“I’m going to make you room with Larsen on the next away trip. One king bed. Snuggling,” Finley deadpans, and I can’t help but laugh.
It feels good to let go, just a little, and the laughter just keeps coming, pouring out of me until my cheeks hurt.
Finally, when I’m able to catch my breath, I hold up my hands.
“No, mine was a contemporary class. And it just so happens that the dance I was assigned was the one fromDirty Dancing.”
She leans forward slightly. “Because you could do the lift?”
“Oh, certainly. And I look damn good in all black.”
“Were you also paired with some cute petite blonde?” she asks. “Because I have to tell you, I’m none of those things.”
I want to argue with her about the cute portion, but decide on a different tactic. “You’re petite compared to me.”
“I’m petite compared to no one. I’m not a light human. I’m made of a lot of muscle. Skater’s muscle, not runner’s muscle. It’s big and bulky.”
Lies. I mean, not that she’s not made of muscle, but she’s not bulky. She’s strong.
“I can do it,” I assert. “If you can do the steps, I guarantee I can do the lift.”
It’s a challenge, and we both know it.
We also both know she won’t say no. Coach Blake doesn’t back down from a challenge, and based on the gleam in her eye, I don’t think her less professional counterpart, Finley, does, either.
“Prove it.”
“Now?” I ask, looking around the room. Okay, this may have backfired. I know I can do it, but I should certainly warm up beforehand. Fuck.
“Yeah,” she says, sending the challenge right back at me. “We’ll go out in the hall. I’ll run; you catch me.”
I nod. “I’ll always catch you. And you better get your pink dress ready, because if we’re doing this, we’re fucking doing this all the way.”
Chapter 11
Finley
Istartthevideoon my screen again, watching Jennifer Grey’s feet as if she’s a center on the team we’re playing for the championship.
One, two, three, four, I count in my head, questioning every life decision I made that got me here.
Shit. Left, not right.
I run through it a few times before my watch buzzes, letting me know it’s time to head to Kane’s—Beckett’s. I’m not sure I’ll ever get used to calling him that, even if it seems strangely natural to have him call me Finley instead of Coach Blake.
“Come in!” he hollers in response to my knock.
I open the door, slowly moving into his space. “Beckett?” I call.
“Here,” he says, walking out of his bedroom. “Sorry. Needed to take a shower before standing too close to anyone.”
His dark hair is still wet, clinging together as he runs his fingers through it. I forcibly pull my gaze to his face, remindingmyselfagainthat he is my player and ogling is out of the question.
“Cleanliness is always appreciated.”
He quirks an eyebrow, and I bite the inside of my cheek to stop myself from taking back the inane comment. “Noted.”
I hold up my laptop. “I’ve got the video, so we can practice with the movie, at least for the first few attempts.”
