Page 38 of With You

“Could you type any louder?”

Amelie leans forward, glaring past Grayson as our lecturer keeps talking. She’s explaining something that I should be paying more attention to, but all I can focus on is riling Amelie up.

I tap each letter on my keyboard deliberately, making it as loud as possible as I type out nonsense. I’ll look over the notes and video later, because right now I just want to get under her skin the way she’s been under mine.

It’s been a few days since that first practice, and we’ve met every day since after classes to keep going. The routine is going well; we're both picking up our parts expertly and working together in a way I never would have imagined before. It’s all too easy to give myself to Amelie, to trust in her ability to make the dance so much easier for me as she takes the lead, to take whatever parts of her I can get from our time together.

Once we enter the studio, it’s like we’re in our own world. Everything comes so naturally that I don’t have to overthink anything. I just flow with the music, holding her as she takes on the more difficult moves of the routine with my help. I’ve finally found a reason to keep dancing again, and I don’t want to lose it.

And although we only kiss for the sake of the routine, it’s sheer determination that keeps us from taking it any further. But Amelie said we need to stay focused, and that’s the easiest way to lose it.

When we’re anywhere else, in classes or with our friends, all of that disappears. We go back to the side of us everyone is used to, making digs at each other and acting like we can’t stand to breathe the same air. It just makes it all the more fun.

“She’s right, my guy. It’s kind of annoying,” Grayson says, shrugging his shoulders.

I stop for the sake of him, and because I’ve got what I wanted out of it anyway, as Amelie rolls her eyes at me.

“There’ll be a test next week,” the lecturer says. “Two essay questions from this list of five.”

She pulls up a slide with different questions, and I quickly scan them to figure out which ones will be easiest to accomplish. Quiet conversations break out around the room as everyone starts discussing the questions and test before we all get dismissed.

I pack up my things slowly, taking my time as Grayson nudges past me to leave the room. I expect Amelie to do the same, but she lingers, and soon the room is empty except for us. Moving closer to her, I lean against her desk, gazing down at her over the rim of my glasses while she pretends I don’t exist.

“Haven’t you got somewhere to be?” I ask her, knowing full well we have a studio reserved in twenty minutes. It’s just enough time for us to get back to our rooms and change before we start practicing again.

“Hmm,” she taps her finger against her chin, “no, don’t think so.”

“Thought we were practicing tonight,” I say, giving in to whatever game she’s playing.

She stretches her arms above her head, feigning a yawn as a strip of deep brown skin exposes itself in the gap between her pink T-shirt and skirt.

“I think I’ve practiced enough for the week,” she says as she stands and gathers her things. “I was thinking of going into Paris tonight.”

My head tilts to one side as she looks up at me.

“What’s in Paris?”

“There was a guy last time at the club,” she says, brushing her hand against my arm and fiddling with the cuff of my shirt. “Real hero, gave me his jacket and everything.”

“Oh, really? Must have been handsome for you to remember him.”

“He had a face only a mother could love,” she says, and I bite the inside of my cheek to stop myself from laughing. “Anyway, I was thinking I should return his jacket. It’s not polite to keep a stranger’s belongings.”

“Very impolite,” I say, as I figure out where she’s going with this. “And what time are you meeting the gentleman?”

“I was thinking around eight. Maybe get dinner or something; who knows where the night will take us. Sure hope he wears his glasses, too.”

She gives me a coy smile, lifting her free hand to push the frames further up the bridge of my nose.

“That sure sounds like a date.” I let my fingertips trail across the side of her hand.

“Could be,” she says with a shrug, looking up at me through long eyelashes. “If he wants it to be.”

“I think he definitely wants that.”

“Great,” she says, turning her hand so her fingers graze across my palm. “Then it’s a date.”

“I’ll have my driver wait outside for us,” I tell her, dropping my voice along with all pretence. If Amelie wants to go on a date, then it’s going to be the best date of her life.