Off-Kilter Read online

  Off-Kilter

  by Erin McRae and Racheline Maltese

  Off-Kilter

  Novellas and Short Stories

  Erin McRae and Racheline Maltese

  Published by Avian30, 2017.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of either the author or the publisher.

  Avian30

  New York, New York

  Off-Kilter by Erin McRae and Racheline Maltese

  Copyright 2016

  www.Avian30.com

  All rights reserved, which includes the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever except as provided by the U.S. Copyright Law.

  This work originally appeared in Plaid Nights, published by Torquere Press, July 2015.

  First Avian30 Printing: December 2016

  Printed in the USA

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Further Reading: Starling

  Also By Erin McRae

  Also By Racheline Maltese

  Chapter 1

  “HE has a girlfriend, and you’re here to wingman,” Amara hisses in Eric’s ear.

  Eric would point out that she is being far too intense to make their random appearance at a community Scottish Country Dance class seem as casual as it probably should. But now that he has his own interests to pursue, Eric doesn’t care. He’s here to support Amara’s quest to hook up with her crush of the month, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t get to have some fun too.

  While the concept had seemed ridiculous when Amara pitched it to him, the dance class premise is at least more interesting than some of Amara’s previous schemes. And that was before he saw the hot guy. Last week, Amara had given Eric the run-down on SCD, including a dubiously accurate digression on how everyone is either super conservative or totally queer.

  This may be Eric’s first try at this sort of thing, but he’s from Buffalo and doesn’t necessarily need the primer. Several of his friends and cousins have done Scottish dance at some point, and he’s familiar with it both as a competitive sport and and as a social activity. It’s like Riverdance. Kind of. Except in kilts. And sometimes also in bars. And, for tonight, in a rather musty church basement. He hopes his object of desire is on the queer side of the supposed folk dancing culture divide.

  “The hot dude does not have a girlfriend,” Eric says to Amara, crouching down to tie his sneakers. His fingers are clumsy as he stares at the appallingly attractive man standing by the stereo. He’s wearing a kilt, which should be absurd, but with calves like that, Eric can’t imagine protesting.

  “She’s standing right next to him,” Amara says as Eric stands up. “Also,” she says, narrowing her eyes judgmentally. “She’s half his age. And he is twice your age.”

  “Yay, you can do math,” Eric snarks. “And I still don’t think she’s his girlfriend.”

  Amara smacks him on the arm. “They came here together, I saw them get out of the same car, and you’re supposed to be helping me with Elizabeth.”

  “Elizabeth is right over there. Talking to her using complete sentences and limited stammering might be something you want to try.”

  Amara frowns at him. Eric’s been friends with her since they bonded in undergrad over being the outliers in their computer science program—Amara, one of the only girls; Eric, one of the only gay dudes. Out gay dudes, at least. Now, they’re both grad students and housemates, which entitles Eric to ringside seats to all of Amara’s life choices. The crush on Elizabeth—a poli sci major with blue streaks in her black hair—is not one of the worst. Eric likes her, and she’s never passed out on any surface he was trying to use, unlike some of Amara’s other pursuits. He’s just seen no evidence whatsoever that Elizabeth is remotely interested in Amara.

  “Look,” Eric says. “You dragged me out here on a Thursday night with the promise of queers in a church basement and your ongoing desperation. Be grateful I may have found a reason to continue to participate in your schemes.”

  “Like you have better things to do.”

  Eric rolls his eyes and lets himself stare for another minute at the guy’s legs, and—while he’s at it—the rest of him. He’s tall and broad-shouldered, with reddish-brown hair and some five o’clock shadow that works really, really well on him. He’s wearing a t-shirt with the kilt, socks, and actual Scottish dance shoes, laced around his ankles. Then the pretty young woman standing next to the guy calls him Dad and, laughing, strides to the front of the room. Eric wonders if he should feel discouraged. On one hand, she’s not his girlfriend. On the other hand, an adult daughter does shift the odds at least slightly towards heterosexuality.

