A/N: Thanks so much for reading, everyone!

This chapter is from BPOV. The chapters in this story will be alternating, but won't always be one for one. Sometimes I may have the same POV in back to back chapters.

Also, there will be a few small Spanish phrases throughout the story, but I've tried to translate them in the same sentence following the phrase, or to provide context in the sentence that will clear up the meaning. I think this is better for all than providing a TRANSLATION portion at the end. If you still have questions, let me know, and we'll see if we revise that. :)

Betad by the lovely Michelle Renker Rhodes.

Most characters belong to S. Meyer

Chapter 3 – Meeting Him

BPOV

About a handful of the kids in my Beginner Teen Hip Hop class brought a friend in for Bring-A-Friend Day. Most of them can't dance to save their lives; though being young teens, they all seem to think the total opposite, shaking their asses, twerking and Dougeying as if that shit could ever qualify as dance. But that's okay. As long as they have fun, they don't need to be the next Julianne Hough.

That's my job.

OOOOOOOOOO

"Told you he was hot as hell," I hear Becca whisper - pretty loudly - once I dismiss the class. There's some giggling, and I see Jake smirk while he unplugs his iPhone from the stereo.

"Come on, let me introduce you to him before he leaves!" Becca exclaims, no whispers this time.

Becca and her friend have been laughing and giggling it up since they got here, ogling and whispering about my assistant, Jake, who's what, nineteen, twenty? And they're thirteen? Fourteen?

I intersect the girls before they can pounce on Jake.

"Hold on there, Girls." I get a firm grip on Becca's arm because she's ready to go right through me to get to Jake. "Becca, why don't you introduce me to your friend?"

Jake meets my gaze and mouths "thanks" before rushing out.

Becca and her friend bounce on their heels, looking over my shoulder at Jake's retreating form.

"Mm mmm," Becca moans, licking her lips, and I raise a brow, waiting for her to meet my gaze because seriously? What are these girls, thirteen or thirty?

She giggles shamelessly when she does meet my eyes. "Oh well. Hey, Mel, this is Miss Bella! The best dance teacher in all of Brooklyn! Miss Bella, this is Melody, well, Mel. Everyone calls her Mel. I brought her for Bring-A-Friend Day."

I'm struck by how dark Mel's hair is, even darker than mine. Yet unlike the lightly tanned skin I inherited from my Latina mom, Mel's skin is pure ivory, which makes her blue, blue eyes pop out all the more. They're like the crystalline waters in that beach in Puerto Rico to which my Abuela used to take me when I used to visit her as a little girl. I kinda feel sorry for this kid's parents; they're going to have to beat them boys away with a stick.

"Nice to meet you, Mel. Did you enjoy the class?"

"It was sick!"

"Great! You think you'll want to join us on a permanent basis?"

She bounces on her heels again. "If good old Eddie lets me."

So she's one of those kids; calls Dad by his first name, asserting her burgeoning independence.

"Well, I look forward to having you in class if you do join. But there are a couple of things you should know that Becca seems to have forgotten today," I say, raising a brow.

They both look at me expectantly, so eager to listen and learn. Now I'm no schoolteacher. Dance has been my life ever since I can remember. I'm not trying to teach them to love dance; that's not something that can be taught. But I want them to learn to express themselves through whatever it is that they do love. If I can do that, then I'll at least have done something right with my life.

"First, class begins at five thirty on the dot, not at five forty-five."

"Sorry," Mel says sheepishly. "That was my fault. I took the train over here and got off on the wrong stop and then had to walk the rest of the way."

"It's okay, Princesa," I wink at her, because that's what she looks like, a real-life princess, like Snow White. "It was your first time, but you know where the school is now, right?"

"Right," she says with a vehement head nod.

"Second, I know he's got a nice ass, but we're here to dance, not to hit up on Jake."

The both giggle profusely.

"Well, is it okay if we looky but don't touchy?" Becca asks.

"Yeah, is that okay?" Mel reiterates.

Seriously, how old are these girls?

"As long as looking doesn't interfere with your paying attention to either him or myself when we're trying to teach you, and as long as you don't make him uncomfortable, then I guess it's okay. Deal?"

"Deal!"

They walk away giggling some more and whispering with each other. Both are wearing hot shorts and cut off tanks, which is alright, except they're supposed to be wearing the shorts with dark tights underneath, so their ass cheeks don't show. I momentarily contemplate calling them back to give'em a talk on the dress code, but I guess I've given them enough for the night. If they show up like that again on Wednesday, then I'll talk to them about it.

