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“More like lamenting the loss rather than considering my options.” Proud that I managed to answer at all, I move around him into the room and put the sole-surviving cake and my purse down carefully on the bedside table, right next to his pilfered goods.
The Kroydon Hills Plaza is a recently restored beauty from the 1920s. The rooms are small but beautiful. One king-sized bed takes up most of the limited space, similar to my own room a floor below. A big window overlooks the woods surrounding the center of town, framing the space and showcasing the snow glowing silver in the moonlight as it falls in big fat flakes covering the world below.
An overnight bag is open with clothes spilling out, strewn on the only chair in the room, and no big shock, a hockey game is playing on a muted TV.
Ares closes the door behind himself and hurries over to the chair to toss the bag into the closet. “Sorry,” he mumbles, and I immediately decide I like this side of him. The shoes kicked off, sleeves rolled up, messy side. Far from perfect. Not putting on any kind of show for anyone and looking so damn attractive without any effort at all.
He eyes the food, then me. “So... I guess I’m supposed to let you have the cake, right?”
I have no control over the ridiculous laughter that bubbles out of me. It’s not even that funny, but I laugh so long and so loud, my ribs hurt. I laugh so obnoxiously that when I finally stop, Ares is looking at me like I should have two heads, and that makes me laugh again.
“You okay there, Grace?”
I shake my head, kick off my heels, yank up my dress in an incredibly ungraceful way, grab the cake, and then drop down on the bed. “Do you know my favorite thing about you?”
The poor guy looks at me like it’s a trap. “You have a favorite thing about me?”
“I’m serious, god of war.” I break off a piece of cake with the side of the fork and offer it to him, then happily watch as his lips wrap around the tines of the silverware. “You treat me differently than everyone else. You don’t act like I’m made of glass.”
“Are you gonna shatter?” He asks, and I shake my head. “I think they all underestimate you, good twin. I know a thing about that.”
Scary how right he is. Then, as if I’ve become someone completely unknown to me, I reach up with my thumb and wipe away chocolate cake crumbs from his full lips. Ares’s eyes darken to a nearly navy blue, and oh my... I like that look on him. “They do think I’m fragile. They always have.”
“What do you think, Grace?”
When I don’t answer him, he doesn’t push... No, instead he picks up one of the two bottles of procured champagne with a wicked look in those stormy eyes. “Let’s see if I can get this.” The cork pops and shoots across the room, and a spray of champagne follows until two coffee mugs are filled. Ares hands me one. “Do you like champagne?”
I sip from the coffee cup and smile. “I do tonight.”
Okay, who is this flirty girl? And where the hell did she come from? Because she sure as shit doesn’t seem like me.
“I’m usually more of a beer guy, but this isn’t bad,” he agrees and grabs the plate full of appetizers as he moves next to me on the bed. “Hungry?”
I nibble my bottom lip and try to remember the last thing I ate. “I may have forgotten to eat today.”
“How does someone forget to eat?” Ares sits down next to me, close enough to touch but not quite touching, and leans back against the gray upholstered headboard. He grabs the tray from the table and holds out a mini quiche in offering.
I decline and sip from my coffee mug as I watch Ares pop it in his mouth instead.
Can the act of swallowing be hot?
My cheeks flush when I realize it would be if I was doing the swallowing.
Then I wonder where this dirty mind is coming from.
“So tell me what it’s like to dance...”
“That’s a really open question, Wilder.” I run my fork through the chocolate-raspberry cream sandwiched between the layers of death by chocolate sponge cake, then close my eyes and savor the sweet taste on my tongue before I answer him. “It’s amazing and terrifying wrapped up in one perfectly pink silk ribbon. All the work. The years of training. The torture we put our bodies through... as well as our minds. You sell your soul for this once in a lifetime chance at perfection, but it’s ballet.No one is ever good enough.” I sigh and look over at the snow falling. It’s easy to see the beauty in it, and that’s kind of like ballet. Beautiful and treacherous.
“But if the stars align in your favor... If you’ve worked harder. Trained longer. And trusted your muscles enough to remember, even when your mind blanks and everything else around you ceases to exist... if you’re that one in a million whose dreams become reality? It’s magic.”
I close my eyes and inhale, straightening my spine and sitting taller on the bed, as things come into focus. The chill of the air on the exposed skin of my arms. The chiffon ribbon trailing down my bare back. The sandalwood and cedar scent of the delicious man next to me. The warmth emanating from his skin. Skin that isn’t even touching my own.
And when I open my eyes, he’s watching with fascination. “For two hours a night, you get to perform on that stage, and there’s no bigger, better high you could ever possibly get than that.”
For once, he doesn’t smile.
He doesn’t speak.
