A few responses swarmed Archer’s tongue—I’m sorry, I don’t mean to pry, just trying to get to know you better—but before he could choose one, Mateo softened.

“Sorry.” He looked back at the lake. “It’s … I can only imagine what people say about me.”

“They don’t say that much.” Archer studied Mateo’s rugged profile. His brow was furrowed in his usual “don’t bother me” manner.

Mateo snorted. “Sure they don’t.”

“Well…” Archer wiggled his earth-stained toes. “A little maybe.”

Mateo didn’t reply, only picked up a small twig and twirled it between his fingers.

“They say…” Archer ventured, “… the fame went to your head. Partying and … stuff.”

“Stuff, hey?” Mateo blew a small, amused breath through his nose. “Yeah, I guess ‘partying and stuff’ about covers it.” He tossed the twig into the brush.

Archer shrugged. “I’d party too if I was the star of a smash hit.”

Mateo didn’t reply for a full minute, and Archer simply waited.

“I’ve been sober since,” Mateo said, voice low, then he glanced over at Archer, reading the confusion on his face. “I’ve been drinking nonalcoholic beer.”

“That’s great, Mateo.” Archer reached over and rested his hand on Mateo’s, just for a second.

Their eyes met. Mateo looked like he wanted to say something else, but he turned and slid off the rock and dusted off his sweats.

“Again?”

“Again.”

They ran through it again, and again, until the moon was high, Archer’s feet were black, and his water bottle empty.

“How did you get here?” Mateo asked on their way back down. “I’m surprised you’re not dancing in a company somewhere.”

“Oh.” Archer captured the flutter in his heart at Mateo’s words and tucked it away for later. “No, I—I was an accountant in Ohio until five months ago.”

Mateo laughed, then stopped, seeing Archer’s face. “You’re serious?”

“Completely. Spent the last five months in New York auditioning, and I couldn’t book a single gig.”

“Oh, well…” Mateo waved a hand. “It’s all politics, who they hire, or it’s completely subjective. You know, the casting director just got dumped by a blond so they don’t even look at you. Or their cousin’s friend’s little brother is auditioning so they pick him. Or they choose the guy they want to fuck. Not that you’re not fuckable.” He cleared his throat. “Not that you are. I mean—Fuck.”

Archer tried not to laugh. “Thanks?”

“Anyway…” Mateo marched ahead without looking at him. “There are a million reasons someone might not pick you, and they have nothing to do with your dancing.”

They had reached the cabin. They stopped.

“Thanks, Mateo. That was … really fun.” Archer realized that this rehearsal had been the most fun he’d had so far at Shady Queens.