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"There's nothing wrong with our relationship per se, or our sex life for that matter. This is something else entirely. Something deeper, I guess."
"Dance is the keystone to your relationship," Christy says, her voice soft with understanding. “I get it. I still dance for my men too.”
"It is," I agree, a smile touching my lips even if it is a little melancholy. "I've missed performing with them. I miss the way it makes me feel. I know they feel the same way too. We've just been so busy working and building this life together–a life I wouldn't change for the world,” I hasten to add, “That somewhere along the way we forgot what gives us the most joy."
Clancy nods knowingly. "I totally get it. I'm not sure who I'd be without dance. I'm so grateful to be able to do a job I love everyday, thanks to you, Grim," she says, nudging Grim with her shoulder, but refraining from hugging her this time.
"Listen, hiring you was a no-brainer. Your choreography is insane and the club has benefitted from it greatly. So long as you still want to work for me, you'll have a job for life."
"I appreciate it, Grim," Clancy says.
"So are you going back to your hip-hop roots?" Asia asks, steering the conversation back to me.
"We're still working through the choreography at the moment, but of course it wouldn't be a Breakers performance without some break dance in it," I grin. “We’ve got a few surprises up our sleeves too.”
"Well, I for one can't wait," Clancy says. "I know it will be the perfect encore."
I meet her gaze, nodding my head in agreement. "You bet you arse it will."
EIGHT
Cry To Me
Zayn
“Shall we take a break?I’m beat,” I say, my fucking heart thumping in my chest as I grasp my knees and drop my head between my shoulders. Jesus fuck, when did I become so damn unfit?
“What’s the matter, no stamina?” York teases as he grips my shoulder, chuckling.
“I swear to fuck, York, if you comment that I haven’t got any stamina one more time…” I warn, only half joking. Most days I love York’s humour but today I’m fucking cranky.
“This is what happens when you spend more time behind a desk than on the dance floor, mate.”
I shake my head, standing upright. “Listen, it’s been a while since I danced for three hours straight without a break. I’m not a kid anymore,” I remind him.
“Yeah, I agree, especially with that island forming on your head.” York swallows a smile and backs away from me, his hands aloft. “Only pointing out what’s plain as day,Grandad,” he adds, rubbing salt into the wound.
“What fucking island, you cheeky bastard?” I retort hating that I lift up my damp hair and check for a receding hairline in the mirror behind him.
“See,” York smirks, pointing at my forehead which, by the way, does not have a fucking island.
“Fuck you, you wind-up merchant,” I snap, “My hair is as thick as it’s always been, but you’ll get a punch to the nose if you keep saying shit like that.”
“Boys, boys, boys. Enough of that,” Pen admonishes, stepping back into the dance studio with a tray of drinks that she left to get a few minutes ago.
We’ve been working hard at our portion of the routine, and it’s looking good so far, though we still have a way to go. I’m not concerned that we haven’t got it down just yet, we’ve got time. To be fair, dancing with each other is like riding a bike for other people. It doesn’t matter how long it’s been since you’ve ridden, once you hop back on, muscle memory kicks in and you’re all good to go. Except instead of a casual bike ride on a Sunday afternoon around the local park, this is more like the Tour de France. I’m fucking beat.
“Why are you arguing anyway?” she asks, taking a sip of her favourite peach ice-tea as she looks between us.
“York said I have a receding hairline!” I protest.
Pen looks at my forehead, her gaze trailing lower until we lock eyes. “You’re hot as fuck, Zayn Bernard, don’t let anyone ever tell you otherwise,” she says, placing her drink back on the table and striding over to me. As she passes York, she shoots him a glare. “Quit winding him up.”
“Wellhe’sbeen winding me up for days about how much fun he had with you and Dax,” York pouts, crossing his arms as he watches Pen pass him by.
When she cups my face and plants a heated kiss against my lips, I take her cue, pulling her closer and kissing the breath out of her lungs.
“Well, fuck. Should I leave?” York mutters, and this time we both hear the hurt in his voice.
