FIRE BURNED IN my cheeks the entire walk back to the mess hall, and when I sat down next to Jackson and Brax, I earned two throat clears before I finally looked up. “What? You boys getting sick?”

Brax narrowed his eyes then took a bite out of his breakfast burrito, pointing it at me as he finished chewing. “It wasn’t sex but something equally as… invigorating.”

“Go for a morning swim in the chilly lake?” Jackson grinned, leaning forward.

I just rolled my eyes. “You guys are impossible. I showered. I’m here. The end.”

“By yourself.” Brax apparently had felt the need to point out.

I threw a hot-sauce packet at him then followed it with two more when he laughed as if it was funny.

I’d only halfway forgiven him.

And Jackson? Well, Jackson was just… a puzzle of angst and arrogance, wasn’t he?

“So…” Jackson slid his tray out of the way and clapped his hands on the table. “…I was thinking…”

“Always a dangerous thing when you have one remaining brain cell, but I’m listening.” I grinned.

The air behind me shifted just as the smell of lawn and cedar and something else sexy blew by me and then planted in the seat next to me.

“Marlo.” Brax grinned at him.

“Brax, look at me like that again, and I’m cutting your dick off.”

“Whoa! Someone needs to get laid.”

Marlo groaned while Jackson just shrugged and waved him off. “So, you know how you were struggling with letting go…”

The table fell silent.

Fantastic. My favorite subject, me and my inability to be a good choreographer in front of one of the best in the room.

My smile felt forced. “Um, yes.”

“Jackson…” Marlo’s voice had a warning protective edge to it.

I realized I liked it. I loved it. I loved that even after hearing his labored breathing and knowing he was enjoying the show and feeling tortured that he would jump to protect me, even when I didn’t deserve it, when he deserved my attention even less.

After last night.

Something had shifted.

And I liked it.

I really. Liked it.

Too damn much.

Jackson met my eyes. “It’s the musical.”

“What’s the musical?” I deadpanned.

“The reason you can’t connect. You don’t really know the musical well enough to connect with the character. If I was a guessing man, I’d say you’re all logic when it comes to choreography, afraid of the passion, afraid of the emotion, afraid it—”

“That’s enough, Jackson.”

“What?” Jackson shrugged. “I’m just trying to be helpful.”

“Be helpful over there.” Marlo nodded to the breakfast bar. “And grab your new best friend a coffee.”

“New best friend?” He frowned.

I raised my hand.

He high-fived it and shook his head. “This discussion isn’t over.”

Marlo eyed Brax.

Brax let out a low whistle, grabbed his tray, and walked off in the general direction of Jackson.

“He gets… inspired.” Marlo shook his head at his tray, his expression pensive. “I just didn’t want him saying anything that would make you uncomfortable.”

I crossed my arms. “And how would you know what he was about to say?”

His smile was sad. “Because I sense it in every breath you take.”

“Excuse me?”

“Jackson was going to say, ‘afraid of the emotion, afraid it will never be the same again — once you let go.’”

“Oh, really?” I was skeptical.

With an arrogant flip of my hand, I motioned Jackson back over.

He sat and exhaled. “All right, so what I was so clearly trying to explain before he got all protective and weird, is that you’re afraid you won’t be the same again, like the emotional toll won’t just tax you but change you. You’re afraid you won’t be you again.”

Marlo stood, put his hand on my shoulder, and smiled. “And I rest my case.”

“What?” Jackson frowned. “What case? What did you say to her?”

Tremors raced through my body and became full shakes as I stared straight ahead, my posture perfect, eyes unblinking.

“Don’t be a robot, Ray. Even robots learn to feel. It’s science.” Jackson kissed the top of my head and ran off leaving me more determined to own the choreography, to teach the crap out of it.

To gain the trust of my students.

To be the best.

I grabbed my breakfast burrito, shoved it into my mouth, and dropped my tray off, then walked with purposeful steps out of the mess hall.

“Walk hard, SP, walk hard.” Marlo winked at me as I passed.

And my stomach fell. My heart skipped.

And I knew.

There was so much danger in letting myself feel.

In letting go.

Yes, I would be changed.

Altered.

And the parts I had saved just for me, the parts of my heart I’d had to protect growing up in a family where love was just a topic never an action — they would fall at his feet.

And then what?

He’d make a choice.

And when in my life had anyone ever chosen me?