copy of The Hobbit that he reread every summer. He left his little collection of succulents on the only windowsill in the apartment, which got a pathetic trickle of sunlight around noon. He hadn’t managed to kill them yet and pleaded with Lynn to keep them alive.

“I promise,” Lynn said solemnly. “I’ll take care of little Danny Zuko and Belle and… What was the other one’s name again?”

“Spot Conlon.”

“Yes, of course, also Spot Conlon.”

That morning, he was up early and caught a bus from the Port Authority with time to spare and only a slight cheap-champagne headache. The two men he remembered from the callback were waiting, too. Both were solidly built, with thick shoulders and dark brown hair. One sat on the other’s lap in the crowded terminal and ran his fingers up and down the other’s neck while they scrolled through their phones. The lap-sitter leaned in for a kiss, then they smiled at each other before going back to their phones.

Archer’s heart clenched. It had been a long time since anyone had looked at him like that. When his bus pulled in, he joined the line behind them.

“Oh, hey,” the slightly taller of the two said when he saw Archer. “You were at the callback, right?”

“Yup. Archer.”

“Ben. This is my boyfriend, Beau.” He had a trace of a French accent.

“That’s great that you both got in,” Archer said, shaking their hands.

“There were some tense moments.” Beau laughed. “But we’re kind of a package deal. And I told him if he got in and I didn’t, I’d break up with him.” Beau had the same accent, and Archer tried to commit to memory that Ben was the taller one.

Ben rolled his eyes. “He’s joking.”

“Kind of.” Beau pecked Ben on the nose.

Archer took a seat across the aisle from the two of them, and they leaned toward him to continue their conversation.

“So how much do you guys know about this show? Have you ever seen it?” Archer asked.

“Nah, never seen it, but we know a man who works in maintenance at the resort,” replied Beau. “The guests don’t arrive until Sunday when the season opens, so we have five days left for rehearsal.”

“Left?”

“Yes, the rest of the cast is already there. We were last-minute fill-ins. We’ll have to play catch-up.”

“Where are you from?” Ben asked. Or was it Beau?

“Ohio. Been in New York for five months.”

“Only five months?”

“Yeah. I, uh… I was an accountant.” Archer flushed.

“Chasing the dream, eh?” Beau (or Ben) asked kindly.

Archer chuckled, running a hand through his hair. “I suppose so.” He changed the subject. “Where are you two from?”

Ben and Beau were ballroom dancers from Quebec who decided to audition for the show on a bit of a whim, thinking it would be a fun summer job. Normally, they taught ballroom in Montreal. Archer remembered the way they moved as one at the audition during the samba and wasn’t surprised they had been chosen together. They chatted easily the rest of the way, and Archer was glad he would arrive already knowing these two.

The buildings gave way to trees as the bus rolled north. To Archer, when he was growing up, New York meant skyscrapers and sidewalks, and, for some reason, he had never considered the rest of the state. Leafy green trees covered gently sloping hills, with the odd flash of a placid lake or frothy waterfall visible through the foliage.

He had stalked Shady Queens’ Instagram, so he had some idea what it would look like, but the place was much more charming in person. There was a large main building waiting for them at the bottom of the maple-shaded gravel drive. It was a three-story white Victorian shingle with rainbow trim, and there were three bright and new-looking pride flags hanging from poles across the front. A WELCOME STAFF sign was tied to the front railing. Other smaller white buildings and cabins spilled down the hill toward the lake, which sparkled in the afternoon sun.

Archer trudged up the creaking steps, suitcase in hand, and pushed open the front door. A woman stood behind the reception desk in a flowery yellow and orange dress with gray hair twisted into a messy knot.

“Hi, I’m Archer Read,” he said, showing her the paperwork they’d given him after the audition.

She didn’t look at it but smiled at him instead. “Department?”

“Uh… dancing?”

“We call you Entertainment , dear.” She pecked at the keyboard.

“Oh.”

He stepped aside to let Beau and Ben introduce themselves.

“Nice to meet you all. I’m Macy Cunningham, but everyone calls me Mrs. C. Any of you been here before?”

They shook their heads as she handed them each a welcome package. “Dinner is in the staff dining hall from four until seven sharp, every night.” She looked at her watch. “But I believe rehearsal is still going on. Perhaps the three of you should hustle over there first.” She pulled a map out and began marking it with firm X s like she’d done it a thousand times, which she probably had. “We are here, your bunks are here. You can drop off your bags, get changed, and head here.” She X ed another building down by the lake. “This is the theater. There’s a door for the talent in the back.” She handed the map to Archer and passed them each a room key. “Heads up, Stewart doesn’t like to be interrupted, but better that than missing altogether, hmm? Well, don’t stand there blinking at me, off you go!”

