I was afraid to.
Afraid of what letting go would feel like. I only trusted myself because nobody else in my life had ever been reliable.
Not my parents.
Nya was the closest thing I had, but I wasn’t allowed to visit her as often as I got older because my parents said it looked bad.
I crumpled to the ground and hugged my knees to my chest just as the mess hall bell rang for dinner.
With a sigh, I stood, grabbed my stuff, and walked at a turtle’s pace back to the mess hall to carb up since I had a big night ahead of me.
When I walked in, Jackson was already there, deep in conversation with a pissed-off looking Marlo.
Fantastic.
Was he tattling on me?
I couldn’t tell.
But when Marlo looked up, it was concern marring his features. I narrowed my eyes at both of them then went to the buffet line to grab some food.
I couldn’t even remember what I grabbed, just that I had food and I had a seat.
I numbly shoveled the food into my mouth and chewed.
Was there something wrong with me?
Maybe I really was a worthless bitch.
I had one job, and I couldn’t even get it right enough to show my campers. What made me think I could make it in Hollywood if I couldn’t even teach a few stupid routines without crying?
“Ray.” Marlo tapped my shoulder.
Slowly, I turned. “What?”
He nodded to the door. “Come with me, bring your food.”
“I’m done.” I’d had maybe five bites, but everything tasted like lead, I was too stressed to eat, plus I had some snacks back at my cabin. I tossed my food into the trash and followed him on wobbly legs.
I shouldn’t have worked out for four hours.
I just… I was trying to do my best.
It was still pretty light outside. We walked in silence. And then we were back at the HQ lodge for staff.
“Am I in trouble?” I stopped walking.
“Why would you think that?” he asked in confusion, holding open the door for me.
“Because you hate me. Because we like to yell at each other. This morning… There’s way too much to choose from at this point.” I exhaled roughly and followed him down the hall and into a bathroom with three huge trough-looking metal tubs.
Marlo smirked and walked over to the wall.
Two ice machines were placed there with bags.
“Noooooooo.” I groaned. “You’re not serious.”
“Dead serious.” He grabbed a bag and started filling it with ice. “You won’t be able to walk tomorrow let alone teach.”
“It’s not bad.”
“It’s worse than bad.” He tossed the full back of ice into the tub and repeated the process four more times.
I shivered just thinking about it.
“All right,” He pointed to the tub. “Get in.”
“Now?”
“No, after the ice melts. Yes now.”
“But I’m—”
“Ray,” he said softly. “Believe it or not, I really am trying to save your ass. Get down to your bra and underwear and crawl in, I’ll time it for you and come back in when it’s over.”
I clamped my jaw and peeled my shirt over my head. I figured the faster I did it, the faster he would leave me alone. I tugged down my sweat-slicked shorts and then kicked off my flip flops.
“Hate you, hate you, hate you, hate you,” I chanted as I lowered myself into the ice bath.
For some reason more tears came.
Along with Jackson’s words.
“Do I have a soul?” I asked in a weak voice. Utter silence. “Never mind, forget I asked.”
I looked up. Marlo’s blue eyes blazed with fury. “Who the hell told you that you had no soul?”
“Doesn’t matter. Is it true?”
Marlo sat at the edge of the trough. “No,” he whispered. “You have a soul.”
Without looking away from my gaze, he reached into the frigid water and pulled up my leg onto his lap and started massaging the arch in my right foot.
I cried out and stiffened.
“Better it hurt now than later in bed.” He pressed his palm down on my arch and rubbed.
I squeezed my eyes shut. “Does this torture have an end time?”
He chuckled. “Ten minutes, and then I’m walking you back to your cabin and giving you the night off.”
My eyes jolted open, “I don’t need the night off, I still have things I need to work on and—”
“Take the night off, or you’re fired.” He shrugged.
“How is that fair?”
He dropped my leg back in and grabbed the other. “I don’t want you hurting yourself. Take it easy, the dancing will come, so will the rest of the show. We don’t need to rush the process, Ray.”
“But—”
“Promise me?”
I nodded while he kept kneading my foot.
And then, once the prickling sensation of the cold water simmered to a numbing icy bath, he grabbed a nearby towel and handed it to me. “Have a good night, Ray.”
With that, he left.
He left me alone.
With a towel in my right hand, and my body buzzing with excitement and pleasure.
He’d touched my feet.
He’d massaged them.
Why?
Why was he being nice?
I STARED UP at the ceiling. I adjusted my pillow. I checked my phone. It was past midnight, and I couldn’t get her face out of my head.
Pissed at myself, I decided to go for a run to see if I could mentally and physically exhaust myself. I quickly put on a pair of shorts and Nikes, then grabbed my pods and phone and ran out of my cabin.
The trail around the lake was about five miles. I sprinted. I pushed my body so hard that everything hurt. Sweat ran down my chest as I neared the mess hall and noticed that the dance studio lights were still on.
