Did the man ever raise his eyes to look directly at anyone during rehearsal? Imani wondered.
As she inwardly grumbled about Hui’s aloofness, he glanced up. Imani’s breath caught in her throat. Make the connection. Come on. She willed herself to smile, hoping against hope that it was actually a grin she’d formed and not something that made her look much too desperate, or God forbid, just plain frightening. Her trembling smile gained an ever widening grin from him. It was glorious and bright and so infectious that Imani’s lips divided invitingly.
As she moved forward her shoulder bumped against the girl next to her.
“Oh, sorry,” Imani stammered.
The South Korean dancer nodded like she understood.
Imani followed the woman’s gaze as it rose to meet Hui’s. He motioned to her and she walked over in a stately glide reserved for dancers who know they’re hot shit. He’d called her Ming-ju. The woman had the ribcage of a sparrow. She was so tiny Imani bet she could pull a size zero off the rack and still complain that it was too large.
“Hello, gorgeous,” Julio said, pretending to pant as Hui greeted Ming-ju. “I dunno. I’m not getting any vibes that the man is gay or straight. Me thinks he’s one of those ‘my body is a temple’ kinda guys. But I’m not gonna lie, I do wanna piece of that Asian persuasion.”
“Try it and I will seriously hurt you,” Imani promised, narrowing her eyes in jest. “I saw him first.”