I’d done this a thousand times and not once had I been able to leave my car. One thousand and one and I sat still, hands gripping my steering wheel as I watched the family on the porch.

They couldn’t see me, not from the heavy cover of the oak trees and wisteria vines brushing against the street. It was a spot I remembered well, one I’d used so often I was surprised there weren’t grooves in the pavement from my tires. I hid here in the past waiting for Emily to shimmy down the back balcony and hop in my Mustang.

We’d been a little desperate, too caught up in what our hormones and all that stupid emotion did to us. She’d risked being caught, being forced into a pointless, fake infatuation with a guy she’d never love, just to throw off her father. I’d park in this very same spot, hidden beneath that leafy cover sometimes all night. Sometimes for just long enough to touch her, make her come, kiss her soundly enough that Parker wouldn’t even register when she was around him.

But Emily wouldn’t come today. She wouldn’t wait until her father had downed his third bourbon and passed out on the sofa before she’d move down the ivy-weaved lattice. She wouldn’t keep to the edge of the fence line to avoid the motion detector lights.

Emily wouldn’t leave that house again. Not for me.

Maybe it was being around Aly, feeling things I thought would never come to me again, wanting something I knew I couldn’t have, that had led me back to St. Charles watching Emily’s mother and little brother sit on the swing, swaying front to back. I wondered what they talked about, if maybe the turning temperatures would remind them that her birthday loomed. I wondered how often they cursed my name, hated me for everything I hadn’t been able to do for her.

I still didn’t have the strength to tell them how sorry I was.

One thousand and one times, just like the others and I still couldn’t say it so I drove through that thick brush of limbs and leaves and sped away from that large house and the people on the swing. I was late for another practice in Metairie and this time, when I thought about exerting myself in that dance, I didn’t dread it.

You should. You should dread ever seeing her. She’s too good for you.

Aly was too good for me, I knew that, but that knowledge didn’t ease my foot off the gas. Even though I knew how careless it was, even though I knew I could easily let Aly make me forget that I shouldn’t want to be around her, I still drove down the interstate, foot lowering again and again until I left the city behind and found myself at my cousin’s studio.

I probably looked a little obvious, just too damn anxious. My clean polo wasn’t wrinkled, my jeans weren’t faded. Hell, I had even shaved and was wearing my new, black Chucks. Aly would know that I gave a shit about how looked as soon as I walked through the door.

A little worried that I looked like I was trying too hard, I untucked my shirt and pulled a flat brim ball cap from my backseat to hide all the gel in my hair, all the extra time I’d taken to not look like a bum.

Damn, that girl did something to me. Just being around her, helping her out, made me feel less guilty about my past, made that weight of shame feel less heavy. And when I was around her, distracted by her smell, the almost smile she gave me, I didn’t hear that grating voice telling me I was unworthy.

She silenced the noise and I wanted to know why.

Even that unknown dancer, who had worked some kind of sweet juju on my body, hadn’t silenced that voice completely. Not like Aly did. That thought alone had me thinking I’d call Ironside and cancel the performance. Why see a faceless woman who probably only cared about the cash when I could get the same release from Aly without even touching her? Besides, I wanted Aly more. As surprising as that realization had been to me when it hit me, it was true.

Even being at the studio, a place I knew she’d be, made my head quiet, kept that voice mute. I walked inside, frowning at the empty classroom, the lack of student noise and followed the only sound I heard: Aly’s laughter.

She was talking to someone I couldn’t see, but the second voice was lower, didn’t sound as clear and I stopped outside of Leann’s office to listen, noticing the screen in front of Aly showed an open Skype window and the smiling face of some jackass I didn’t know looking at Aly like he wanted a bite of her. He wasn’t even wearing a shirt, putting all that stupid kanji art work on his shoulder and down his chest on display.

“I can’t wait, gorgeous,” he told Aly. The guy was, I guess what girls would think was good looking. I wasn’t sure, looked a little too much like a pretty boy to me. I remembered seeing him around Leann’s studio a few months back when my cousin hosted some sort of mini-camp. Guy acted like he was the shit.

Whatever he was, Aly seemed to like him. Go figure.

“I’ve missed you,” that jackass told Aly, leaning toward his webcam with a smirk on his face that made him look like a punk. “I’ve missed you a lot, gorgeous.”

“Wi, cheri, I bet you have.”

I didn’t want to listen. It made sense to me when I really thought about it. They had a lot in common, they both were decent dancers, they both enjoyed that shit a hell of a lot more than I did. And Aly was sweet, beautiful when she wasn’t putting off that “back off” vibe.

Of course she’d be into someone like him.

She’s not for you, that voice whispered as I walked out of the studio and I let that feeling seep into my skull, hating that I didn’t fight back, feeling like a coward when I let it run its mouth over and over. So much for Aly quieting that voice. You don’t deserve her.

“No shit,” I said, climbing into my car with no thoughts about practicing. I couldn’t do it. It was stupid. Aly didn’t need me. She had that asshole to hold her, dance around the studio like they were fucking with their clothes on.

She doesn’t want you.

“Yeah, I got that.”

When the voice’s whisper grew louder, that tone bit harder, I cranked up my stereo, letting that thudding bass drown out any thoughts beyond my foot on the gas as I moved down the interstate. I didn’t want to think about Aly or that punk she flirted with on Leann’s PC. And when my cell chirped with a text from her, I didn’t reply. I wouldn’t.

I stopped at the red light once I took the exit, my head bobbing to old school Mystikal telling folks to shake their asses, and stared at her text for the entire circulation of the light.

You’re late, slacker!

Even over a text she managed to be bossy and funny at the same time, a fact that pissed me off. I was going to toss my cell on the empty seat next to me, but deleted her message and pulled up Ironside’s last text to send him a new one. My single focus was on keeping Aly out of my head.

Am I still getting my performance? I texted, holding my breath a little until he replied, not caring that the voice kept nagging me, not caring that it felt almost wrong to want the unknown dancer now. It felt like I was somehow stepping out on Aly. That made no damn sense.

And then, when his reply came, I decided I didn’t care about what seemed right or what made sense to me.

Yeah, man. No problem.

My breath came out easy, relieved even though my chest felt tight, even though that voice in my head kept silent.