International Dance Day

“I never thought I’d say this, but I like the ballet.”

Sister Jean looked at me like I’d just admitted to voting Tory.  “Who are you?” she hissed suspiciously.  “And what have you done with Caleb Knight?”

I tried not roll my eyes at the drama.  “I’m not kidding.  It was amazing.”

And yes, I had every intention of going to see the show again.

She sighed.  “So the Swan is every bit as sexy as the nurses around here have been saying for the last six weeks?”

“He’s not dancing the Swan.  Though, the guy has a phenomenal ass in those black leather pants.”

Which was actually true.

“You fell for Prince Charming?”

The one person I’d taken as a Chosen when I was Turned, gave me the kind of disparaging stare normally reserved for drunken bums who stagger into Accident and Emergency at 2am.

I ignored it.

“Prince Charming is straight,” I said flatly.

And he’s my Mate…

Which means I’m royally fucked, and not in a good way.

Though I didn’t tell her that.

At least I hope I didn’t.

I’ve been running off too much at the mouth lately, so I can’t be sure.

Jean has eyes that have seen everything after nearly 25 years in emergency medicine.   “I have no idea how to seduce a ballet dancer,” she admitted, watching the reception desk from where were sitting.

It was remarkably quiet for 2am on a random weekday.

Not a drunken bum in sight to interrupt us.

“You’re helpful,” I snorted.

“Are any of his friends gay?”

“Like it matters?”

“Doctor Knight, you’re blushing.”

“Am not.”

“Are too.”

So we’re all five years old now?

“He taught me to do this sexy little hip swivel thing…”  Okay, so that made me blush thinking about it.  “He’s nice.  He’s cute.  He dances like…”  I had never seen a ballet before, so I had nothing to compare it to.  But I’d seen Dirty Dancing in school, and could understand the appeal.  “He’s like…”

Oh, dear God.

Cal?

What the fuck with you?

I’m insane.

I’m in love with a straight guy.

And I want him in more ways than I could politely explain, even to a nursing Sister I’ve worked with for years, who’s impervious to my childishness.

She’s never once even given in to the big eyed innocent smile that usually has people running to do whatever I need.

She sat there watching me.  “You really need to get laid.”

Yes.

Yes, I do.

I fiddled with the stethoscope around my neck.  “I’m taking him for a drink tomorrow afternoon after the matinee.”

She nodded slowly.  “Do the hip swivel thing.”

“Now?”

For the first time in my life I was hoping a drunk would stagger through the door.

“When you get close to him at the bar, you dipstick.”

“Swivel my dipstick?”

“Whatever you need to do,” she chuckled.  “You’ve got brains, you’ve got charm, you’ve got skills, you’ve got a smile that makes most people go weak in the knees before they realize they’ve swooned, and you need to turn on every ounce of that to get his attention.”

“He’s still straight!”  Am I speaking English?

She snorted.  “He’s a ballet dancer.  He’s being wooed by a Swan in this show I’ve not actually been able to go see yet.  Wear leather pants or something.    You can do this.”

That’s it?

‘You can do this’?

That’s what she’s giving me?

“Maybe I should just bite him,” I snorted.

“It works in all those movies,” she agreed.

Oh, yeah.

I am so fucked.