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Hunter
“So…it’s a little hard to perfect this dance when she hasn’t chosen our song yet,” Sutton says, stretching her arms before pulling one leg behind her, giving it a stretch. “But I know we have a slow song because she did tell the dancers that much—which ones had a more upbeat tempo versus slow. So, we’re on the right track, and if we need to tweak a few things once we get the music, so be it.”
“Sounds good. You’re the expert.” I nod. “But there’s an elephant in the room. And that motherfucker’s so big that he’s taking up half of the place.”
I raise my eyebrows.
“Have you thought about what I said?”
“That pumpkin ice cream is gross? No, not really,” she deadpans before exhaling. “Yes, I have. And I think I’m interested in taking you up on it, but I have some conditions.”
“Okay, shoot.” I grin. I can’t wait to hear this.
“Number one, you have to respect me. I’m not just some toy to make your ex jealous. Don’t treat me like that. You aren’t my boss. We are equals.” She points her finger. “Number two, no sex. I understand to fake this thing, we will need to show some public affection, but it ends there. Are we clear?”
“Crystal.”
“Good. Number three, you will tell your sister about this deal so that she knows. She already hates me. I want her to know this was your idea and not mine.” She swallows. “And the last thing…you’re going to help me find out some information on my mother. Don’t ask why. Just help me out.”
I frown, completely confused. “I won’t ask, but I really don’t get why you need information about the woman you lived with for the first eighteen years of your life. You know her.”
“I don’t,” she answers quickly. “And I feel like she’s hiding something. And I want to figure out what that something is.”
“Done.” I shrug. “I have conditions too, just so you know.”
“Go on,” she says coolly, arching an eyebrow. “Let’s hear ’em.”
“Number one, you can’t try to touch my dick.” I wiggle my eyebrows. “I know I’m sort of irresistible, but let’s keep it professional.”
“That’ll be easy,” she coos, “since I find you slightly repulsive.”
Unlike her typical leotard, she’s wearing a sports bra, paired with black shorts that hug her ass in a way that even I can’t ignore. Her asscheeks are barely covered, and it’s going to be really fucking hard not to sneak a grab during practice.
“Sure you do. Anyway, two, aside from Haley, we can’t tell anyone about this. And at the end of it, we’ll just say it fizzled out.”
“Fine.” She folds her arms over her chest, and I catch a glimpse of a small tattoo on the side of her ribs, just under her bra line. It’s tiny and almost too hard to make out. But when I squint, I see5…6…7…8tattooed there.
“And three, you cannot, by any means, fall madly in love with me.” I wave my hand down my body, feigning a frown. “I know it’s hard. But just keep it together.”
Holding up her middle finger, she rolls her eyes. “Yeah…I don’t think that’s going to be a problem. For starters, your last name is Thompson. That right there is enough to shut down any feelings that could potentially bubble out of my cold, dead soul. And another thing.” She stops, scrunching her nose up. “It’s just never going to happen. So, rest peacefully, knowing I willneverfall in love with you, Hunter Thompson. In fact, I’m simply tolerating you right now.”
Giving me a sickly-sweet smile, she hits play on the remote, prompting the music to start. “Now, shall we? Because I just can’t wait for you to step on my toes some more.”
Holding my hand out, I wink. “Let’s do it, Little Bird. Or should I say…girlfriend?”
And that girl pretends to fucking gag.
Sutton
As much as I hate to stop our practice to use my inhaler, I know my body well enough to know that I need to. After all, taking a few puffs of medicine is a helluva lot less humiliating than having a full-blown asthma attack and being taken to the hospital.
Stopping my movements, I suck in a shallow breath before holding my finger up to Hunter. “Just give me a second,” I squeak, heading for my bag, trying to hold back the wheezes coming from my chest.
Bolting around me, he runs to the corner of the room, snatching my bag up before bringing it back to me. “Here,” he says softly. “Need me to get your inhaler?”
I shake my head, grabbing it out of the side pocket. Turning away from him, I push my thumb down on the top, dragging a few hits into my lungs. We’ve talked about my asthma, so it’s no secret. But I had no idea he’d know when I needed my inhaler. He’s observant—I’ll give him that.
Crouching down, I drag in a few shaky breaths. I’m determined to not only dance this school year, but to also be damn good at it. But I need to come to terms with the fact that my asthma attacks are becoming more frequent. And dancing likely isn’t my future.
