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12
Pen
“You’re going to smash it, Titch. Don’t stress,” York says later that day as he watches me go over a trickier part of the routine I’ve put together for the social media teasers. He’s sitting crossed legged on the studio floor, tapping out a beat with his fingers whilst watching me sweat my arse off. “You got this.” His attention is focused on me as I stumble over a portion of the routine I haven’t quite got down yet. Beyond the studio, students move about the Academy completely unaware of my growing frustration.
“Easy for you to say,Mr. Tap Genius,” I reply, swiping my forehead free of sweat. “You shit out tap routines without so much as breaking a sweat.”
“Shit out? Fucking gross, I’m not sure I like that analogy,” he replies, crinkling up his nose.
“You know what I mean.”
He grins up at me, his appreciative gaze roving over my sweaty body. I’m wearing my usual dance gear of leggings, a crop top, and a loose t-shirt that’s currently hanging off one shoulder, but despite being a sweaty mess he appears to find me a turn on. He doesn’t look half bad himself in loose cargo trousers, high top trainers, a muscle shirt, and his hair a tousled, sexy mess.Totally distracting. I really need to focus.
“I can’t help it that I’m this decade’s version of Fred Astaire. What can I say? I’m blessed with talent and good looks. You’re a lucky lady, Titch.” Mischief lights his eyes as he smirks.
“Bigheaded much?” Zayn jokes as he steps into the studio with us and chucks his hoodie at York’s head. “Hey, Pen.”
“Hey,” I reply, drinking him in. A slow, sexy smile pulls up his lips.
“Just telling the truth, man,” York replies, pulling on Zayn’s hoodie over his top.
“What the fuck are you doing?” Zayn asks, shaking his head.
“It’s fucking mine now.”
“Take it off, shithead.”
“Nope.” York zips the hoodie up and smirks.
Zayn rolls his eyes. “Fuck sake. You owe me a shit ton of clothes already.”
“Stop grumbling. Either sit down, zip it, and watch Titch dance, or sod off. She’s busy and doesn’t need you distracting her.”
I’m about to tell York that he’s already distracting me, so one more person won’t make a difference when Zayn cuts in.
“Listen, York, Xeno is fucking bossy enough, no need to take position as second in command,” Zayn says, striding over to me and pulling me into a hug.
“What’re you doing here?” I ask, accepting Zayn’s hug and laughing as he grabs a handful of my arse. The routine isn’t exactly going to plan so I may as well enjoy this brief interlude.
“Getting my fix before the other tossers do. I’ve missed you,” he says, jerking his head as Dax and Xeno enter the studio half a beat later.
“It’s literally been twenty-four hours since we saw each other last,” I reply, laughing.
“Twenty-four motherfucking long,agonisinghours you mean?”
Zayn plants a kiss on my lips before Dax steps up and shoves him playfully aside. “Hands off, dickhead. My turn,” Dax says, wrapping me up in his huge arms. I breathe him in, joy bubbling up my throat as laughter parts my lips like champagne bubbles. Zayn flips him off, then winks at me to let me know he’s not offended by Dax’s behaviour.
“What’s this, some kind of intervention?” I ask when he finally puts me back on the floor. I flick my gaze from Dax to Xeno who shuts the studio door behind him, locking it. I raise my brows at that but don’t say a word. I’m guessing he wants privacy.
Hmm, I could be down with that.
“Something along those lines,” Xeno replies, undressing me with his eyes, just like I’m doing to my Breakers. All four are dressed in their version of dance gear, which is essentially sweatpants that sit low on their hips and loose tanks that show off their ridiculous muscles and stunning tattoos. They really are beautiful men, and as Dax and Zayn sit down on the studio floor either side of York, I feel my cheeks flush at the sudden energy in the room. It’s both lightheartedandfilled with an abundance of sexual tension. In other words, I’m screwed.
“Madame Tuillard told me you’ve got a routine to put together for the film crew coming next week, I figured you could use our assistance in getting it perfect,” Xeno says, cocking his head to the side as he regards me, his flop of dark curly hair falling into his eyes.
“You don’t think I’m capable of putting something together myself?” I ask haughtily, planting a hand on my hip and flicking my gaze to York who’s grinning from ear to ear and watching us with amusement. He knows I’m playing.
“That isnotwhat I said.”
