The Favorites: A Novel(99)

“Well, well,” Heath said. “Guess you’re a role model after all, Katarina Shaw.”

I rolled my eyes, but I was smiling; if nothing else, Madison’s enthusiasm had shattered the uneasy silence between us.

“Where are you staying?” Heath asked. “Around here?”

“I found an Airbnb over by the beach.”

“Marina del Rey?”

I shook my head. “Playa.”

“Oh, thank God.”

“Don’t tell me Heath Rocha, committed hater of Los Angeles, has turned native enough to express sincere and deeply held neighborhood beliefs.”

“Hey, I’m just looking out for my skating partner’s safety and well-being,” he said. “Wouldn’t want you to get mowed down by a double stroller. It’s wild out there in MDR.”

“Next you’ll tell me you’ve gotten into hot yoga and juice cleanses.”

“Hot yoga is so last year. It’s all about SoulCycle now.” Heath smiled, and a stray curl fell across his forehead, shining in the waning sunlight. “So you want a ride home?”

“Don’t tell me you drive some obnoxious sports car now.”

“Worse.”

He gestured toward a small motorcycle parked alongside the curb. A black helmet with gold racing stripes hung from the handlebars.

“Seriously?” I said. “You’re a biker dude?”

“You want a ride or not?”

I hesitated. But what was the issue? We were colleagues. Colleagues could engage in friendly banter. Colleagues could give each other rides home.

Heath handed me the helmet and climbed onto the bike. I mounted the seat behind him, cinching my arms around his waist. We’d touched far more intimately during the training session, but that was work. This was…I wasn’t sure what it was.

He took the scenic route along Vista del Mar. The day had been calm and cloudless, so the setting sun poured over the ocean like molten metal. Suddenly I wasn’t in such a hurry to get back to my small, starkly furnished rental.

I tugged on Heath’s sleeve. He nodded and turned toward the coast.

The weather was chilly by California standards. Aside from a woman tossing a Frisbee to her chubby pit bull farther down the shoreline, we had the beach to ourselves.

“Where are you living these days?” I asked as we trudged toward the water, shoes in hand. “Somewhere better than that shitty studio over on Higuera, I hope. Remember that dump?”

“How could I forget?” Heath looked down. “No, I’m over in the Palisades now.”

“An apartment?” I said. “Or—”

Heath’s jaw ticked. Oh.

“We each have our own space,” he said. “But Bella was all alone in that huge house, and we’re—”

“Friends. Yeah, she told me.”

At the Academy, I’d been on the lookout for any simmer of attraction between them. What I saw instead might have been worse: Heath and Bella had an easy rapport, a relaxed intimacy that made it impossible to ignore how close they’d gotten while I was gone.

Heath turned to face me. All that golden light reflected in his eyes.

“What else did Bella tell you?” he asked.

I met his gaze. “She told me you were a choreographer now. And that you missed me.”

“Of course I miss you, Katarina.” He stepped closer, stumbling in the sand. I had to rock back, or we would have collided. “And I’m so sorry, about what happened in Vancouver. If I could go back, I—”

Click.

We both stiffened at the all too familiar sound of a camera shutter, slicing through the crashing waves and seagull cries.

“Behind you,” Heath said. “On the bike path.”

“Just like old times.”

“What do you think?” He smiled, leaning in. “Should we give ’em a show?”





Chapter 68





If there was one thing Heath and I were good at, it was putting on a show.

We pretended to be oblivious to the paparazzo’s presence, the same way we used to in the days when they followed us everywhere. We held hands. We laughed and smiled. I teasingly pushed Heath away, then let him pull me back in again and tangle his hands in my hair.

As the sun sunk past the horizon, we stared into each other’s eyes, and Heath canted his chin, moving closer and closer, until he was so close I was sure he would kiss me.

At the last second, he deflected to my cheek, his beard scraping along my jaw. I was relieved. I was disappointed. I was more confused than ever before.

“I think the guy’s gone,” he whispered in my ear. I was painfully aware of every point where our bodies touched, from his palm cradling the back of my head to my bare toes brushing against his as our feet sunk deeper in the sand. “Do you want to—”

“I think we should keep things professional,” I blurted out.

Heath pulled back. “Okay.”

“I’m sorry too.” I swallowed. “About Vancouver. But you know the problems between us didn’t start in Vancouver, our personal feelings have always been a distraction, and if we’re going to try this again—”

“Is that what you want?” he asked. “To try this again?”