"Remind me why we do this again," he wheezes.
"Because we hate ourselves," I mutter, wiping sweat from my forehead.
Betsy tosses us towels. "No—you do it because you're good. And because this performance is going to be the best thing this showcase has put on in years."
Keith nods. "You two have chemistry. The good kind. Not the kind where someone's going to drop someone on their head."
Pride warms in my chest, even through the exhaustion.
Adam nudges my shoulder. "Hey. We actually nailed that lift."
I grin tiredly. "Yeah. Miraculously. For two sweaty disaster humans."
"We'll take it," he laughs.
"Break's over! Back to work!" Betsy calls.
Adam and I groan in perfect unison.
I drag myself up, grabbing his arm for balance. His dramatic wince makes me snort.
"You're killing me, Pennington."
"Good. If I go down, you're going down with me."
We return to our starting marks—exhausted, sweaty, and half-dead...but we're getting it.
Piece by piece.
And the showcase is coming. Fast.
We reset to the starting marks after the break—my thighs screaming, Adam shaking out his arms dramatically like he's preparing for battle.
"Alright," Betsy calls, clapping once. "Places. And Adam—your hands on her waist need to be higher. No slouching. Caroline, you're leaning into him like you're trying to fuse ribs. Give me length!"
Adam snorts. "You say that like she isn't literally attached to me for half this dance."
"Adam," Betsy snaps, "less talking, more dancing."
He smirks at me, then slides behind me into our opening pose—his palms settling at my waist, his chest brushing my back, breath warm near my ear.
"Ready to suffer some more?" he whispers.
I elbow him lightly. "Shut up and count."
We move through the first few steps, the music swelling around us.
"Hold!"
Betsy's voice snaps through the studio like a whip.
Adam and I freeze mid-transition—his hands at my ribs, my back arched into him, our faces close enough that I can count his eyelashes.
I'm bracing for Betsy's inevitable critique when a different voice cuts through the room.
Smooth. Sharp. Territorial.
"I'd watch where you put your hands, man."