I clenched my teeth, irritated that Ray had spaced and left them on. Then again, she’d been so exhausted I could almost understand how it slipped her mind.
Almost.
I jogged over and took the stairs two at a time then yanked open the screen door.
One lamp was lit in the corner.
And there was Ray dancing.
Swiveling her hips to the main theme song of the movie as if Johnny was holding her close, dipping her body backward.
Fuck me, she was dancing the sex scene.
And I was watching.
I gulped.
I didn’t let her know I was there.
I wanted to see what she would do.
I wanted to see how far she would take it, how much she would dedicate her body to each movement, each erotic dip of her hips.
Her eyes were closed as she bent backward, lifting her foot as if she was hooking it around a body.
My breath hitched as she turned quickly, and then parted her lips like she was letting some invisible bastard run his hands between her breasts, and then lower, she touched herself like they were his hands.
Not mine.
She kept touching.
And I watched.
A warm breeze pushed through the windows and wrapped itself around my body. I couldn’t look away from her as she danced, as she pushed her exhausted body past the point of coming back.
She twirled.
I watched each step.
I counted.
Her black crop top fell over one shoulder, and her white shorts showed off her lean, tan legs. My mouth went completely dry.
One, two, three, spin, dip backward. I knew the musical by heart, I imagined my hands on her neck, my lips replacing my hands, gripping her thigh and pulling it against me while she hungrily clawed at my neck.
Abruptly, she spun and spun like she was purposely trying to make herself dizzy, and that’s when I noticed the tears.
She was a fucking ballerina.
I don’t know how I never noticed it before.
> The way she twirled.
She had perfect feet.
But Jackson was right. He’d said something was missing. He’d been cryptic as hell.
More tears fell as she spun, and then she collapsed to the floor in a heap of tears and so much sorrow it hurt to look at her.
I should walk away.
But instead, I walked over to her.
I knelt down and tilted her chin toward me.
If she was surprised, she didn’t show it.
She just looked up at me with hopeless empty eyes. I wondered what sort of soulless human would be so cruel as to stare at her — knowing that they were responsible for that look — and walk away as if it didn’t matter.
I didn’t speak.
I just walked over to the lamp and turned the small black nob.
Blanketed in darkness, the music started another loop, obviously on repeat. I reached for her hands and pulled her into my arms.
“Don’t close your eyes,” I whispered.
Tears continued to stream down her face as I gently pulled her body against mine. Her expression turned numb.
Like she was purposefully shutting down.
Like it would hurt too much to feel more than she was already feeling.
“See me,” I whispered. I knew the risk. I jumped anyway.
She startled and turned her head.
“See me.” I gently gripped her chin and pulled it back toward me, and then our foreheads touched, I pressed a kiss to her cheek, wiped her tears with my lips, licked the saltiness with my tongue, and then very slowly braced her body and let her fall back. “Trust me.”
She stiffened.
“It’s just us,” I encouraged.
She didn’t let go.
It was one of the most disappointing moments of my life.
I was both afraid to break her and afraid to let her live that same hollow existence through the music.
Music set souls free.
It didn’t trap them.
The sadness choked me.
I pulled her against my chest, harder this time, then threw her body back, forcing her to arch against my hand as I thrust her against my chest. I gripped her thigh with my fingers, so hard it would leave a mark, and then I spun her back. She let out a little gasp as I swiveled my hips against hers showing her the correct rhythm, how to feel it, how to breathe it in.
The tension built as the music shifted from straight up dancing to something more sexual. I touched her then. I ran my hand down the middle of her breasts, I cupped her ass and forced her to watch me do it. I forced her attention on me, on the music, on us and what it built between us.
She bit down on her bottom lip as her eyes filled with more tears. I spun her out from me and then jerked her back and gripped her hips lifting her effortlessly into the air as she wrapped her arms around me.
I pressed her against the wall, holding her there as the music built around us. She locked eyes with me; it was like watching scales fall in rapid succession to the floor.
Her mouth met mine in a frenzy of heat and sweat.
My body roared to life as I kept her there.
Kept her safe from my reaction.
I kissed her back because I had no other choice.
And she clung to me like I’d always been her first.
The music ended, ready to loop again, breaking the moment between us. I slowly dropped her back down to the floor, her body slid roughly against mine, it was so painful I hissed out a curse. I wanted her. I wanted her. I wanted her.
Her face transformed into a small smile. “Thank you.”
“Ray.” My voice came out raspy. “You need to learn to trust the music.”
“I can’t.” She gave her head a shake.
I gripped her face with my palms. “Ray, you must. Or what the hell are you doing here? You give yourself completely to it. To your art. You sell your soul to the notes.”
“I’ve only ever given myself completely to one person,” was her cryptic answer. “And I let him down before he could.”
I jerked away from her.
