Angel

This butterfly thing is annoying. I’ve felt a little nervous before a performance before, but never full-on nauseating flutters. This is a class to teach a bunch of football players how to distribute their body weight more efficiently, for heaven's sake. Nothing like the case of nerves I expect to have when I dance for a spot in the San Francisco Dance Company next week.

But the thought of seeing River again is exciting. It shouldn’t be, but it is. I absolutely cannot get involved right now. A relationship is career suicide at this stage in the game, and I’ve worked so hard. I can’t let my hormones steal the show.

It has been a long time, though, and it’s not like we would be starting a serious relationship or anything. Why in the hell am I even worried about it? He hasn’t even made a move yet.

The guys are rowdier than yesterday when they enter the studio. It’s easy to see by their lack of inhibition that they’re more comfortable with the idea of taking ballet. I heard one guy whistle and catcall a dancer when he walked in the building. I hope it wasn’t one of our younger girls, because that might become a problem.

“Okay everyone, settle down. We have a lot to work on, so we need to get started. Is everyone here?” I ask, already knowing River is absent. What if he doesn’t show?

It never crossed my mind that he might not show up. There was chemistry between us. I felt it, and I know he did too. There I go again with the hopeful romantic crap. I have got to get my mind right about this.

I will not date. I will not drink. I will not stay up past eleven at night. Those are the kind of thoughts I need to have playing on repeat in my head.

“Everybody but lover boy,” Channing Tatum lookalike says.

“He’ll be here. He texted me that he’s running late. Go ahead, pretty lady, teach me some more of your French dance moves,” Brick House says with a swivel of his hips.

For ten minutes, I help them lift their legs to the bar for some warm-up stretches. I’ve almost forgotten about my missing student when a knock at the door interrupts the class. It opens a crack, and River pokes his head in.

“Am I too late?” he asks.

“Come in. Hurry, though. I’m about to teach everyone the five ballet positions.” He smirks and lowers his eyes to the floor, still leaning around the door. Maybe he’s just as immature as the rest of them. The mention of positions has caused a ripple of chuckles to spread across the room.

The door swings open, and I drink in the sight of him, every well-groomed, athletic inch of him. Why couldn’t he be a slob with bad breath and a gut? It would be so much easier to teach this class if he were.

“I apologize. That was rude. I’m also sorry for being late.”

I briefly shift my gaze to the floor and turn around to face the mirror.

“It’s fine. Let’s begin.”

Forty-five minutes fly by, and I’m standing at the sound system while the guys file out. I’m still working on slowing my pounding heart when I hear the door close. My posture relaxes, and I breathe a sigh of relief. I made it. Thankfully, River is a pretty good dancer, and I didn’t have to get too close to him.

“That bad, huh?”

I jump and grasp the edge of the table holding the sound system. A shiver of excitement zips up my spine.

He didn’t leave.

He closed the door.

I am now alone in an empty ballet studio with the most handsome man I’ve ever met. Why couldn’t he have left with the rest of them?

“Oh, no, you were all great. I’m just a little tired. Sorry if it looked like I was frustrated.” I take a deep breath and turn around to face him head on. Be strong, Angel, be strong.

“You don’t have to lie on my account. I know we’re a bunch of bozos. You have a lot of patience. I could never do it—teach, I mean. Are your other classes this challenging?”

“You guys tie with my all-boy junior high class.” I’ve regained a smidgen of my composure, enough that I came up with an intelligent response to his question.

“Junior high, huh? Wow, that’s pretty bad.” River quietly moves across the floor in his tennis shoes. I was a little disappointed at first that he didn’t dress the way he did yesterday, but this sporty look works on him just as well. High fashion River Kelly is metrosexual hot. Sporty River Kelly is a manly hot. Either way, he could melt the panties off any women within a hundred-mile radius. The best part is that he isn’t an egotistical ass about it. He’s humble and approachable.

“They seem to look up to you. Maybe you could help them in the maturity department.”

“You think I’m mature?” He lays his hand on his heart and laughs. “My brothers and sisters would argue that to their death.”

I prop my ass against the table behind me and wrap my fingers around the edge. I feel like I need an anchor, something to hold me in place so I won’t float away. He continues to move closer to me, and my heart rate accelerates accordingly. Keep it together, Angel. Don’t let him affect you this way.

