Lucy stomped into Rylee’s small guest room, her impatient glare scorching the air between them. “Come on, Rylee! We’ve got to get this right! Nervous fidgets propelled me as I paced, fuming at my friend’s clumsy attempts. We were supposed to dance for our school talent show and I wanted flawless, not floppy and amateurish.
“Okay, stop! Let me show you,” I snapped, yanking Rylee up to stand beside me. “Think of it like bending to pick something up. Sway your hips back, then pop your ass up, tucking in your stomach…like this.” I demonstrated, rotating my hips with a practiced twist.
Rylee’s face contorted in frustration, a deep blush staining her freckled cheeks. “I can’t! It feels so stupid! Lucy, stop yelling at me!”
Exasperated, I whirled around to head back to the window where I’d been adjusting my miniskirt, only to spot Rylee’s dad, Mark, lounging on the bed, reading a book. Oh, shit. I turned back to Rylee with an unreadable look.
“Maybe Dad can help,” I suggested, a devious plan formulating in my head.
Rylee’s eyes widened in horror at the prospect, but I cut her off before she could protest. “It’s a dance thing, he won’t think anything of it. Just let him show you.”
Rylee hesitated, then reluctantly approached the bed. Her dad looked up, a kind smile spreading across his rugged features. “Hey sweetie, Lucy says you could use a hand with your routine?”
Rylee’s cheeks flamed as she shook her head, but Mark patted