Spiral (Off the Ice, #2) (42)
His lips brush against my ear. “Relax.”
My wobbly smile barely holds, then the flash goes off, and I realize Elias didn’t look at the camera at all. His eyes are on me.
EIGHTEEN
SAGE
THE EVENING LIGHT bathes the studio in a soft glow, illuminating the wooden floors of the room as I guide my students through a series of movements. “Arms lifted, extend your lines, and remember, soft movements.”
Today’s class is a coed class for ages six to nine years. We’re practicing the basics to give them a solid foundation. They mirror my movements, and I let them practice on their own for a few beats. Nina, one of the older students, flutters around the class to help others. The eight-year-old girl reminds me so much of myself that I harbor a soft spot for her.
There have been times that I’ve caught her walking home alone, so I’d accompany her. Based on how she shuts down when I ask about her parents, I know that things aren’t great for her at home. So far I’m here to step in if need be, but I know more than anyone what it’s like to have shitty parents. Ballet is a solace for me, and I’d never muddy her experience by overstepping.
My phone vibrates on the edge of the studio’s mirrored barre. My attention moves away from Nina to peek at the screen. There’s a voicemail from the National Ballet, which I auditioned for last week. The riot that ensues in my chest is nothing like the soothing piano notes that fill the room.
“And arabesque, extend those lines,” I encourage, even as a sliver of anticipation seeps in. Not wanting to wait any longer, I grab my phone to play the voicemail.
“This is Sonya, speaking from the National Ballet of Canada, and we’re calling regarding your recent audition. Unfortunately, you have not been selected at this time. Our fall auditions ...”
Rejection causes an ugly knot to form in my throat and a black inky liquid to pool in the acid of my stomach. I take a steadying breath, masking the disappointment that threatens to spill over.
For the next forty minutes of class, the voicemail sits on my chest like an anchor, and breathing around it feels impossible. But I manage to finish the class without any of the kids seeing me break down into a blubbering mess. I’ll take that as a win. My only win of the day.
When I enter Elias’s apartment, I hear the TV in the living room, and it eases the lonely feeling a smidge. The guys were out of town for an away game, so I spent the last two days living on the lunches Elias put in the fridge for me, and teaching a few extra shifts because suddenly, I can’t stand being alone. I know I shouldn’t get absorbed into his life because I haven’t had this before, but now that they’re back, it doesn’t feel like something is missing.
A part of me wanted to go back to my apartment, but my landlady said it won’t be ready anytime soon because of the delayed insurance approval. I’m sure if they knew I foolishly left a lit candle unattended, they’d deny her faster than the fire that ate my clothes. Thank God for renter’s insurance.
I smile when I walk past the guys, trying to appear jovial but faltering when Elias catches my eye. In the kitchen, I’m hoping he’s baked something that will suppress the feeling in my chest. A sigh of relief escapes me when I find a batch of blueberry muffins on a tray.
I’ve only taken a bite when Elias steps into the kitchen.
“How was class?” He goes to the fridge to pull out a water bottle that he unscrews and hands to me.
His question hits me right in the solar plexus, and I try not to let the dam break. But when he’s near, that heavy load that’s weighing me down begs to empty itself onto his strong shoulders. Everything about him screams comfort.
“Good,” I say instead, taking a sip of the water.
With one stride, he closes the space between us and lifts my chin. The touch causes a devastating flutter to take place in my stomach. “I think I’ve earned the right to filter past the lies.”
I swallow the lump in my throat. “I got another rejection.”
“Come here.” The hand rubbing my back deflates the weight that’s been sitting on my shoulders this entire week as I fall into his chest. For once in my life, I feel like I’m allowed to cry outside the shower and in front of someone who won’t crumble if I do.
“I thought this was the one,” I say into the fabric of his T-shirt. “I guess I’m not as good as I thought.”
“Not true.” Elias pulls back to cup my face. “You’re amazing. I’m not just saying that because I think it, but because I’ve seen how people react to seeing you onstage. The little kids in the audience light up when they watch you.” His brown eyes bore into mine so intensely, my breath hitches. “They have pictures of you and write letters to you. You’re an inspiration, Sage.”
“You think?”
“I know.”
My gaze lands on the pink roses by the kitchen sink. “Whose flowers are those?”
“Yours.”
There’s a warmth in my chest that doesn’t ease. It gets worse when my eyes drop to his lips without thinking. I look up just as quickly, but Eli catches the move, the tension between us crackling to a restless heat. The idea of kissing him for real implodes my mind, and I become desperate to feel his lips on mine.
Everything in me wants to test my dwindling self-control. He smells so good I have the urge to tear his shirt from the collar down to the hem and smell his skin to determine the exact mix of fragrance. But I can’t forget those damn rules.