The three of them were assigned the same four-person room in one of the staff dorms, their beds waiting empty and neat. The bed on the end was rumpled and covered in clothes. They dropped their bags, threw on their rehearsal gear, and ventured in the direction of the theater, map in hand.

The building was old but lovingly refurbished. A wraparound veranda with cozy bench seating looked like the perfect spot for a drink before or after the show. They could hear “Ladies’ Night” blaring before they even opened the back door. It was dark inside, but lights from the stage reached them through the side-masking draperies and down a short flight of stairs. Archer realized he was holding his breath as they climbed the stairs and approached the stage. The air thrummed and the pounding of feet on the boards shivered down his spine. He exhaled as he took in the movement.

The troupe danced like a well-oiled machine, like the most seasoned of Broadway performers, tight, deep in the pocket, not a step missed, not a finger out of line. And young, so young. Most of them looked to be early twenties, at best. Except for one face at the front—a face that sent Archer’s jaw plummeting to the floor. A handsome face—gorgeous, really—that had been featured on his bedroom wall from the ages of fourteen through eighteen. Black hair, heavy, serious brow, a stick-straight nose, full lips, square jaw. Mateo Dixon, Broadway star, all-around breathtakingly talented and devastatingly hot. Archer was distantly aware his mouth was hanging open, but his body was not responding to signals from his brain.

Archer’s parents took him to New York City for his fourteenth birthday, and he had fallen in love with Mateo Dixon when he saw him as Danny in Grease . Archer had followed Mateo’s career, until, five years ago, Mateo had abruptly left a show and disappeared off the face of the earth.

What the fuck was he doing here?

Besides the hustle, that is. Mateo was in a very loose black tank top and black tights, chest rippling and glistening with sweat. Archer’s gaze lingered on the perfectly sculpted arms and shoulders. He had only a vague impression of Mateo’s partner, a shapely redhead spinning in front of him.

“Dude,” Ben or Beau murmured at him. “You’re staring.”

“That’s Mateo Dixon,” he stammered in reply, as if that explained everything.

“Who?” said Ben or Beau.

“Oh, I think I’ve heard of him,” Beau or Ben interjected. “He was the lead in Robin’s Egg , wasn’t he, when it took off?”

“Yup.” Archer swallowed and nodded, eyes still not leaving Mateo as he lifted his partner and spun her around on his shoulder like it was nothing.

“What’s he doing here?” Beau or Ben wondered.

“I don’t know…” Archer trailed off, realizing he was about to spend the summer dancing with Mateo Dixon. Except no, this was a mistake. Surely, he was just visiting? Choreographing? There was no way he was actually in the show?

Right. Show. Archer tore his eyes off Mateo and tried to take in the choreo. The blond slip from the callback was there already, following along by herself at the back. Now that Archer wasn’t a ball of audition nerves, he realized she was a cutie pie with a little button nose and a dusting of freckles over her fair skin. She must have made the trip to Shady Queens right away when they got selected.

But Archer’s attention went back to Mateo. His face was stern, eyes dark. He kept his gaze on the back of the theater, with the odd flick over to his partner. He was flawless and… distant.

And there was Stewart Harpham-Lale seated in the front row, one hand gripping the cane propped between his legs, the other petting a Yorkshire terrier in his lap. He wore a wrinkled linen suit, rings on each finger, and his mouth curled down in a frown.

When the song ended, the troupe held their final pose. Stewart stood and regarded them for a moment before he approached the stage, wiggling dog under one arm. “We’re lucky we have five more days,” he said in a rasp as he climbed the stairs. “That was… mediocre.” Then he turned to the three of them huddled offstage and waved them forward with his cane. “This is the rest of my troupe, is it?”

They shuffled toward Stewart while the other dancers watched.

It was very quiet in the theater when Archer spoke. “Yes, sir. Archer Read. It’s an honor—”

“Indeed, likewise,” Stewart Harpham-Lale said rapidly, already moving on to Ben and Beau as they introduced themselves.

Archer’s gaze slipped back to Mateo. His stomach jolted when he discovered Mateo was watching back. Archer offered a small smile. Mateo’s face remained blank as he looked away, wiping his forehead with the hem of his shirt.

“Well. We’re polishing up our Club Retro show right now, or we’re trying, God help us. Why don’t you three watch a full run-through and see what you can pick up, then the others can break it down for you after. From the top!” Stewart spoke with very few pauses. He stood at the front of the stage this time as they did another run. Archer’s brain hummed trying to take it all in.

