We fall asleep just like that–together, neither of us wanting to leave.
And there’s no pretending left between us.
Not tonight.
Chapter Sixteen
SCOTTIE
I wake with the feeling of a ballerina wrapped around me like a very determined octopus.
Katerina’s got one leg slung over my hip, the other one against my chest like she’s afraid I’m going to vanish in the middle of the night. Her face is tucked under my chin, breathing slow and even, dark hair spilling over my chest. Her naked body, besidesthe thin fabric of her thong, being the only thing between our bare skin.
Every night for the last two weeks, we swear we won’t fall asleep in the other person's bed, but every morning for the last two weeks, since we celebrated her getting a spot on the PNB, we keep waking up naked together in her bed or mine, after a night of exploring each other. Doing everything to satisfy the other person except the one thing I won’t do–take her virginity.
Not until she agrees to be mine, though I haven’t exactly uttered those words.
I’m not complaining. It’s the best way to wake up.
Between her rehearsals for the new show the company is about to put on and hockey practices and games, we barely cross paths in the daylight. But somehow, without fail, we keep ending up here once the sun goes down. Her knocking on my door with sleepy eyes and sore muscles, asking for a foot rub that ends with my head between her thighs. Or me ending up in her room when I get back in the middle of the night from an away game just to tell her I’m home, but then I end up naked in her bed.
Whatever excuse we use, it always ends the same—tangled together like this, somewhere around one in the morning, getting each other off and then passing out in a heap of bare skin.
I should get up.
I have morning skate, then game reels, then a team meeting, then I should hit the weights with a few of the guys.
But I don’t want to move, and I don’t want to wake her. I know she has to be at the dance studio to rehearse in less than an hour.
All of that can wait. Instead, I watch her.
Her eyelashes rest against her cheeks, dark wisps against pale skin. There’s a faint crease between her brows, like even in sleep she’s bracing for something to go wrong. I want to take my thumb and smooth it away. To tell her that as long as we’re together, nothing is going to go wrong.
I settle for brushing a piece of hair off her face instead.
She sighs a little, but doesn’t wake.
Something soft and stupid swells in my chest.
Yeah, I’m already as good as hers.
My phone buzzes on the nightstand.
I stretch an arm out, trying not to jostle her, and squint at the screen.
Mom.
I ease out from under Katerina as carefully as if she’s made of glass, tuck the blanket back around her, and step into the hallway before I answer.
“Hey, Ma,” I say quietly, heading for the kitchen. “Everything okay?”
There’s a beat of silence, and then her voice comes through, already thick with emotion.
“Hi, sweetheart.”
I wince. The "sweetheart" usually comes out when she’s worried or sentimental. It could go either way.
“What’s going on?” I ask, flipping on the coffee maker and starting to heat some water for Katerina’s tea.
