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Taking a sip of my coffee, I asked myself what I was doing here in this dance studio. I still didn’t have an answer, and now I couldn’t leave.
Alyssa skipped over to the iPad, and the music stopped. She glanced over at JJ, who nodded, taking a stance that looked balletic—ramrod-straight posture, legs together, with one foot turned out. Alyssa took her place next to him, with Leo on the other side, and the three of them held themselves still for a long moment.
Then, the music began. JJ curved his body forwards. After a moment’s hesitation from Leo, followed by a pointed look from Alyssa, they began moving in sync towards JJ, twisting to the side and stretching out their arms. As their bodies curled over, JJ straightened up and kept going, bending backwards, so smooth and graceful that I couldn’t stop looking at him even if I’d tried. He swung up onto his toes, pirouetting and then pulling Alyssa into a spin, then placing her back down, not pausing for a beat before he reached for Leo, gripping his waist and lifting him into the air.
The bass kicked in as soon as Leo touched back down, and the three of them moved together seamlessly in a coordinated sequence of movements that looked like something from a music video. Not that I’d watched many music videos, but I knew enough to appreciate that the three of them were very, very good.
And JJ—he was the star.Undeniably.
As they danced, I lost myself in the story they were telling with their bodies, the music filtering through every corner of the room, filling my senses with this audio and visual spectacle that I was getting to see in its raw form. Raw, but already so fluid and so beautiful.
The music came to an end, and I scrubbed my hand over my face, trying to catch my breath. What was this man doing to me? I didn’t think poetic thoughts. I didn’t watch dance performances. And I certainly didn’t stalk students on the campus where I worked.
JJ pulled the other two dancers to him, gesturing with his hands as he conferred with them. When they stepped back, he jogged over to me. “Okay. Leo’s…struggling a bit. I know we’re just practising, and you’re only one person, but he hasn’t performed in front of anyone outside of our dance group…”
I took the out, unsure if it was because I wanted and needed to leave or if he wanted me to. “I understand. I’ll go.” Pausing, I took a minute to take him in, his heaving chest, his sparkling eyes, his soft smile. He was so beautiful and so very wrong for me. “You were amazing. But this was a mistake. I should never have come here.”
He bit down on his lip, nodding, accepting my words, and even though it shouldn’t have hurt, it did. “Yeah. It’s probably for the best. I’ll see you around, Killian.”
My name on his lips sounded so sweet. I swallowed. “Goodbye, Joshua.”
With a nod to the other two dancers, I walked out the door.
6
“One Americano and one—” Pausing for a moment, I scanned the wall menu to make sure I had the correct order. “One caramel Frappuccino with whipped cream.”
The barista nodded, thrusting the card reader at me and taking my name. When I went to the other end of the counter to await my prepared order, I blew out a heavy breath. What was I doing?
During the detour to the performing arts block, I berated myself, but I kept walking until I was right outside. Thankfully, I’d timed it just right, and I saw a flash of blonde hair entering the building ahead of me.
“Alyssa,” I called out, and she stopped dead in her tracks, spinning around to face me. When she recognised me, she gave me a small smile.
“Back again?”
Shaking my head, I held out the Frappuccino. “Not today, but I would appreciate it if you could deliver this to JJ.”
Her smile widened, and she shot me a cheeky wink. “Two days in a row. I knew you were keen on him.”
It took every ounce of my self-control to refrain from a cutting remark and to allow her to take the coffee when all I wanted to do was to take it and leave. I shouldn’t be here. What on earth had possessed me to buy JJ coffee, let alone stand in the shop for a good ten minutes, deliberating which one he’d prefer?
The second the coffee cup was in her hand, I spun on my heel and stalked away in the direction of the building I was supposed to be heading to all along. Angry and frustrated and confused by my own actions, my jaw set, I threw open the door to the lecture hall with a loud bang, throwing my briefcase down at the foot of the lectern. The students inside exchanged wide-eyed glances, scurrying to their seats as quickly as they could, unpacking laptops and notebooks from bags, making far too much fucking noise.
“Take your seats and quieten down. This is not social hour. You will sit in silence, and you will pay attention. Your only tasks for the next hour are to listen and take notes on the subject matter. Do I make myself clear?” Silence reigned, and I gritted my teeth, slamming my palm down on the lectern and raising my voice. “Do I make myself clear?”
A chorus of tentative “yeses” sounded, and with that, the lecture began.
An hour later, my voice was hoarse from berating incompetent students, and my mood had plummeted even lower. I dismissed the students, shovelled everything into my briefcase, and then headed for my office to regroup before the next lecture began. Inside, I locked the door and slumped at my desk, rubbing at my brow. Another headache was brewing, and I did not need this on top of everything else.
I flipped the switch to turn on my monitor and wiggled the mouse to wake the computer. There were still forty-five minutes until the next lecture, and I had emails to deal with from yet more incompetent students, as well as coursework to mark. I knew I’d end up working through lunch as usual, but it was a small price to pay to allow me a little bit of downtime in the evenings, and it kept me from having to make pointless small talk with other faculty members in the staff canteen. A takeaway sandwich or soup did the job, and most importantly, it was quick.
What felt like five minutes later, my phone alarm sounded, reminding me I needed to get ready for my next lecture. With a sigh, I stretched my body, stiff from sitting hunched over in my chair, and checked my laptop to make sure the slideshow I’d prepared was ready to go. My mood was as low as it had been earlier, but I vowed to keep a lid on it. The students didn’t deserve my ire—well, some did, but not all, especially not when that ire should have been directed at myself.
What the fuck had I been thinking?
7
“What’s on your mind?”
