But dancing and fighting aren’t mutually exclusive.Nonctaught me that. Core strength, balance, and focus come in handy when some douche shoves you against the wall and calls you a fag.Noncalso taught me how to punch. I guess he learned the hard way as a dancer too.
It’s probably the outfit that has me remembering those days. But all thoughts of fighting flee when Iris walks in.
She’s metamorphosed into Raven Blackwood, and I’m so glad I’ve been watching her show because it’s surreal to see her like this. But I’m grinning like a fool because she’s decked out, and she’s owning it.
Iris struts up to me in high heeled black boots, a ruby red dress that clings to her every curve, and a black cloak billowing behind her.
She aims straight for me, her smile as big as the sky. Her hazel eyes are eating me up. “You lookincredible.”
“I look like a tool,” I mutter, but if anything my smile has grown.
“You do not,” she says, swatting me on the arm, and it’s that moment I realize that the red of her dress perfectly matches the flowers on my shirt. On camera, it’ll look like we’re a matched pair.
We go together.
Maybe the shirt’s not so bad.
“I’m sorry.” Iris rubs her hand on the spot where she smacked me. (For the record, it didn’t hurt at all.) “I should be thanking you. I’d be a nervous wreck if you hadn’t taken the part.” Her gaze softens as she stares up at me and drops her voice. “I feel so safe and confident with you, I’m not nervous at all.”
I don’t give a shit what I’m wearing anymore. I don’t care if I’m the laughing stock of every future French class. I grip her hand and lean in. I just want to cover her mouth with mine, but she dodges me.
“Make-up will kill us,” she says, eyes wide. “This lipstick alone took fifteen minutes.”
I pull back and snort. “Tell me about it.” I point to my face, making her laugh.
She squints. “Is that beard oil?”
“No comment,” I grunt.
Iris dissolves in hysterics. “Oh my God, I love that we get to do this.”
I crack a smile. I love it too. Because I’ll never forget this. The way she looks in that dress and those boots. And I couldn’t forget this shirt if I tried. The memory of this day will stay with me. We’ve made a lot of memories the last six weeks.
They’ve been the happiest weeks of my life.
She’ll be gone in four days, and I haven’t come out and told her how I feel. I haven’t said those words that ache in my throat every time we make love. And we’ve been doing that like we could win a medal for it. Two or three times a night and before we say goodbye every morning.
You’d think all of that would sate my desires, but I just want her more. Twenty times a day, I catch myself picturing the swell of her breasts or the feel of her tight heat around me. That sexy frown she wears when she calls my name, right before she comes.
I blow a breath out my nose and rein in the urge to pull her against me. We’re on a movie set for Christ’s sake. There’s like a hundred people in here.
But every time I think about losing her, my body wants to claim her all over again.
She doesn’t want us to say it’ll be over. I don’t either. Of course I don’t. But Iris is so young. And this is her first relationship. She doesn’t know how easy it is for people to grow apart—especially when two time zones separate them.
But I don’t think those time zones and all the miles in between are going to help me get over her. This is going to hurt like hell. It already does. The heartache just makes me want to tell her even more.
I love you. I love you so damn much.
But is telling her even fair? When she gets back to L.A., her life will pull her in its fast-paced current. Especially now that Moira can’t hold her back and keep her from having a life. She’ll find someone else in no time.
She doesn’t need to hear that I’ll never forget her. That I think I’m bound to love her for the rest of my life.
That she has lit up my world like a fireworks show, and the night is going to be as black as pitch without her.
A bald guy with a clipboard charges up to Iris, pulling me out of my pity party. “Iris, Jonathan saysfive minutes.”
She nods. “Thanks, Doug.” She turns back to me and gives my hand a squeeze. “We should take our marks.” Then her eyes sparkle. “See you on the dance floor.” And she’s gone.
