“Or… we could just get this over with now. I have a car, I thinkyouhave a car…”
“I’m not sleeping with you, for the first time, in a car, Genevieve.”
He says my name like a reprimand, the dominance in his tone sending an excited chill through me.
I roll my eyes, shaking it off. “Fine. Do you have, like, a general day or time…?” I ask, trying my best to make this seem casual. Because thisiscasual, despite how colossal it feels in my stomach.
“Sometime next week.” His smirk says it all, like he can tell how eager I suddenly am and he’s going to enjoy torturing me by stringing this out. “You’ve waited a lifetime… what’s a few more days?”
“Fine.” I bite the inside of my cheek, trying to stifle the smile I feel erupting. Whether it’s from the fact that I set out to do this and I succeeded, or because the idea of sleeping with Grant has excited anticipation kicking up in my gut, I’m not entirely sure.
But after next weekend, I will no longer be a virgin. And that feels awfully loaded for me in the best way.
“I should go find Jean,” I say, realizing I’ve been smiling like an idiot for far too long.
Grant’s expression tells me he knows exactly what role Jean played in all of this. His lips quirk, the subtlest hint of amusement there. “Yeah. Probably should.”
My lips press together as I stifle another smile, making my way to the massive cooler housing the water bottles. There's an undeniable giddiness to me, an almost too obvious spring in my step.Did I just organize a literal booty call?
I feel my cheeks heat, unable to stop the thought of Grant’s hands sliding onto my body from taking shape as I dig through the array of drinks. I’m just registering the way my stomach feels like it’s fluttering into my throat when I glance back up and am met with the sight of Will and Olivia making out under a tree not too far from the one Grant and I were just under. I can feel the wind literally leave my sails as I’m launched back to reality and the reason why I even put myself up to this ridiculous task.
I force myself to take a long drink from the icy water bottle and wonder how this part of me, the one sitting at the edge of my proverbial seat over the idea ofhooking up with Grant Fielder, can coexist with the part of me that waited so long to do just that thing with Will.
2
Gen
The bar feels coarse against my palm as I relevé in front of the full length mirror, observing my form. I move through the same routine I’ve done for the past fifteen years of my life, the phantom smoke of my first dance teacher’s—Madame Auch’s—Marlboro Lights filling my memory as I move through the positions. I started ballet at the community center near our five story walk up. My mom was basically counting down the days until I turned three and could put on my first tutu, her dreams of ballet so entangled in my own at times it’s hard to untwine them.
I adjust my posture, breathing in to suck in my stomach as I watch the fabric of my leotard cinch my waist. I bite the inside of my cheek as I move into demi pointe breathing out, looking as my body stretches as I move into a closed front passe. I suck in another breath working my face into a brilliant smile that doesn’t meet my eyes. I hold it until I feel my head begin to swim, I keep smiling, my eyes watering as they track every inch of my body for anyimperfections. I roll back my shoulders and try to pull more breath in through my nose. The sound of the Tchaikovsky fades in the background, my ears now filling with pressure.
“VEEEEEEEE,” Jean loudly whines, dramatically tossing his dance bag on the floor, and I let out the breath with a frustrated huff, moving back into rest, allowing the world around me to come back into focus. “Sorry, sorry!” Jean puts his hands up when he notices my icy stare. I arch my brows, insinuating my need for him to get on with it.
“So I dumped him, again…” he says, moving into a seated hamstring stretch. I roll my eyes.
“How many times have you guys broken up now?” I ask, joining him on the floor. It feels like Jean and Ian are just a series of breakups and reconciliations without any sort of real relationship in between.
“Hmmm,” Jean pretends to count on his fingers and then grins. “I’ve lost count, but you can bet your ass they have all been his fault.” I chuckle, leaning into my front split. “Show-off,” Jean huffs. “Are you going to ask what happened?” His voice is flustered as I roll my ankle, trying to release the tension I always get when practicing pointe.
“What happened?” I ask my voice, seeping with mock concern.
“Well for starters, he never posts me on his socials.”
I cough a laugh, even though I know Jean’s outrage is genuine. I love him, but he isn’tnotself absorbed.
“You can’t be serious?” I raise my eyebrows, moving my legs to put myself in a seated position as I grab my water bottle.
“You can’t judge me G, you’re as delusional as I am. Which reminds me… what happened at the bonfire? I left you with Grant, but then you disappeared. Did you leave with Will?” His eyes are full of judgement and I feel myself go on the defensive.
“I drove myself home, thank you. Why do you care so much about my sex life all of a sudden?”
He rolls his eyes dramatically. “Because you’re my friend? Friends care if other friends are getting laid. And you, my dear, havenotbeen getting laid.”
I sigh, tucking my water bottle between my legs and picking at my cuticles.
“I guess there is something to report…” I trail off and I can practically feel Jean salivating for whatever tea I’m about to spill. “There may have been some developments.” I do my best to be coy, but the excitement is likely written all over my face. I haven’t been able to get Grant, or the idea of his hands all over me, off my mind.
Jean snaps his fingers in front of my face. “Hello? Gen? Anyone there?”