Stewart frowned again when they were done. “Passable. Mateo, you’ll see to these three? Eight o’clock sharp tomorrow morning, do not be late. Dominik, yes , I’m looking at you. Come, Judy.” His dog yipped. He turned and swept off stage right, the back door clattering shut behind them in the silence.

“Alright.” Mateo looked at them like it was the last thing in the world he wanted to do. “I’m Mateo, this is Dominik, Gage, Iris, River, Seta, Caleb…” Mateo rattled through the names of the other twelve, making sixteen dancers in total. All Archer could remember was Dominik, because he had a purple mohawk and made a horrified gasp when Stewart Harpham-Lale called him out, and Caleb, because he was beautiful and smirking right at Archer. “You can learn names tomorrow. They’re going to go eat while I run you through Retro .”

The crowd shuffled out, a few saying hi and offering handshakes and backslaps on their way. They laughed and joked with each other like they’d been dancing together for years, although Archer supposed that some of them had.

“Hi, I’m Archer.” He took a step toward Mateo, hand out, insides churning, and suddenly, he was living his teenage fantasy. He’d imagined walking up to Mateo a thousand times, introducing himself, Mateo smiling, taking his hand. It’s so nice to meet you, Archer, dream Mateo would say. Tell me, are you a fellow dancer? Then sometimes he would even lean in for a kiss—

Actual, very sweaty Mateo looked at Archer’s outstretched hand a second too long before shaking it without enthusiasm. “Mateo.”

“Yes, I know, I—I’m a huge fan.”

Mateo raised a skeptical eyebrow at him. “A fan?”

“I saw you in Grease .” Archer was about to start babbling, but he couldn’t help it. “My parents took me for my fourteenth birthday, and I’ve been a fan ever since. I never got to see Robin’s Egg live but I—”

“That was a long time ago.” Mateo cut him off as his gaze swept over Archer.

This was not going as expected. “You were brilliant, that’s been my favorite show—”

“Look, Archer.” Mateo’s voice was a heavy bass, a vibration in the center of Archer’s chest. “That was another lifetime. Now here we are in the fucking wilderness and you have six entire shows to learn and I’m missing dinner, so I suggest you stop talking and put your ballroom shoes on.”

“Okay. Yeah, sure.” Archer fumbled with the zipper on his bag. “You’re teaching us the choreo?”

“Is that a problem?”

Oh my God, Mateo Dixon is going to watch me dance. “No, sir.” And I called him sir . Fuck. Archer wanted to smack himself in the forehead. But a hint of a smile flickered on the corner of Mateo’s mouth for a second—no, probably his imagination.

“Betty’s your partner for Retro ,” Mateo said, nodding at the tiny blonde when she appeared from the wings with a water bottle and towel. She smiled at Archer, at least.

“Hi, I’m Archer,” he whispered to Betty when Mateo went to fiddle with the audio equipment. “Is your name actually Betty or does he call you that because you’ve got a blond ponytail?”

She laughed. “It’s actually Betty. Nice to meet you, Archer. Or should I say Archie?”

Now it was his turn to chuckle as he bent to lace his ballroom shoes. “When did you get here?”

“Yesterday. I drove—left right after we got the gig. There’s so much choreo to learn—”

“If you two are done talking,” Mateo interjected, “we start in the wings.”

“Right. Sorry.” Come on, Archer. Time to focus. “I’m ready.”

Mateo led them through the blistering choreography for “Disco Inferno” and “Ladies’ Night,” and Archer did his best to keep up, despite the fact that he was still completely starstruck. Mateo Dixon is touching my arm. Mateo Dixon’s thighs are like tree trunks. Mateo Dixon smells amazing. Betty was a huge help, having already picked most of it up, and gave him little nudges here and there to keep him on track.

“Thanks,” he whispered when her chin bob once again told him which way to go.

“I got you,” she whispered back. “Archie and Betty need to stick together.”

Archer was starving and dripping with sweat himself when Mateo declared them done at six thirty. “Hurry and grab dinner before the dining hall closes. Be back here ready to go before eight tomorrow morning.” Mateo wiped his forehead with his shirt hem again.

“Thanks for… Thanks,” Archer said, not staring at Mateo’s abs.

Mateo took a long pull on his water bottle, throat bobbing, before he looked at Archer again. “You don’t need to thank me. Here to do a job, same as you.”

Archer nodded, tongue-tied. They said never to meet your heroes. It seemed they were right. Not that he expected Mateo to be his instant best friend, but Mateo seemed to actively dislike him. The disappointment was heavy in his chest as he changed into his flip-flops and gathered his belongings before heading down the stairs.

“Archer.”

He startled at Mateo’s deep rumble and turned around, hopeful. “Yeah?”

“That’s the wrong door. The dining hall is this way.”