Free Waltz This Way (v1.1) by Dakota Cassidy Page A

reluctant participants and who wanted to learn to dance, and the ongoing plan to finely hone Stan’s perfect murder.
    But this morning, as she haphazardly made an attempt to cover the dark circles under her eyes with concealer and applied a light gloss to her pale lips then packed a lunch of apples and a bologna sandwich with mustard, her stomach had twisted and heaved.
    When Max, who’d been kind enough to give her a lift because her father had a podiatrist’s appointment, had pulled up, Mel had almost turned tail and run.
    She was no Hilary Swank in some remake of Freedom Writers.
    These kids wanted to dance as much as she wanted to wax her legs.
    But it turned out Max was a hard taskmaster who took no shit. So here Mel was on the way to start her new career.
    Max turned in her seat. Her green eyes so warm it made Mel’s heart thaw a bit. “Just keep your eye on the prize, Mel. A paycheck. A pretty good one, too. One that will afford you a place to live eventually—and plenty of chocolate frosting. And self-sufficiency. There’s nothing like that for your wounded pride. You taught in L. A.; you can teach in Jersey. I know you were good at it because I saw that interview on Hollywood Scoop with the little boy who said he missed you.”
    Humiliation flooded her cheeks in the shade of red. How that reporter from Hollywood Scoop had conned Tito’s mother into letting him do an interview left her speechless. Not to mention, pissed.
    “Tito. He was a great kid.”
    “These kids will be, too,” Max soothed. “Now get a move on, teacher, or you’ll be late.”
    Like it was her first day of kindergarten, Mel slid from the car with reluctance. “All right,” she offered dejectedly.
    “Don’t forget your lunch.” Maxine tossed the brown paper bag at her and waved. “Have an awesome first day, Mel!”
    Mel watched Max drive off like her mother had just abandoned her at the 7-Eleven. She wanted to run after Maxine and cling to the bumper of her car. Beg. Plead. Cry.
    Deep breaths. Deep breaths.
    She paused when she was unable to relax.
    Okay, deeper breaths.
    “Hey! Mel, right?”
    Mel stopped her breathing exercise cold, turning to block her eyes from the sun as a tall man approached.
    He lifted a broad hand in her direction, the scent of his spicy cologne drifting to her nose on the early morning breeze. “Remember me? Nephew to Myriam the Hun?”
    Oh, she definitely remembered. How could she forget so much hot? Her heart skipped at least two beats when she peered at him through the sunlight. The curl of his hair around the collar of his casual jacket made her knees weak. “Drew, right?”
    He grinned and she wondered why he appeared so pleased she’d remembered his name. “That’s me. C’mon, I’ll walk you in.”
    Everything seemed brighter suddenly when he placed a light hand to her waist. She didn’t feel as much like she was headed to the guillotine with Drew taking long strides beside her.
    Not until she saw her reflection in the school’s doors anyway. Her thick, kinky-curly hair, always difficult to contain no matter what product she used, flew around her chalky face in tangles, pulling out of her ponytail, and her wraparound skirt was wrinkled. Much to her delight, she’d also missed a button on her sweater, leaving it uneven.
    Ah, but she’d remembered her bra. The miracle one. God was good.
    “Do you have a son who attends Westmeyer?”
    “Me? No. No children here. I … I teach here.” That’s right. She was a teacher. Teacher, teacher, teacher.
    “You’re a teacher? I thought you were a dancer.” He stopped at the wide double doors of the school, looking down at her with his dreamy eyes.
    Mel’s eyebrow cocked upward. How had he known that? “Well, I wasn’t born knowing the steps to the tango. I had a teacher who taught them to me.”
    He chuckled, his white teeth flashing for a moment. “Right. What I meant to say was what do you teach?”
    Mel cocked her head, running a nervous