Page 67
Normally, it was one of my favorite classes. The structure of it appealed to me. The precision and connection between partners. Every movement was built upon the one before it.
There was comfort in that. A predictability. But today, I couldn’t seem to find my footing. I moved through the routine on instinct alone, demonstrating the first sequence before circling the room to make corrections.
“No, shift your weight here.” I tapped a student’s shoulder. “Good. Again.”
Pasha, you know a distracted dancer is a dangerous dancer.
My father’s voice rang through my head as clearly as if he were standing beside me. The words followed me as I crossed the room. How ironic? Distracted didn’t even come close to what was wrong with me.
He’d be so fucking disappointed.
As I demonstrated the next sequence, I caught my reflection in the wall of mirrors. The expression staring back looked forced.
Smile, for fuck’s sake. Do the routine exactly as you choreographed.
The motions suddenly didn’t feel familiar, and the man performing them felt like a stranger. I was having an out-of-body experience and running entirely on muscle memory.
The music swelled. Around me, couples moved through the progression. It all reminded me of her. Every hold. Every hand resting on a partner’s waist. Every trusting step backward. The way she fit against me as we danced in the hotel room.
A laugh escaped one of the students. Someone missed a turn. Kinsley corrected them before I could even open my mouth. My focused snapped back to the room.
Damn it. I was doing it again.
I shouldn’t have come in today. I should have taken it off. My temples throbbed relentlessly. A dull ache had settled behind my eyes sometime around noon and never left. By the third or fourth missed correction, the concern showed.
“Water break,” Kinsley called out, then added, “You missed the count.”
“I know.”
That was all I gave her.
Her brows lifted. “Well, I’m going to need you to get it together. We have more classes to teac—”
“I know,” I snapped.
Surprise flashed across her face as the silence stretched between us. Then confusion, followed up by hurt. She blinked several times as though waiting for me to realize what I’d done. When I didn’t, she shook her head.
“Okay, then.”
The words came out clipped. She stalked toward our bags, grabbed both water bottles, and returned. Mine hit my chest.
“Drink.”
I unscrewed the cap. “Kinsley—”
“Nope. You’re complete off today.”
I took a long swallow. She waited patiently, well as patiently as possible, for her.
“Did something happen at the club?”
“No.”
We stared each other down.
“Okay, what about with—”
“Mouse, drop it.”
