Spiral (Off the Ice, #2) (26)
He talks about how he almost made it to the NBA until an ACL tear thwarted those solid aspirations. He’s currently playing for his local YMCA as a benchwarmer. No judgment here though, because as far as ballet goes, I’m a benchwarmer too. But keeping my interest focused on his what? if rambles is close to impossible. When he attempts to place his hand on my thigh, I instinctively recoil.
At some point during the nine minutes, I mentioned ballet. Derek seized the opportunity to duck under the table to stare at my feet—visibly beat up from yesterday’s rehearsals—for an uncomfortably long moment.
I’ve never wanted anything more than to have retractable body parts.
Somehow, I picked a date with the most touch-starved man in the downtown core.
As I take a tiny sip of my overly sweet drink, I pat my lips to keep the blue tint from clinging to them.
“You have beautiful lips,” Derek says.
I hold back from shuddering. “Thank you.”
I hate myself for saying it. But cursing his entire bloodline wouldn’t play well for me, especially because this man looks like he’d follow me home and hide in the untrimmed hedges by my apartment.
Self-preservation is a lesson every girl should learn before she ventures out of the house. However, I learned about it by getting into situations no young girl should ever endure. Self-taught self-preservation is a true badge of honor.
Attempting to drown out his voice, I scan the crowded bar, only to find Elias’s words creeping back into my mind. The Pint is a popular establishment, particularly on game days. Basketball and hockey games are broadcast on various TV screens, with the matchup between Vancouver and Los Angeles garnering the most attention from patrons. This confirms Elias’s concerns about someone recognizing me.
“Another margarita?”
My head whips back to Derek, who’s standing now. My first one is pretty much untouched. “No, thanks. I’ll just take some water.”
“Okay, I’ll order us some appetizers too,” he says, flashing me a crooked smile.
When he takes off, I deflate back into my seat, regretting my every decision. Angry Sage is not to be trusted, and vengeful Sage is apparently even worse.
Before Elias showed up at my door, I was arguing with myself in the bathroom mirror about whether to read every intrusive comment left about me on my profile or just leave the house and forget it. Seeing Elias reminded me of the shitstorm he dropped me into.
It’s something I could weather, but he rejected me, goddamn it. He can’t decide on a random Monday on live television that he wants to try out my “unbelievable” plan after all.
So, when he stood there, with rain drizzled across his tight gray shirt and that wounded puppy dog look on his face, it solidified my decision. I needed to distract myself with another man, or this one and his unsurprisingly perfect abs would stick to my brain like taffy.
Derek is back in a record amount of time. “So, ballet. How’s that going?”
He sits and drags his chair forward so his abdomen presses against the wooden table. The space between us is no longer a comfortable bubble, and instead his knees press against mine, and his face is only inches away.
I push my chair back to make up for the lack of space. “I got two rejections in one week, so not great,” I say, not bothering to impress him with a lie.
My first rejection was for that small theater that performs for nursing homes, and the second rejection was for a short summer stint with a ballet school. Nothing too disappointing, but just the cherry on top of an already miserable week. However, my daily refresh of the Nova Ballet Theatre website showed they haven’t updated the casting for the dual role of Princess Odette and Odile, which means they haven’t decided on anyone. That’s all the motivation I need to keep going until I find a way to wiggle into an audition. But I have seen the new casting for Prince Siegfried, played by Adam Culver, and Rothbart, played by Jason Levy.
The company opened their auditions for international soloists, so they’re currently traveling the globe to find their swan queen after securing most of the cast. Since this is Zimmerman’s first production of Swan Lake, he is looking for nothing short of perfection.
“I’m sure that won’t be the case for long. There’s something about you that screams dancer. Probably your legs.”
I laugh, tucking my legs under my chair because he’s eyeing them like he’s assessing them for the potential to sell on the black market.
He smirks, leaning closer, and I hate this. His overpowering scent, and the manly musk mixed in, wafts around us like a dark cloud. My throat runs dry from the uncomfortable gaze, so I reach for my water and take a long drink. Then just as I place the glass back on the table, his calloused hand engulfs mine, and I watch in horror as he brings it toward his mouth to kiss it.
“You—”
“I’d suggest you take your hands off my girlfriend.”
That voice creeps up my back and crawls into my ears like fire ants.
Derek looks up, his gaze fixed on the man behind me, his expression awestruck. I don’t have to look to know what he’s seeing. Tight T-shirt, impressively hard chest, face that is the definition of perfection. I’d have to dig up my dictionary to confirm there is a picture of him next to the word.
I take a deep breath before I turn to the stone-jawed man who just walked into a very crowded bar to announce—again—that I’m his girlfriend. Elias is wearing workout clothes, and he still looks better than anyone else I’ve encountered today. It’s unfair.