  “Oh my God, he’s the teacher,” Amara says.

  At the same time Eric mutters “Told you she wasn’t his girlfriend.”

  “Oh yes, even better. Because that means he’s old enough to be your father too. He’s also probably straight.”

  Eric shrugs. He’d be crankier, but he’s been hostile enough that Amara deserves to get a few jabs in. If all he gets out of this is fantasy material, he’s still ahead of the game.

  When it’s time to start and everyone gathers in a more or less orderly way, Hot Teacher Dude introduces himself as Rob, and his daughter introduces herself as Megan. They’re charming together, and apparently have been team-teaching together since she was a teenager. Eric looks to see if Rob is wearing a wedding ring; he’s not, but that doesn’t mean much either way.

  As dancers, Rob and Megan are both very talented, not that Eric particularly has the background to judge. They are precise and athletic and joyful in everything they demonstrate.

  The dance they are learning requires partners arrayed in long lines. Amara is happy to oblige, but everyone seems to change hands constantly amid shifting groups of four, six, eight, and, occassionally—just to make things difficult—three. It’s overwhelming, and Amara is, Eric decides, the worst to have dragged him out here. Although, if he’s lucky, at least all of this means he can get his hands on the instructor.

  Eric thinks he has it all under control until they get to the heys. The idea of following an invisible path like a braid made perfect sense when they walked through it, but with music Eric turns the wrong way, gets pulled back into place by a woman with dark hair someone and then smacks into an older man when he gets flustered and tries to apologize. It’s so disastrous Rob has to stop the music and reset everyone so they can try again. A kindly gray-haired woman murmurs to Eric that this happens to everyone their first time. Somehow, that makes him feel worse.

  “Okay, this isn’t working,” Rob says with a laugh after the third time the dance melts down. “Let’s have Shannon switch with Peggy, Pat why don’t you try it with Michelle, and you,” Rob points to Eric, “are with me.”

  Eric has no idea what to do. On one hand, this is so ideal he almost regrets not having planned a sabotage. On the other, he’s a little afraid of looking too enthusiastic. He’s also not sure if he should put on some angst about dancing with a dude, especially when the gender balance in the room is already skewed.

  “Okay?” Rob asks, snapping Eric out of his vague panic.

  “Sure, but if I step on your feet it’s on you.”

  “I’m the teacher. If you step on anyone’s feet it’s on me.”

  Dancing with Rob is fantastic. It doesn’t make Eric any better at it but Rob telling him where to go in between calling out instructions to the entire gr
oup is pleasant. When he starts to turn the wrong way, again, Rob nudges him into the right place. When Eric then screws it up even worse, Rob grabs his waist, picks him up, and puts him into place.

  It’s absurd. It’s also totally hot, and Eric can’t help but grin. There are advantages, apparently, to being short and slight. His interest may be totally obvious and wildly inappropriate as they move through reels and quadrilles with varying degrees of disaster, but Rob keeps smiling too. And when he leaves his hand on the small of Eric’s back after one dubiously complete dance, Eric dares to hope.

  “What brings you out here tonight?” Rob asks him at break. He hands Eric a paper cup of water from the cooler, which Eric takes gratefully. He’s more pleased when he manages to make their fingers brush without spilling the water all over either of them. The fact that the question is completely pathetic, he’s willing to forgive.

  “My friend dragged me,” Eric realizes that, though true, that probably sounds ruder than he intended. “I mean—It was her idea!” He tips his head towards Amara who, he can tell from his peripheral vision, is totally failing to engage Elizabeth in conversation. “And like I know people who do Scottish dance, but I never have myself.”

  “I couldn’t tell.” Rob says it with a smile, but Eric blushes anyway. He gulps at his water, then awkwardly crushes the cup in his hand.