I sweep both hands over the top of my head, smoothing down my bun and thanking God that I'm not responsible for any young, teenage girls.

OOOOOOOOOO

By the end of the day, I've taught six classes: Mommy and Me Ballet, Three to Four year old Ballet/Tap, Competition Level Pre-teen Jazz, Competition Level Lyrical, Teenage Intermediate Hip Hop, and last but not least, Zumba. Angie's my assistant in that class and a couple of others, though you'd never believe it by the state of her right now.

"Coño, Nena!," Angie pants, dragging herself past the front counter before dropping into a chair. "Damn, girl, that new routine you made up for Zumba is fohckeen killer!" She fans herself dramatically while I bounce from one foot to the other, my heart racing, my muscles straining and flexing.

"Yeah, well, these bitties are paying me to whip 'em into shape, Angie, not coddle them by their muffin tops."

She laughs hard before gripping her sides and moaning. "Fuck, don't make me laugh. It hurts."

Now mind you, Angie's in great shape. She's been dancing for over a decade, and her figure shows it. But once she's done for the night, she's done; whereas, a class like Zumba just leaves me aching for more. Right now, I've got tons of adrenaline coursing through my body.

"Come on, Ang. That was the last class for the night. Come with me into Studio One and help me practice for that audition in a couple of weeks," I grin.

"Vete pal carajo," she replies. "Bella, how the fuck you got so much energy, Girl?"

I giggle while I dance a bit of Salsa in front of her. "You go to hell, and I've got tons of energy because that's what dancing does to me!"

"And that right there is why you'll be famous someday, and I'll just be a lowly dance teacher. It tires the shit out of me. I don't even know if I'll have energy to give Tyler a good and proper fuck tonight." She tries to stand up and falls right back over the chair. "Mierda!"

I laugh at her again.

"Speaking of shit, is Eli coming to help you out tonight?"

"Yeah."

She snorts. "'Course he won't pass up an opportunity to claw at you."

"It's not like that. Not anymore. He's just helping me because he's got the connections; I don't."

"And he uses that shit for all it's worth. Trust me, I know it's not like that no more, and you know it's not like that no more," - she purses her bright red, full lips, index finger circling in front of me while her head and shoulders sway from side to side something fierce – "but he don't know it's not like that no more!"

I sigh and drop over the chair next to her. "Well, he should. I've made it clear enough, Angie, and you know that."

She raises her dark, perfectly filled-in brows in a 'seriously?' sort of way.

"Nena, he's a man. In theory, he gets it because he hasn't had to see you with another guy yet. That's why he helps you, you know. But when you finally hook up for reals with some fine Papi Chulo? Nah, I don't think he'll be gettin' it too well then."

I pretend to pull some imaginary lint off my dance bra. "Yeah, well, I don't think I'll be hooking up with anyone anytime soon," I mutter, "so it's a non-issue…"

Angie sucks her teeth and moves her face into my personal space. "Non-issue, my culo! Bellita, seriously, it's time you got out there again, shook that ass for some new guy! When was the last time you got laid?"

"You know very well when the last time was," I respond vaguely.

"That dude from the club on East Broadway when we all went out for Tyler's birthday? Chica, that was over six months ago!"

I close my eyes tight as the images from that night bombard me. I'd let the guy take me to the back…push me up against the wall…tried to erase everything else…

…but everything had still been there…in the back of my head…every other time before…with Eli…with…everyone else…the things I did…I allowed done to me…

Angie's arms are suddenly around me.

My girl. She may be rough around the edges, but she feels me. That's why we've been best friends since junior high.

"Stop it, Bella! Stop punishing yourself for all that shit, okay? So you did some crazy shit back when, so what? If I were to feel bad about all the crazy shit I've done, woo! Ay bendito! Bless me, I'd never get out of bed!"

I stare straight ahead, nodding absently because though she's my best friend, I can't make her understand. There's no way I can ever make her understand when she doesn't know it all.

"And you know what?" she continues, "being around Eli doesn't help. After all, he's the one who-"

"Angie, Eli may be an asshole, but he didn't make me do anything. No one makes me do anything."

She scowls. "There you go again, believing yourself to be a bigger bad ass than you really are. Remember that time you started shit with that big girl in eighth grade over a tube of lipstick or some shit, and I had to come save your ass before she beat the crap out of you?"

