Nick glanced over his shoulder at Ivy, who was collecting her coffee from the counter. “No buts,” he said, turning back to Carly. “You earned this. This whole project was your idea, and you talked me into it even though I didn’t want to do it. And if you can win me over after nearly killing me with your luggage trolley, you can do just about anything.”
“I didn’t nearly kill you,” she objected. “It was a light maiming, at most.”
“A mild to moderate maiming,” he smiled. “And you still managed to bend me to your will.”
“Because I’m a ballet brat?” she laughed weakly.
Nick watched her for a few silent seconds. “All right, let’s try it this way,” he said, straightening up and looking down his nose at her. “You can’t do this. I’d like to see you try. You’re going to fail. You’re going to be Peasant Maiden #4 forever.”
Carly’s eyes widened as he spoke. What the hell kind of pep talk was that? Honestly, some people deserved to have slates smashed over their heads. She opened her mouth to tell him off, but then he winked.
Oh.Oh.Game on, asshole. Challenge accepted. Ballet brat mode activated.
Carly grinned, then quickly schooled her face into a glower. She leaned in close, eyes narrowed. When she spoke, her voice was low and deadly, but he didn’t look intimidated.
“It’s going to feelso goodwhen I prove you wrong, Nick Jacobs.”
Nick smiled triumphantly at her as Ivy arrived at the table, and Carly sat back and squared her shoulders. She could do this, she thought. Not because she wanted to prove Nick wrong. Nick believed in her, despite all the evidence she’d given him to the contrary. Despite all the times she’d fucked up and lost her cool in front of him. No, she could do it because she’d spent her life waiting for this opportunity, dancing around in the background with the other nameless peasant maidens, hoping her moment in the spotlight would come. And now it was here. Not because her parents had bought it for her, or because Heather had called in a favor. It was here because Carly had willed it into being. She had convinced Nick to help her, and they’d worked hard together, and now here she was, with a chance to be something other than a body in the background.
Main character energy. That’s what she needed right now. As Ivy sat down across from them and pulled out a notebook and a phone, Carly threw her a confident smile.
Chapter 21
The joint bachelor-bachelorette party was relatively tame until Izzy suggested they play Twister. By that point, they were all several drinks in, buzzed enough to think it was a great idea.
It was not a great idea.
For one thing, all the dancers in the room—which was everyone except Izzy, if you included former dancers—were extremely flexible and strong. For another, they were all very competitive. Finally, the prize for successfully getting your hand or foot on your assigned circle was to take a shot. Which was how Carly ended up in a one-legged downward dog, with Alice folded in half next to her with one hand and both feet all on red, as Heather tried to do a tequila shot while holding a one-armed plank.
Izzy, the evil genius, didn’t even play. She just spun the wheel and watched them make absolute drunken fools of themselves.
Eventually, Heather declared that everyone whose body was still their livelihood had to stop playing. “I don’t want my wedding to become a mass retirement event,” she exclaimed, after she’d fallen over, almost taking Carly with her.
“Former dancers, you’re up!” Alice called, shuffling unsteadily over to Marcus and pushing him toward the mat.
“That means you, too, Nick,” Izzy called. Nick, who had given up taking photos of the party about an hour ago, was by the drinks station in the kitchen. Between this morning’s surf with Marcus and the drinks, his cheeks were flushed an endearing pink, and his hair, which had started the evening in immaculate order, was starting to look worse for wear. Carly’s fingers itched to run through it, to mess it up further. To watch his eyes drift closed in desperate pleasure as she tugged gently at the roots, guiding his mouth to where she needed it most.
“Nick, come on!” Heather called from the floor, pulling Carly up short before she drifted too far into fantasy. Neither of them was going to be sober enough to do any of that tonight. For a moment, Nick looked like he was going to refuse Heather—but before she could play the bride card, he poured himself another shot and threw it back, and when they had all finished applauding, he took his place next to Marcus.
