“Guess I’m just full of surprises.” My attention’s burning holes into Blake’s guilty-ass face.
Nina heads off, leaving Blake and I staring at each other.
“We were just going over a few things before tonight,” Blake says before clearing his throat. “You know, pre-performance jitters.” His hand rests not so casually over the center of his tights, failing to hide the bulge there. The one he was probably using moments ago to work out his nerves. With Nina.
My chest and face heat, boiling below the surface. I’d love to drive my heel into his balls. I try to take a calming breath, collect myself. There’re enough rumors surrounding the past year of my life, the last thing I need to do is make a scene. As he opens his mouth, ready to make another sorry excuse, my palm cracks against his face.
Shit.
Blake clutches his jaw, clearly appalled. He steps back and looks in his mirror at the fingerprints imprinted across his cheek, then snaps, “What the hell, Jolie?”
Other dancers exit their dressing rooms, heading toward the stage, some of them stopping in place, glancing between the two of us.
I force my feet in the direction of the stairs, hearing the patter of pointe shoes against the concrete as Lark catches up to me and turns me by my shoulder. “I had no idea they were together, but he’s an asshole.”
“Not arguing with you on that one.” My chest heaves, and I slow my breaths, trying to steady the simmering beneath my skin and the vibrancy of my pulse. My hand throbs like a bitch. I clutch it with my other one.
Who knew smacking someone hurt so much?
“If you want to cut out, I understand.”
“No way.” I wrap my arms around her and whisper in her ear. “I wouldn’t miss you dancing for the world. He’s not going to ruin my night.”
“You sure?”
Out of the corner of my eye, I spot Beth applying makeup to the asshole’s face. The show must go on, I suppose. He doesn’t look in my direction, doesn’t care that I caught him. Meanwhile, a few grimaces from former colleagues have me flush with embarrassment.
“Yes. Now get yourself ready. Eat a few more O’s for me and get to curtain call.” I give Lark a swift peck on the cheek and nudge her back toward the dressing room. Pivoting away from her, I walk to the staircase as quickly as my heels will allow.
My mind spins over and over on what I just saw. I’m so foolish for thinking there was something real between Blake and me. The signs were there. Never staying the night. Never taking me anywhere in public. How was he even planning to handle things tonight? Hook up with Nina before the show and then meet up with me afterward?
Being slapped with the reality of how little I meant to him should sting more than my hand does. It hurts, but what is most painful is how much it doesn’t. What hurts is that I hoisted him up on a pedestal, believing he saw me. Wanted me. Thinking heviewed me as some sort of prize. This was all a game to him, and I was desperate enough to let him play me.
I shouldn’t be okay right now. I should feel like I’ve lost something. But other than regretting wasting years on him and hoping he’ll trip over a swan tonight, I feel an odd sense of relief. I don’t have to deal with him ever again. Not if I don’t want to. I’m no longer at the Institute, and he obviously has someone else there who’s happy to stroke his fragile ego.
Pulse racing, my fingers shake against the railing, still sore from meeting Blake’s stupidly handsome face. I try to steady myself before heading into the lobby. A handful of patrons I recognize flash me pleasant smiles that I return. I even manage to make small talk with a few, though I can’t recall what we discuss as soon as I exit the conversation. I’m moving with singular purpose in the direction of the ticket takers, fingers slipping into my purse to grab the ticket Lark had left for me on the counter.
“Jolie,” a familiar voice calls from behind me. Delilah sprints toward me, wearing a pair of fitted black trousers and an oversized matching blazer. Her forehead is creased, lips pressed in a line. Lark must have texted her. “You okay?”
“No,” I say, handing off my ticket before going through the turnstile. I shiver, clutching my coat around myself as I wait for Delilah to come through. Taking a few calming breaths, I savor the air filling my lungs. Once she’s next to me and we enter the theater, I lean in and whisper, “But I will be.”
“If you want, Lark will slip some laxatives in his water before opening night.”
I can’t stifle my laugh, and Delilah throws an arm around me, gesturing toward our row. She follows behind me, and we sit down.
“Think everyone here knows I slapped him?”
“Probably,” she teases. “But I’m sure some of them are sad they didn’t do it first.”
As the lights dim and the curtain rises, she leans over and whispers, “The right person is out there.”
Delilah is right. When I allow myself to think about the possibility of who that someone for me could be, only one person comes to mind.
Jax came when I needed him. And while nothing has happened between us, the brief time we’ve spent together has been much more intimate than the years of Blake falling into my bed.
But it doesn’t excuse what Blake’s done. Not by a long shot.
I glare daggers at him the entire time he dances. It’s annoyingly in sync with Nina. While he doesn’t trip over any swans, I get some satisfaction when I notice my dainty handprint is still visible when the spotlight hits him at certain angles. Guess he’ll need to invest in some better performance makeup.
