FINE.
Rehearsal at 7 tonight.
Studio rooftop.
Come alone.
The second Nate pushed open the stairwell door, he felt apull, electric and unmistakable. The rooftop was already thick with her, heat clinging to the air like perfume even though the night itself was sharp. The filthiest fucking song imaginable crackled from a cheap Bluetooth speaker. The dry shuffle of dance shoes skimmed the concrete. And over it all, the unmistakable gravity of Holly in motion.
The roof was hers, because no one else had the audacity to claim it.
She was lit by the skyline like a stage light made just for her, back arched in a way that sucker-punched every blood vessel south of his belt. Every damn inch of her was a final boss battle in the fever dream that was his subconscious. She was fluid but strong with whip-sharp precision, all sweeps and pure weaponized intent. This wasn’t a dance routine, it was a threat.
Holly didn’t see him. She had no idea he was there, drinking her in like a man crawling across a desert toward the onlygoddamn oasis. She spun, twisted, planted a foot and paused, then rewound her own choreography as if it hadoffendedher. Holly did it all again, cleaner, sharper, more dangerous. Nate didn’t breathe. Didn’t blink. She wasn’t just dancing, she wasbuilding something. And it had his fucking name on it.
He didn’t know a lot about dance but he knew a Paso Doble when he saw one, and this… this hit different. It was violence disguised as grace. A beautiful, blistering threat carved in sweat and shadow, every movement from her wielded a hidden edge. She danced like the perfect misdirection. The flash of red that caught the eye just long enough to distract. A fucking prop,but make it ruinous. Andneverhad he been harder in his fucking life.
She stopped, panting, hands braced on her hips, chest rising as if she was still mid-battle. That glow in her eyes was something wild, and when she turned and finally noticedhim it felt like a collision. For a beat, they just stared, heat meeting heat across the rooftop, his skin flushed from the sight of her and her body already molten from movement.
“About time you got here.”
He huffed a low laugh, took his phone, wallet and keys out of his pocket and left them on the ground like an offering to the gods. “Traffic was shit,” he said, stepping into her orbit, pulled under like a goddamn riptide. His gaze flickered over her face. “Didn’t wanna interrupt you trying to burn the city down.”
Her eyes raked over him, slow and dangerous, tracking him like prey. “Choreo’s not ready.”
He moved closer anyway. Close enough to catch the tension rolling off her skin. Close enough to smell the salt, the fight, the need.
“Neither was I,” he murmured, his voice a graveled promise. “But you made something out of me anyway, didn’t you?”
Her throat bobbed, the smallest tell in an otherwise bulletproof woman. “Don’t be dramatic.”
“Never,” Nate murmured, gaze dragging back to the stretch of rooftop she’d just razed with nothing but muscle, sweat, and intent. “But that?” He nodded toward the still-humming echo of her choreography, his voice rough with something close to awe. “That was the sexiest fucking thing I’ve ever seen.”
She avoided his gaze and grabbed her water bottle, taking a long sip before she tossed it over her shoulder on top of her gear bag like a grenade. “That’s your half of the routine.”
His mouth went dry. Bone dry. “You choreographed that for me?” He stared. Laughed, dark and a little shaken. “I’m the cape.”
“Obviously,” she said, like it wasn’t a fucking revelation. And he exhaled like he’d been hit. Because that’s what it felt like to be chosen.
“The most dangerous cape anyone’s ever seen,” she added, walking back to him slow and deliberate, a queen in sweat-slicked shorts and tank top, descending like she was here to claim a kingdom. “Velour, at least.” Her eyes gleamed before she slipped her dagger between his ribs.
“Why didn’t you kiss me?”
Nate didn’t answer right away. The city hummed beneath them, traffic and neon and a thousand lives moving on like his hadn’t just stalled out completely. He held her gaze, felt the weight of the question settle somewhere behind his ribs, heavyand unavoidable. “I wanted to,” he said finally, voice low and scraped raw. “Wasgoingto.”
Her expression didn’t change, but something flickered behind her eyes, sharp and searching. He stepped closer, close enough to feel the heat rolling off her skin, the echo of the dance still vibrating in her body. “But if I’d kissed you then on that floor, with the cameras and the audience and everyone waiting for it.. it would’ve meant less.” His jaw tightened. “I didn’t want to take something real and let them turn it into content.”
Her smile was tight. “They did that anyway.”
His voice dropped, rougher now, honest in a way that scared the hell out of him. “I’m sorry.”
Her gaze held his, too steady to be casual. She didn’t soften, just letting the apology hang in the air between them. Then she exhaled, softly.
“You’re lucky you’re hot,” she said finally, voice threaded with just enough warmth to sayI forgive youwithout letting him off the hook entirely.
Nate grinned, relief cracking through him like sunlight through a bruise. “So youdothink I’m hot?”
She rolled her eyes, hard. “Don’t push it.”