Carly threw herself onto the couch and grinned as she watched the two men drunkenly move around the board, talking affectionate trash to each other. When she’d first met Nick, she hadn’t believed him capable of joking around like this, but as much as she hated to admit it, she’d been wrong. When Nick was around people he knew and trusted—or, okay, when he’d had several tequila shots—he was loose and laughed easily. He cracked jokes. Sometimes at her expense, but she gave as good as she got.
She thought about the day they’d met three weeks ago, and how she’d shown him the absolute worst of herself from the very first second. The parts of herself she wished away and was working on. All her rage, all her bitterness. God, she’d been a mess in front of him from the moment her cart had run him over. She’d been desperate for help and desperate not to ask for it, and he’d helped her all the same. If she got promoted next month, it would be in no small part because of this man who’d seen all the ugliest parts of her and managed to produce some of the most beautiful images of her.
And when he looked at her … She remembered the warm light in his eyes as he watched her answer Ivy’s questions this morning. He’d looked at her like he believed she could do anything she wanted, and when he was looking at her like that, his ocean-blue eyes full of confidence and admiration, she believed she could, too. Maybe that was why it had felt so easy to be her best self in front of Ivy—because she’d already been her worst in front of Nick. He’d seen her explode with fury and heard her snark, and he’d sat patiently as she’d explained all the reasons she was broken and not enough for him. And then he’d told her he wasn’t afraid of her. Not afraid of the bitterness, or the brokenness. He wanted whatever she could give him, and she wanted—
Fuck, she wanted him. Not just the sex, although being with him felt like falling in love with her own body after years of fighting with it. Like finding a freedom in her muscles and ligaments that she’d once thought possible only when she was dancing. Nick made her body feel like a gift to be treasured despite its brokenness, when all this time she’d tolerated it while wishing it could be different, better. Normal.
But she wanted more than the sex, she realized with horror as he and Marcus maneuvered their bodies awkwardly on the living room floor. She wanted the feeling of kissing him on that lookout beside the waterfall, the sense that they were the only two people in a world full of beauty and danger and possibility. She wanted this, right now. To watch him drunk and goofy enough to forget his starchiness and his perfect posture, messing around with his friends. Their friends.
She tore her eyes away from the Twister mat, where both men were laughing so hard they could barely hold themselves up, and looked around the room. Everyone else was watching the game. Izzy sat on the floor with Alice sprawled half on top of her, Izzy’s hand sifting through her hair. On the other end of the couch, Heather was watching Marcus as though she couldn’t believe how lucky she was that starting Saturday afternoon, he’d be hers forever. They were all partnered up, all moving on with their lives. Heather’s next great adventure was about begin. Marcus was making the most of retirement, and a few years from now he’d be a PT, helping dancers heal and get back on stage. Nick had photography. Alice had years of dancing ahead of her and a girlfriend who adored her. And Carly …
Carly was thinking about how much she wanted something she couldn’t have. A few days from now, the wedding would be over and she’d be flying back to New York. Sheneededto go back to New York.
She would go, because she deserved that promotion. She’d danced her heart out for over a decade, watching as women who’d danced alongside her in the corps became soloists, taking their bows alone at the front of the stage while she stood behind them in a long line of corps dancers, faceless and forgettable. Thirteen years of conforming. Thirteen years of being told her job was to dance like everyone else so that the audience would see her but wouldn’t notice her. Thirteen years of feeling replaceable. If Heather hadn’t intervened when Mr. K tried to fire her, she would have vanished from NYB, never to be seen on the Lincoln Center stage again. Some other dancer would have slipped into her peasant maiden costume, and no one out in the theater would even know the difference. Carly had paid her dues, with interest. She had earned this promotion—with some help from Nick—and she wanted what she was owed.
But fuck, she wanted more than that. She wanted something she hadn’t let herself want in years. To keep a man around, because she wasn’t waiting for him to eventually disappoint her. Or worse, for her to inevitably disappoint him.
When she’d ended things with Carter, when she’d made thatno more fuckboysvow, she told herself that a man like Nick didn’t exist. Oh, she’d thought he should—she’d thought it was bullshit that he didn’t—but she’d given up on finding him.
