Granted, she’d left without saying goodbye the next morning, but I’d slept in. I couldn’t expect her to wait around for me.
“Are we good?” I asked as she dropped her phone in her bag and walked to the sound system without looking at me once.
I didn’t like it. I didn’t like it all.
“Yes. Why wouldn’t we be?” She fiddled with the controls. “Let’s start with warm-ups. We?-“
“Fuck that. We’re not starting anything until you tell me why you’re acting so strange.” I crossed my arms. “Is this about Friday night?”
Scarlett’s back turned rigid.
I’d kept my wording vague, but we both knew I wasn’t talking about the frying pan incident.
Three days later, the memory of our kitchen encounter was burned into my mind.
Scarlett straddling me.
The heat in her eyes.
The sight of those perfect fucking nipples poking through my shirt. Seeing her wear my clothes was hands down one of the hottest things I’d ever experienced. It made almost getting bashed in the face worth it.
I’d needed an ice-cold shower and a date with my right hand after that. Even now, just thinking about it made me uncomfortably warm.
Scarlett looked as tense as I felt. “No,” she said. “This is not about Friday night. However, since we’re on the subject, you could’ve mentioned your girlfriend before I-while we were in the theatre.”
My frown deepened. “I don’t have a girlfriend.”
“Fine. Your hookup, fling, whatever you want to call it.”
What the hell was she talking about?
“I don’t…”
Earl’s judgment. Scarlett waiting in the studio. The only woman she could’ve possibly seen me with since Friday.
The puzzle pieces slotted together with perfect clarity. “You’re talking about Polina.”
“If Polina is the blond with legs longer than a giraffe, then yes.” Scarlett finally whirled around and faced me. “You were having quite a snog fest in the living room. I didn’t want to interrupt you, so I came downstairs and waited for you to finish.”
“It wasn’t a snog fest session,” I growled. “She kissed me.”
“Sure.”
Irrational anger simmered in my veins. “I guess you didn’t stay long enough to see me push her off,” I said. “Polina and I went on a few dates last year. That’s it. She came by because she wanted me to help her make someone else jealous, and she thought seducing me first would make it easier.” I nodded at her bag. “If you don’t believe me, I’ll give you her number and you can confirm with her.”
Scarlett faltered. “Oh.”
“Yes, oh.” I kept my eyes trained on hers as I carefully picked my next words. “Even if we were making out, I don’t understand why you’d be mad.”
“I’m not mad. I’m annoyed about your tardiness.”
“That wasn’t annoyance I heard.”
“Then you’re hearing things that don’t exist.”
“Maybe. Maybe not.” I took in her stiff posture and the rosy flush darkening her cheeks. A slow smile spread across my face. “Wait. Scarlett, darling…are you jealous?”
“You wish.”
I’d been half joking, but her answer came too quickly, too aggressively to ring true.
My smile vanished beneath an unsteady thump of my heart. “Maybe I do.”
The confession drifted between us like confetti in the wind, blowing this way and that, uncertain of where to land.
It was the closest either of us had come to acknowledging our attraction-and there was attraction. A quiet, smoldering, mutual one. Of that, I was sure.
If she’d stayed in the kitchen a minute longer the other night, I would’ve kissed her, and she would’ve let me.
Scarlett’s throat moved with a small swallow. “You shouldn’t.”
I drew in a deep breath and exhaled. The invisible confetti fluttered, finally coming to rest on the far side of the room. So tangible yet untouchable.
“Those rules of yours again, huh?”
“Yeah,” she said softly. “Those rules of mine.”
We didn’t discuss Polina or Friday night again for the rest of our session. They weren’t the real issues at hand.
No, the real issue lay dormant, as patient and incendiary as a ticking bomb.
It was only a matter of time before it exploded.
SCARLETT
“When do rehearsals start?” Carina asked.
“On Tuesday. They’re only once a week, so it shouldn’t be too bad.”
Since it was a one-night school showcase and the staff members were seasoned professionals, the rehearsal schedule was less grueling than that of a normal dance company performance.
My stomach flip-flopped. It was Saturday, five days since Lavinia appointed me understudy, and my excitement had bled into nerves.
Luckily,
Lorena
‘s choreography didn’t involve a lot of moves that would aggravate my old injuries. My doctor had given me her tentative approval pending a full physical (to make sure nothing had changed since our last checkup) and my promise that I would commit only to one performance.
“Don’t overexert yourself,” she’d told me yesterday. “Your body can handle performing again up to a certain point, but once you pass that point, you’ll be undoing a lot of progress. If you feel any abnormal discomfort at all, call me and your PT immediately.”
She didn’t have to worry about that; I had her and my physical therapist on speed dial.
“Perfect. So we’ll still have time for shopping and trolling for good-looking men with a stable job, decent personality and no significant other,” Carina joked, drawing my attention back to her.
New Book: Back Home to Marry Off Myself
Loredana’s father left the family for his mistress, leaving them to fend for themselves abroad. When life was at its toughest, her father showed up with “good news” after 8 years of absence: To marry off Loredana to a paralyzed son of the wealthy Mendelsohn family.