  “Are you enjoying yourself?” Rob asks when Eric,in a quest to find something clever to say, says nothing at all.

  “Yes. Probably more than everyone else I ran into, at least.”

  “You haven’t stepped on anyone’s feet though, have you?” Rob says.

  “No. Thanks to you,” Eric says. They smile at each other, and Eric is about to ask something informative but non-strategic like so does your wife and/or husband dance too? But then he takes a breath and reminds himself that he is capable of being a functional adult. So he asks Rob what he does when he’s not dancing in a kilt.

  To his surprise and no small delight, Rob’s a software engineer.

  “I’m in grad school for computer science!” Eric exclaims.

  “Really? Where?”

  “RIT.”

  Rob is clearly about to ask him more about that, when Megan starts rounding people up to begin class again. Eric sighs, and shuffles back towards the dance floor.

  “Oh no.” Rob chuckles as he goes, and puts a hand on his shoulder to steer him to the front of the room. “You’re staying with me.”

  IN THE PARKING LOT, Amara slumps down in the driver’s seat without bothering to put on her seatbelt or the keys in the ignition.

  “That was a complete failure,” she says.

  “Maybe for you,” Eric points out.

  “Jerk,” Amara grumbles half-heartedly. “You are the worst wingman. You totally failed to help and you flirted with the teacher the whole time.”

  “At least that was better than crashing into everyone?”

  Amara gives Eric a sharp look as she turns her head so she can back out of the parking spot.

  “Does this mean we’re coming back next week?” Eric asks hopefully.

  “No. No, we are not coming back next week!”

  Chapter 2

  DESPITE Amara’s insistence that they won’t go back, when Eric gets home he Googles the dance group’s schedule for the following week. But there’s nothing listed, only a notice about some Highland Games thing. He frowns and taps his laptop.

  Apparently, easily searchable or highly informative websites are not a strength of whoever is organizing this thing. Neither is design; it looks like the page was done the year Eric was born. When he finally finds a page that lists a location and time for the games, it also has bagpipe music on autoplay. Eric hits mute on his laptop as quickly as he can.

  That there’s dancing going on at the event, seems clear; whether Rob will be there, less so.

  Eric takes to Facebook.

  “YOU FACEBOOK STALKED the teacher?” Amara demands as they walk to across campus to the building that houses their windowless offices the next day.

  “I didn’t stalk him. His profile is public.”

  “But you’re going to take the info you got from his Facebook profile—that is possibly public only because he is old and does not know how to set that stuff to private—and go stalk him for real. In person.”

  “The Games are public. It’s a public event!” Eric insists. “Tons of people are going. It looks awesome. People throw telephone poles at stuff.”

  Amara makes a face more skeptical than he’s ever seen—on her or anyone else. “Okay, whatever they’re throwing, I don’t think they’re telephone poles.”

  “Well they look like it. So are you coming with me?”

  “Why should I go wingman for you, after your complete lack of help last night?” Amara asks.

  “The satisfaction of seeing me wash out as thoroughly as you did?” Eric says blandly. “Also, there’s food.”

  “Fine.” Amara sighs. “But you get to drive this time. Where is this place?”

  THE HIGHLAND GAMES are held in the middle of nowhere, or, rather, in Mumford. As far as Eric is concerned it’s the same thing. Still, it’s a pretty spring day when he picks Amara up at her apartment, and they pull onto 490 with the windows rolled down.

  The first thing Eric notices when he gets out of the car is the bagpipes. They are less annoying than the ones on the website. He may find them charming; he hasn’t decided yet.

  “Seriously?” Amara asks him, as they walk across the gravel parking lot towards a big green meadow. It’s spread with clusters of white tents, dance stages and game fields are spread out.

  “You were the one who thought Scottish country dance was a good starting point in the first place.” Eric grins. “I think the bagpipes come with the territory, and you owe me.”

  “No. no, no. You owe me.”

