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“The kittens are obsessed.” The dangling crystals throw light on the floor, and Raven and Amber chase it, pouncing with their tiny paws.
“Me too.” Sky kisses my temple. “But it’s getting late, the babies need their sleep, and I need to thank their daddy properly.” His breath fans over my ear. My face must show my trepidation because he smacks my arm. “They’ll be fine. I set up an iPad, and we’ll feed them while their blankies get warm in the dryer. Our babies will pass right out.”
“And then we get naked time. Lots and lots of naked time,” I assert.
Chapter 40
Skylar Engelhardt/ Lark Angel
I’ve given the tiny terrors more freedom to play by closing off the kitchen. It’s with some sort of kitty-twin telepathy that they closed themselves in a cabinet, dangled from the bar stools, and raced around skidding into the island.
Lo’s bringing dinner later since Mav said he’ll be late, not to wait, and get ready. Their plane landed two hours ago, and I’ve forbidden myself from checking his location. It might spoil the surprise.
My phone alarm dings, and I gather up my sweet babies to corral them into the book nook for my class. They’re changing every day, and I video chat with Mav so he doesn’t miss anything. Mav’s relationship with the kittens hits me in unexpected ways. He’s so gentle and ready to do whatever they need. He’s learned their meows and can anticipate what they need better than I can. I thought I’d be doing all the work, but Mav’s so in love he wants to clean their litter. No arguments from me.
Of course, Raven tries to escape, but I’ve perfected the toss and drop to shut the door fast. Just in time, because my twin students are arguing on my front steps.
One of my biggest fears after going on the morning show was that I’d lose my dance studio business. Didn’t think many people would want to take lessons from a gay sex worker whose name is linked to one of the city’s biggest sex scandals, and that’s sayin’ something in this town.
The queer community has rallied around me, and although I lost half of my students, new ones took their places immediately.
“I’m not stereotyping. I’m stating my opinion.” Andrew, the older twin, says to Anthony.
“You just want to be right,” Anthony retorts. “But there isn’t a way to prove it.”
Their father motions to me to say “they’re all yours.” These two will argue about anything.
“Who can do perfect heel-toe combinations across the floor the fastest? Warm up first.” I clap my hands, and the kids run into the studio, dropping their bags. I smile at the dad who is taking a seat in the entryway.
Andrew and Anthony remind me of kittens who need lots of playtime to get their energy out. Their dads were looking for a place for them to run and jump while being contained, but the kids have talent. Their music teacher gave them dance parts in their school play, and I help them rehearse.
Every ten minutes we do a free-dance style break to music they choose. Their creative freedom fuels their desire to learn new dances.
Class is almost over when Mav whisper-yells in the foyer. “Shhh! Quiet, Lark has class. I’ll open the door with another code.”
I’m curious, and the kids won’t focus with all his noise, so we sashay over to the doors and fling them open.
Mav’s walking on his tiptoes with his finger to his lips. Brant’s following him with his arms out as if he expects Mav to fall. King and O’Keefe are trying not to laugh.
“What’s wrong with him?” Andrew asks.
“Nothing!” Mav straightens up and hides an arm behind his torso.
“We can end early,” the dad offers.
“NO!” the twins cry in unison.
“How about we show these guys your routine? You think hockey players could do it?” I ask.
“No way! Never!” they say at the same time. “I’ll start the music,” Anthony shouts.
I motion for the guys to come into the dance studio and sit along the wall. “We’ve only got a few minutes left,” I assure them.
The twins put on a Broadway-worthy show, hamming it up, and the guys give them a standing ovation. They high-five each other, and their dad asks them to get their shoes on to leave.
“We should have a dance-off,” Andrew declares, like it’s a usual thing for him.
“Time to go, guys,” their dad says, but they beg until he relents.