"First of all, it was the first lipstick my stepmom, Sue, had ever given me. And besides, I was holding my own there!"

"Pfft," she scoffs. "If by holding your own you mean you meant for her to have you in a headlock, then yeah, you were doing real good!" she snickers.

"Maybe I did. Maybe it was all part of my master plan," I say, rubbing my palms together.

We both laugh at that one. "Seriously though," she scowls, leaning back against her chair again, "I wish you'd cut him the fuck out of your life already."

I chuckle humorlessly. "It'd be a lot easier to do if he didn't own half this Studio with me, and if he wasn't one of the best choreographers in the city."

She leans forward once again, close enough to hold my gaze hard with those piercing hazel eyes of hers that make guys go nuts.

"Listen to me, Nena. You don't need him to make it out there. You've got talent, Bella! Real talent. He teaches steps; you breathe life into them. Fuck him and his connections, and his-"

"What's she still doing here?"

I jerk my chin towards the benches a few feet away, where the pretty girl with the jet-black hair and blue eyes is sitting.

"Her name was Mel, I think. Becca brought her in to try the IHH class."

"That ended over an hour ago."

"Yeah, I know." I look around to see if there's anyone here with her, but the studio is now officially closed. Everyone who was still in here, gathering their things, waiting for rides and such, has already trickled out.

"Let me see what's going on."

She doesn't even seem to notice me as I approach her. Her eyes are closed, head tilted back. I can hear the music in her ears blaring from where I stand, and I'm about to poke her ribs when all of a sudden her face scrunches up into an expression of pain so powerful that my eyes widen in surprise. She bites her entire bottom lip into her mouth hard as if trying to keep herself from crying out loud, and then with a huge sigh, the entire expression changes and goes blank. She's just a kid listening to her music again.

"Mel?"

Of course, she can't hear me, so I reach down and carefully remove one bud from her ear. "Mel?"

She jumps and opens her eyes. A smile forms on her lips, but it's empty…and sad. My chest aches for this kid.

"Hey, Miss Bella."

"Hey, Mel. What's going on? You know the studio is closed, right?"

She frowns and reaches into her pocket, pulling out her cell phone. When she sees the time, her eyes roll.

"Well, I guess Ed won't be winning any father-of-the-year awards," she mutters dryly.

"Does he know what time your class ended?"

"Yeah, but he had something else to do. He should be here soon," she shrugs and makes to stand up. "I can wait outside if you need to close up."

"No, no, no," I shake my head. "You don't need to wait outside, Sweetie."

She really is a strikingly beautiful girl. But now that I've got her here alone, I see something else about her. She looks…lost…like she has no idea where she belongs. I know it's none of my business, but I have more than a few kids from broken homes in my school; kids with divorced parents, with step-parents, with single parents. Yet there's something…different about her.

I guess it could be a divorce. Maybe it just happened. It's supposed to hurt more when it happens to kids this age. I was only two when my real mom walked out on Dad and me, so I don't really remember shit about it. And then he married Sue when I was twelve, so I guess I gained a parent.

Jerking a finger towards Studio One, I smile down at the pretty girl with the beautiful yet sad, blue eyes.

"I was gonna go in there and practice for an audition I've got coming up. Miss Angie's too lazy to help me," I say loudly, sneering in Angie's direction.

She sticks her tongue out at me, blowing raspberries. "Ya damn skippy. Miss Angie ain't getting up."

With a snort, I turn back to Mel. "Want to come help me warm up?"

"Yeah, that sounds cool!" Mel grins, her pretty eyes brightening.

"Come on," I chuckle.

OOOOOOOOOO

There's a trunk in the corner of the room labeled, "Lost and Found." It's full of dance shoes that have been left behind for one reason or another. They tend to borrow from the trunk when they forget their own shoes and then return them after class to hopefully be claimed.

Mel rummages through the trunk.

"What do you want to start with?" I ask her.

She looks around the room, taking everything in; not that there's much to take in. It's a large dance room with a mirrored wall and a barre running across it. White walls. We've been open for almost a year now, but business has been so good and busy that I haven't had time to decorate or to add any finishing touches. And then after everything happened…and Eli and I broke up…and I regretted the day I asked him to buy this Studio with me because I thought I was in love, and no one knows about owning property more than Eli, and besides, what says love more than owning property together?

I snort to myself. Love was the last thing that relationship had.

