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“Must be one of the new dancers. Or staff.” Claire said.
“Dancer,” I said. My voice sounded like it had been dragged over glass.
I felt Dion step closer to me. “You know him?”
All I could do was nod.
The man still straddling the motorcycle pulled on a black t-shirt before finally dismounting and heading in our direction. He hadn’t seen me yet. There was still time to run. But I couldn’t seem to control my feet. The pavement must have melted over them with how thoroughly I was rooted to the spot.
He smiled at everyone as he approached, giving a small wave. “Still locked?”
“Yeah,” Claire said. “Honestly, one of us should have copied the keys at this point.”
Laughter fluttered through the crowd, and he looked toward us, to where Claire spoke beside me. His scent reached me. The smell of freshly baked chocolate chip cookies. The gooey kind you bit into and moaned like you were having the best orgasm of your life.
I closed my eyes, savoring the scent like the first time I’d experienced it. My memory paled in comparison to the real thing. Overwhelming. Life-changing. The scent that made nothing else matter.
He saw me, and his face went slack. “Sloane?”
All my friends looked at me, now curious about how he and I knew each other.
I saw the moment my scent hit him. Saw his body go rigid and his eyes go wide. The air between us tightened. It felt like the ground evaporated even though he hadn’t moved any closer.
This wasn’t real. It couldn’t be.
Asher West was here. Staring at me. Nothing but fury in his eyes.
CHAPTER THREE
________
SLOANE
Claire stepped in front of me. The look in Asher’s eyes was everything I’d feared. A hundred versions of this moment had played out in my mind, and I knew it would have to happen someday. Dancers as good as Asher didn’t come along every day, and Slate City Ballet was the best. It was inevitable.
Behind us, the loud clanking of the door unlocking released the tension in the air. I turned and moved, pushing through the company to make it inside before Asher could.
I barely nodded to Jerry, the older man who took care of the facilities. Later, I’d drop by his office and bring him a raspberry scone. They were his favorite, and his weakness. Those scones were the reason I could get extra studio time when I needed it, even if no one should be in the building.
The lights were on, so I booked it to the studio, quickly taking a place on the barre in the corner. Claire was right after me, dropping her bag by mine and sitting in front of me, shielding me as I sank to the floor and started lacing on my practice shoes.
“What the hell just happened?” She asked quietly. The rest of the company was filtering into the large room and taking their places, cheerful conversation filling the space. The interaction between Ash and I was only noticed by a few people, thankfully.
Dion came over and flopped down on the other side, boxing me in the corner. “Yes. Please tell me what I just witnessed. Because first, I want to make sure you’re okay, and second, it looked juicy as hell.”
I swallowed. “It’s a long story.”
“He looked like he wanted to kill you,” Claire said.
“He might,” I managed a smile I didn’t feel. “We haven’t seen each other in five years. And—”
The air changed. I knew without looking over he’d entered the room. They looked over their shoulders, confirming it.
“Forget whatever I said about the new creative director,” Dion whispered. “If you guys can fix whatever the hell that little display was, you should bang him.”
My entire face flushed red. It was a good thing Ash wasn’t closer. Just the scent of him would have me perfuming, and that…
My memory flashed backward five years.
