And when I start adding in thoughts that it might be Tommy I’m dancing for? My hips seem to take on a new vigor that was never there before. My hands seem almost possessed as they glide over my skin, with thoughts that it could be his fingers touching me instead.
The possibilities of what happens next are what keep me moving as the memories of what we did last time he “taught” me replay in my mind. I keep focusing, watching one video after another. Wanting to find new moves, ones thatmaybe Trixie doesn’t even know, that would make him happy. Entice him.
Make him beg me not to stop.
The grumble of my stomach is my only stopwatch up here. I’m dripping with sweat by the time I realize I need to eat if I want to keep doing this. And I do.
Of course, there’s only one man I’m thinking about. I’m doing this for him, not some nameless, faceless person who paid for my time.
When I go back downstairs, Tommy is sipping coffee, but the rest of the food has been put away.
“I was almost worried that you might skip lunch too.”
The sternness in his eyes tells me he noticed, or probably just guessed, that I missed breakfast. After not eating much for the last few months, it’s easy to overlook some things. But if I plan to keep dancing like this, I’ll need to get back to eating regularly.
I just nod, hoping he sees that keeping up on my meals is something I’ll work on as well.
“Good. I’ll order something, and then after we eat, we can get ready.”
“Ready? For what?”
He smiles. “The ballet.”
Chapter 25—Tommy
Imight have gone overboard. Maybe. A little.
But the smile on Payton’s face as she watches the ballet from the private balcony seats I got us is worth it. That smile hasn’t died since I told her where we were going. She even spent longer getting ready than usual—though, to be fair, it was only ten minutes more.
And no, I’m not tracking how long she takes to get ready. Just… sort of… tracking the time away from her.
Fuck. What’s the point in avoiding it? I like Payton. She’s already mine. The sooner I accept it, the sooner I can move on to getting her to accept it too.
Convincing my family to overlook the money issues involved might take longer than everything else, but that’s a problem for another time.
As the curtain closes, Payton is the first out of her chair and clapping. I stand with her, along with the rest of the crowd. But just like the entire performance, I only have eyes on her. I hardly registered one of the top ballet shows in the country for a better show—the Payton show. Watching her enjoy something like this might be one of the top three moments of my life.
Watching her dance is another. But since I’ve seen her do that more than once, I can’t pick my favorite. I just know that the other two involve her gliding through the air.
Since I’m staring at her, I’m able to brace before she throws her arms around me and hugs me tight.
“Thank you, thank you, thank you. This was the best night.” She pulls back from me, and I instantly regret the loss of contact.
“They were amazing. Spectacular.” Her overenthusiastic clapping as the dancers continue to bow has me chuckling. Her joy is so pure it’s almost infectious.
“Come on.” I grab one of her hands mid-clap, clasping it within mine as I pull her away from the balcony.
With a slight reluctance, she follows along, her smile a mile wide as we make our way through the crowd and outside to my car. A car I ensured was waiting the second the show ended. Making sure everyone knows she’s the real star here as I escort her into the first car while others, including a few celebrities and politicians I noted in the crowd, have to wait brings a smirk to my lips.
I rarely show off my lineage, but occasionally it comes in handy. Like making sure your girl feels special and letting everyone else know she is. And who she’s with.
Am I staking my claim? Are pictures being taken of us? Will they show up in some tabloid with her labeled as my girl? For a few minutes anyway, till Danny is notified of them and has them taken down. But all I need is a small moment for the world to figure out she’s mine.
I take her home. Funny, since it was never a home till she started staying there. Before, it was just an office and a bed. A primary location for me, but nothing more substantial than that. So much has changed with her in it. To her, perhaps this seems fast. If she knew how I felt, she might be terrified by everything. But for me? I’ve already put in the time.
One month, to be exact. One month to watch my obsession grow with each dance she did before me, even if she had no clue I was watching. One month to memorize her face as she glided through the air. From my angle, I was closer. I could see more than those below her, the ones who paid to watch her fly. And while I might have only caught glimpses of her over that time, I could piece her together.
I kept my distance, watching only. I made a promise to myself at first. To stay away. To only let my craving for her factor into watching her from a distance. She was too innocent for me; if I got closer, I would ruin her.