Mel finishes rummaging around the trunk and pulls out a pair of tap shoes. I put on my own tap shoes while she puts on the ones she found, and then I turn the radio on and do a little dance for her, bending my knees, holding my back straight and tilting forward, grinning widely before doing a shuffle hop tap spring tap step step.

She laughs. "That was banging!"

"Yeah? How about this?"

I stand on my left leg and draw my right leg back and in and then swing it forwards so that the ball strikes, then the heel, then ball, then heel, in a smooth movement. Then I lift up my left heel with my right leg still in the air and bring the left heel down.

"Wow," she giggles and tries to copy some of the steps, but she trips over her feet.

"Watch it, don't hurt yourself!"

She laughs, again, looking and sounding much better than just a few minutes ago.

"Let's try something else," she says excitedly before returning to the trunk. This time, she pulls out a pair of Jazz shoes.

I switch into jazz mode and do a little cat walk across the room, crossing one leg in front of the other. Then I shimmy and worm across the floor and do some West Side Story before finishing off with James Brown.

Mel's clapping hard when I'm done.

"Man, I want to learn that!"

"Takes a lot of practice," I remind her. "Not just staring at the cute boy's butt."

She giggles. "I promise. I'll practice."

"Okay," I smile.

We fool around like that for a while, switching it up between jazz back to tap, tap to ballet, ballet to hip hop, hip hop to Salsa. She's got raw rhythm, and if she really does pay attention, she can be good.

"So what's your favorite so far?" I ask her after a while.

"Hmm," she taps her mouth with a finger thoughtfully. "They're all really slamming, but I think my favorite is still hip hop."

"Hip hop," I nod, "Hip hop's good."

"You're so good at all of them, Miss Bella, but what's your favorite?"

"My favorite," I repeat with a smile. "My favorite is Lyrical Dance. Do you know what Lyrical Dance is?"

She shakes her head.

"Lyrical is a combination of ballet, jazz and modern dance. It's very…expressive. Sometimes it's subtle, sometimes it's very dynamic. You know what dynamic means?"

"Yeah. It's like…lots of energy," she grins, bouncing on her toes.

"Exactly, and I love that. It's like…you can show exactly what you're feeling through dance. Every time you dance, it's different depending on what you're feeling, even if you're doing the same basic steps."

"Can I see how you do that?"

I sneak a look up at the clock on the wall.

Mel and I have been here for almost forty-five minutes now.

What kind of father is over an hour and a half late to pick up his kid?

It's probably a divorce. And her new stepdad is apparently an irresponsible asshole.

"Alright," I agree with a grin. I tell her what song to play on my iPhone and then get into first position, closing my eyes.

As always, when the music takes over, nothing else exists. The next thing I'm aware of is Angie peaking in to tell us that someone's here for Mel.

"And bendito, Nena, bless me, is he smokin' hot! Oh man!" she whispers, doing the sign of the cross before pretending to touch something burning with her forefinger, pulling it back with a sizzle. "Hurry! Avansa!"

I smirk at her retreating form. When I turn around, Mel is smirking too, obviously having heard Angie's not-so-whispered whisperings.

"If I had a damn dime for every time…" Then she shakes her head and sighs. "Can you just finish dancing, Miss Bella. It was soo beautiful!"

"But your-"

"Please, Miss Bella! He can wait a little while!"

OOOOOOOOOO

By the time we step out of Studio One, Mel is in a much better mood than she was when we first stepped in - almost an hour ago.

And her dad – or stepdad – is standing right outside, waiting.

I'm prepared not to like him much no matter what Angie proclaims about his hotness. He's obviously at least a bit neglectful.

But when I first lay eyes on him, I can't instantly dislike him.

Not necessarily because of Angie's comments, but because his eyes go straight to his daughter, and the way he looks at her…so full of this…awkward tenderness…kinda like he's just as lost as his daughter/step-daughter in this situation, but he does care. It's in that cocky yet warm smirk he gives her. He does care.

So I don't instantly dislike him.

Plus, Angie wasn't fucking kidding. The guy isn't just hot, he's over the god damn barbecue sizzling.