She shook her head and walked out of the room, leaving me wondering if it was me she’d given herself to.
And if that was her way of saying sorry.
I TRIED TO pretend like it didn’t happen.
Like he didn’t just see me at my worst.
Like I didn’t just steal the best kiss of my life so that I would feel better about what Jackson said, about what everyone always saw.
My inability to fully commit to my craft.
Out of fear of rejection.
Out of fear that once committed, once denied, I wouldn’t have any parts of me left for me.
What if they love you?
What if they hate you over and over again?
What if in the end, after I give everything, I’m still found wanting?
I didn’t know how to separate myself from dancing, I never had. Acting was one thing, but dancing? Music? It had been our thing.
“Dance with me!” He let out a funny laugh that made me warm all over as we pressed our sticky palms together and started to dance.
“I’m going to be a dancer one day.” He twirled me.
I knew it was true.
Because he was so good.
Not his dancing.
His soul.
His soul was good — his dancing would be great.
I woke up in the same position I had gone to sleep in. I hadn’t showered the night before, something about washing Marlo off my body — off my mouth — only made my eyes sting with unshed tears.
With a groan, I checked the little digital clock near the cat calendar. Six a.m.
Great.
I still had a few hours to mentally prepare for my first class of the day. There wasn’t enough coffee in the world.
I got to my feet and almost swore.
My body hurt in places I didn’t know a body could hurt.
I limped over to my shower caddy, grabbed a towel and slid my feet into a pair of Uggs then made the trek down to the showers.
The lights were on.
But no showers were running.
I started the one on the far right; it was in the corner so it was the largest. At least I could stand under the hot water.
I turned up the radio station that was on so that I would have a distraction that would hopefully wake me up before coffee, and then started to strip.
“Sore?” A voice came from the door.
I almost stumbled into the wall. Thankfully, I at least still had my shirt and underwear on.
I turned.
Marlo was leaning against the wall, shirtless — just my luck.
And sweaty like he’d just gotten done running fifty million miles.
The guy’s abs heaved.
Sweat slid down each perfect muscle.
I gulped and looked away. “Yeah, I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t be able to move, though, had I not done the ice bath, thanks.”
He didn’t say anything.
I looked up.
He tilted his head and stared me down with those crystal blue eyes like he was trying to read my mind.
And then he approached, stopped right in front of me, and pressed his hands down on my shoulders.
I exhaled slowly.
He gripped them with his fingertips then turned my body around and started massaging.
I closed my eyes and fell back against him in a heap of pain as he kneaded my muscles, as he worked down my arms, down my back.
His breathing deepened.
Or maybe it was mine.
He was all hot, sweat sliding against my skin, pulling up my T-shirt, with each movement of our bodies melting together, like my clothes didn’t want to stay on anymore.
Like they had no choice.
“Fuck.” He stopped massaging.
I didn’t want him to stop.
I just — I wanted.
That was it.
I wanted.
He made me want.
It was a dangerous game we played.
One where hearts were involved more than bodies.
He pulled his hand back. I reached behind me, as he breathed into my neck. I grabbed that perfect hand and placed it on my stomach. His fingertips clutched my T-shirt and fisted it.
I sucked in a breath as he slowly peeled it off my body and then tossed it onto a nearby bench. My bare back was against his stomach, his chest. He was a fortress of heat and sex. My legs trembled as his mouth pressed against my shoulder.
I rocked back against him, pressing my ass into his body feeling his hard length beneath his shorts.
He was so hard, searing hot.
I let out a little gasp when he bit the skin he’d just kissed.
The sound of laughter filled the air.
We both froze.
And then I was under the hot water with him. The curtain pulled. Just us in that corner. Just us in that universe.
His eyes searched mine.
I didn’t give myself time to think, I cupped his face with both hands and jerked him forward, meeting his mouth for a kiss that would eventually ruin me.
The thing about Marlo? He was so unapologetic about the way he kissed me, almost like he knew it was part punishment, part uncontrollable lust and fire like it had always been.
There would always be that sliver of anger between us, that underlying hatred that fueled our passion, added kerosene to the sparks that flew between our mouths like ammo.
More showers turned on around us.
It didn’t matter did it?
Not anymore.
Water dripped between our hungry kisses as he devoured each and every word that should be said between us.
I gripped his hair with my fingertips while he hooked his thumbs in my wet underwear and jerked them down to the ground. I stepped out of them without breaking the kiss and did the same to his shorts, they floated in a puddle at our feet as he lazily kissed down my throat.
In a way, he was more experienced. He knew how to kiss, how to drive a girl crazy. He knew how to create a frenzy, a slow burning fire that made it impossible to think straight.
My thighs trembled as my core pulsed for more of him.
His length pressed against me, hot, needy.
Marlo broke the kiss, chest heaving, and locked eyes with me again just as more talking ensued around us. More laughter.
The other staff members had no idea.
No idea.