  “For what? Abandoning you to your ineptitude while I mooned over our instructor?”

  “Yes.”

  Eric shrugs.

  “Now what?” Amara asks once they get to the tents.

  Eric scans the crowd. There’s a good number of men—and a few women—in kilts. More women wear white dresses with tartan sashes, but people in street clothes dominate the crowd. They’re obviously here to watch the festivities.

  Amara folds her arms over her chest smirks as Eric spins slowly in a circle trying to figure out which way to go. Facebook can’t help him now, and the entire plan seems a lot less clear-cut than it had earlier in his head. If he finds Rob—much less gets to talk to him—what is he going to say?

  Before he can work up a good reply to Amara, or formulate something resembling a concrete plan, her mouth falls slightly open and she stares over Eric’s shoulder.

  “What?” Eric asks, moving to look.

  “Don’t turn around!” Amara whispers sharply at him.

  “What is going on?” Eric freezes with his head half-turned, staring out at a field where, yeah, that’s totally a telephone pole people are trying to throw.

  “She’s here!”

  “Elizabeth?” Eric turns his head the rest of the way around despite Amara’s protests.

  “No. Megan.”

  “Oh, she looks hot!” Eric exclaims when he sees her. Megan is wearing one of the white dresses with a blue-and-green tartan draped diagonally across her body and pinned at the waist. She’s fit and graceful, and the look totally works for her. “She must be dancing today.”

  Amara follows Megan with her eyes until she’s out of sight in the crowd.

  “Day looking up?” Eric asks slyly.

  “Shut up.”

  Eric loops his arm through Amara’s and strolls with her towards where Megan disappeared in to the crowd. “At least now we know what’s next.”

  THEY WIND UP AT ONE of the dance stages where Megan and a cluster of other people are taking their places. Eric recognizes one of the men immediately.

  Eric and Amara don’t need to say a word to each other. They both sit do
wn cross-legged on the grassy slope that’s serving as seating for the audience. As much as Eric is excited to watch Rob, he’s suddenly aware that he has absolutely zero explanation as to why he’s here that doesn’t totally sell out Amara or make him sound like a complete creeper. Which is probably not the best way to make a good impression. Arguing for his great passion about a form of dance he’s objectively terrible at—even as a total newbie—is likely to make him seem like the liar he is.

  But then, Eric spent an entire hour running into people in this guy’s class, until Rob took him by the hand and rescued him. Hopefully that means luck is on his side.

  He stops worrying when the music starts up and Rob starts to dance. He’d been good in class—at least as far as Eric had been able to tell—but he’s clearly in his element here and loves having an audience. He shines. The music is lively, the mood of the crowd is bright, and aside from his growing apprehension at completely not having a plan, Eric’s having fun. He ends up grinning and tapping his feet along to the beat which is all well and good until Rob, looking out over the crowd as he weaves successfully through a hey, catches his eye.

  His face registers no reaction—not surprise, or pleasure, or displeasure—at seeing Eric there. Clearly he has his dance-game-face on, and Eric’s not even sure Rob recognizes him. He could be making eye contact with everyone in the crowd. Except, Rob’s eyes keep coming back to him. Unlike Eric, he seems able to split his attention between what his feet are doing and what he’s staring at. As the group he’s performing with moves onto their second and third pieces, it becomes increasingly clear to Eric that yes, Rob really is looking right back at him.

  He attempts to corroborate this with Amara because confirmation bias is real, but she’s busy staring at Megan.

  “New target?” he murmurs to her.

  “Mmmmmhmm.”

  When the set is over, Eric applauds enthusiastically along with the rest of the crowd. He still doesn’t have a plan, which is rapidly becoming a more acute issue. Rob and the rest of his group move off the stage. As far as Eric knows Rob is done dancing for the day and may be preparing to leave the event. Although Eric could, theoretically, table this until another day, going to another dance class seems likely to test the good graces of his fellow students beyond what is prudent.