It's totally unprofessional of me, but while he and his daughter sort of greet each other, I check him out on the sly. He's tall, with broad, strong shoulders, brownish hair with these deep, reddish highlights where the light hits it. Some of the strands have a white residue on them. His t-shirt clings to his chest, dirty and also stained with white residue, but he's clearly ripped; hard, muscled pecks visible underneath the shirt so really, who cares about a bit of dirt and stains? Sinewy muscles and veins line his arms and forearms – also smeared in white residue. As are his worn jeans, and his worn boots, and he's got a couple of days of stubble on a strong, square jaw. A tool belt lies low around his lean hips.

When he looks up at me, his eyes are as green as Mel's are blue.

Mel's dad/stepdad wraps a hand around Mel's shoulder and tries to usher her out, but Mel holds her ground. All the while, his eyes are still on me even though I'm sure he needs to get home to either his new wife or his new bachelor pad, depending on whether he's the stepdad or the newly divorced dad.

But his eyes are still on me.

After a couple of seconds, I realize he can't be the stepdad. His hair is much lighter, and their eyes are completely different, but there's a resemblance there. Something in the shape of their eyes…their foreheads. There's shared DNA.

Mel asks me to sign her up quickly, and I can hear the desperation in her voice because her Dad obviously doesn't want to do this. So I assure her and her dad that I can get her signed up fast.

"Oh my God, he's not my dad!"

He's her uncle, he says.

Her Uncle.

My eyes flash to his ring finger.

Nothing.

He looks at me again, and then he looks at Mel, and then at me again, and in this deep, strong voice asks me if I can get this done quick.

"Sure. Let me just get the forms."

When I walk past him, I catch a whiff of cigarette smoke and man-sweat, but not the rancid kind; the kind of smell that comes from a clean man who's put in a hard day of work yet remembered to wear deodorant.

I hear his tool belt shuffle as he follows; the heavy, rhythmic beat of his boots against the floor hint at a swaggered walk. My heart is suddenly racing. I'm nervous, and I'm not sure why. I find myself wondering if he's staring at my ass. It does get stared at a lot. It's a nice ass. Usually it irritates me, but right now I'm sort of hoping that he is staring…and that he likes what he sees.

Angie is behind the counter and when my eyes meet hers she wriggles her eyebrows, grinning lasciviously, in an "I told you so" sort of way. I make believe I don't see it while I ask her to pass me a registration packet.

She sighs loudly. "Well, I guess there's no point in my sticking around here now."

Which I'm sure means something, but I can still smell him so my brain isn't working too well at the moment. His scent permeates the entire studio. There's something else I'm picking up in it now: wood and cement and paint. It smells like a lodge in here, a clean, sweaty man lodge with big, thick logs and a fire going.

"Bella, mi amor, you need help closing up?" Angie asks before leaning into my ear and whispering, "Bitch, you better hit that up!"

I shove her – hard. She snickers.

After Angie leaves, Mel's uncle and I make some small talk. I ask him if he's Mel's legal guardian.

"Yes," he nods, but his strong, broad shoulders stiffen. He leans away from the counter. The easiness in his demeanor shifts and yeah, I'm dying to find out how he ended up guardian to a young, teenage girl, but he obviously doesn't want to be asked. When I hand him the forms, he shows me his hands: big, callused hands with long, thick fingers covered in paint. My eyes trail over him again while he watches me.

He's a contractor, just like Dad.

When he takes the registration forms, he hands one to Mel and gets to it because like he said, he seems to be in a hurry.

So I try to leave him to it, to stay busy behind the counter, but it's like he has a presence that refuses to be ignored. I'm painfully aware of him and how his pen moves across the paper, how his heavy boots shift around on the floor, how his lungs take in deliberate breaths while reading the form.

When he looks up, he catches me watching him.

I should turn away. There's a reason I've stayed away from guys for the past few months. Angie doesn't get this, but I no longer know what a sane male/female interaction is like. The relationship Eli and I shared was so far from conventional and so…fucked up.

I can't trust myself to do things right, and until I figure all that out again, I've got to stay away from men.

But his green eyes hold my gaze with an intensity that makes it impossible for me to turn away.

And then I introduce myself. And we start talking again. And I think we may be flirting, but like I said, I can't be sure anymore of how these things are normally done.

When I reach out for him, he reaches out for me, and just like that, we're touching in a way a thousand times more innocent then I've been touched in a long time, but my heart races, and my skin tingles…

"Call me Bella," I say.

"Call me Edward," he asks.

And then Eli walks in.

A/N: Thoughts?

Just as reminders:

Mi amor – My love

Papi Chulo – hot daddy

Twitter: PattyRosa817

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