“Do you come from a big family?” There, that’s a pretty benign question. If I can come up with another thirty or so of those, I might be able to inch my way to the door and escape like I did yesterday.

“I do. There are eight of us all together. I’m the youngest.”

Now that surprises me. People don’t have families like that anymore. I’ve never known anyone with more than two or three siblings.

“Wow, eight? I bet you got teased a lot.”

“Not as much as you’d think. We were pretty spread out in age. But I’ve had my fair share of wet willies and wedgies, for sure. How about you? Any siblings?”

He sidles up next to me and copies my position, propping himself against the table. His movements are slow and deliberate, like he’s approaching a cornered animal. His voice is so velvety and hypnotizing, I can’t help but relax a little.

I’m still anxious and nervous, but being sweaty and flushed can easily be blamed on dancing. What he doesn’t know is that it takes a lot more than an hour-long class to make me sweat. The beads of sweat on my forehead and the blush in my cheeks started the second I knew he closed the studio door.

“Yeah, I have an older sister, but that’s all. My parents started late. They were lucky to have two healthy kids.”

He turns to face me, and I feel obligated to look at him. When I turn my head, we are so close, I can feel his warm breath on my face. The air between us sizzles with possibilities that I can’t entertain.

“They were very lucky to have you. You’re incredibly talented. They must be very proud.” His eyes are focused on my mouth as he speaks, and when he’s finished, he drags them slowly up to mine. If I lean a couple of inches in his direction, our lips will touch. I consider it for five or ten seconds before turning away and staring at my battered pink ballet shoes.

“My mom is. My dad wanted me to be a doctor. Hell, he would have settled for my becoming a nurse, as long as I was in healthcare.”

“Why?”

“He is a neurosurgeon, and Mom’s a nurse, and my sister, Heaven, is a pediatrician. I’m the proverbial black sheep,” I say, shuffling my feet around on the polished wood floor.

“That’s hardly fair. He can’t expect everyone to be the same. That’s boring.”

I keep my head down and turn, looking at him out of the corner of my eye.

“Oh, yes he can, and he does, but thanks for taking my side.”

His hand slides toward mine on the edge of the table, and he links his pinky finger with mine. I wasn’t expecting such an intimate gesture. The butterflies are swarming up my esophagus, and the only thing keeping them down is my madly pounding heart.

“Have dinner with me tonight.”

It’s more of a statement than a question, and before a rational thought can be sent through the synapsis of my brain, I nod my head up and down. His pinky tightens around mine, and he smiles an I-just-won-the-lottery smile. Oh, God, what have I done?

“Perfect. I’ll pick you up at seven. Will you still be here?”

I nod like a mute under a magical spell and watch helplessly as he leans in to kiss me on the cheek. The room spins, and if I weren’t a professional ballerina who performs pique turns for a living, I’d be on the floor.

“Goodbye, Pretty Dancer,” he whispers in my ear, and he’s on his way out the door before I can change my mind.

I listen to the door click when he closes it, and I release a breath I didn’t know I was holding. I drop to the floor and sprawl out in an X on my back, with my arm slung over my eyes.

I did not just do that. Twenty years of dancing under my belt, my dream career on the horizon, and I just agreed to the worst kind of distraction. It’s the all-encompassing, hot, sexy, tempting, and seductive sort of distraction, the kind that could end my career.

I could try and fool myself by saying I’ll be careful or this will only be about the sex. I could rationalize that having a relationship is normal and that I have needs, but I know better.

I’m physically attracted to River—there’s no question—but there is something else that draws me to him. We have only spent two hours together, and I already feel like we could be good friends. He is genuine and kind, a hard combination to find these days.

He still makes me nervous, but it’s more the idea of what could develop that stirs up the butterflies. River himself is easy to be around. He makes me laugh, and he’s not afraid to try new things.

The timing is all wrong, though. It’s like I’ve been running a cross-country race and I’m almost to the finish line, but I stop for a box of chocolates with only a few yards to go. River is my box of chocolates, and getting a spot with the San Francisco Dance Company is my finish line.

I have to cancel this date, and I need my best friend to help me do it. I sigh and sit up to check the time. I have exactly one hour before my next class. I’m suddenly feeling the need for a serious caffeine break.