The Right Moves (The Game #3)(14)
Author: Emma Hart

I follow her gaze and my eyes land on Blake’s back. If the messy brown hair combined with the fact he’s early isn’t a giveaway it’s him, it’s the way he stands.

Strong and tall without a hint of a slouch. His posture is almost regal, and my gaze skirts up and down his body before I realize what I’m doing and pull it away.

“Is that the British guy?” Maddie nudges my arm. “Wait, it is. You’re drooling!”

I snap my head round to look at her. “I am so not!”

She studies my face for a second and smirks. “Just a little. God, I don’t blame you.”

“You have a boyfriend,” I remind her.

“I can look, Abbi. Especially when that is the view.”

I roll my eyes, heading toward the benches where Blake is stood. “California is corrupting you, Maddie.”

“Eh, maybe a little.” She shrugs a shoulder and follows me.

Blake turns as I put my bag down and grins at me. “Abbi.”

“Blake.” I return his smile, albeit more hesitantly.

“So,” he leans against the wall, looking at me casually. “I heard Bianca is pairing us off today so we can choreograph our own dance. Something about her seeing how ready we really are for her class.”

“Where did you hear that?” I grab my water bottle, a bolt of fear shooting through my body.

Pairing. Choreographing. That means out of studio time with someone. One on one endless dancing with a guy.

A level of intimacy I’m not quite ready for.

“I… Er… She told me,” he admits with a shrug. “I came here to practice yesterday and she mentioned it then.”

“Oh.” I pause. “Has she paired us already?”

“No idea.” Blake shrugs and glances over my shoulder at Maddie.

“Oh, Blake, this is Maddie, my best friend. Maddie, Blake,” I introduce them and step to the side to change.

“Are you joining the class?” Blake asks her.

She bursts into laughter. “God no. I can’t dance. I’m just here to watch.”

“The studio would need closing down if Maddie tried to dance,” I mutter, tying the ribbons on my shoes.

“Shut up,” she replies, laughing a little. I stand, grinning at her, and back toward the barre. Blake follows after me, and we take our usual places at the back of the studio.

Bianca strolls into the large room with delicate yet purposeful steps, and stops in front of us, standing in first position. Her clasped hands hover in front of her stomach as her eyes comb across us, and I feel the heat of her stare scrutinizing every single person here.

“Pas de deux.” Her words are sharp and short, cutting through the silence that comes with her presence. “A couple. At Juilliard, not only will you be expected to dance to perfection as an individual, but also as a couple. If you can’t do that, you need to go away, learn how to, and then come back. Remember, I’m here to hone your skills, not teach you new ones.

“That said, after watching you for your last two lessons, I’ve paired you all off with the dancer I think you’ll work best with. You have one month to choreograph a pas de deux, put it to music and perform it to the highest possible standard in a mini showcase at a small theatre owned by a friend of mine. Friends and family will be invited, so you must get it right. So…”

I fight to stay focused on Bianca’s voice and grip the barre tightly. The idea of spending endless hours with someone I don’t know, dancing with them, sharing with them the deepest part of me I can express, scares me beyond belief. I knew it would happen eventually. I knew I’d have to do this sooner or later, but I thought it would be later. I never thought I’d be in this position three lessons in.

I can’t do it. I’m not ready for this. I’m not ready to bare my soul to anyone.

“Abbi?”

I draw myself from the harsh, doubting voice ringing in my ears and focus on the voice that’s speaking my name. I don’t want to; I don’t want to know who I’m going to have to spend hours upon hours with over the next month.

Green eyes stare back at me when I turn to the voice. Blake.

“Are you all right?”

“I… Yeah.” I smile tentatively. “Just…Thinking.”

He watches me for an everlasting second, his eyes never wavering from mine. It’s as if he can see something no one else can and he can understand what I can’t say. But that’s crazy, because everything is inside, locked away, where no one can see or understand it.

I take a deep breath and close my eyes. When I open them again, he’s walking backward. But still watching me, this time with an intensity that makes me want to squirm. It makes me want to rub my hands over my arms and hide, and it’s a stare that makes me feel as if I’m being stripped bare. As if every time he blinks he peels a layer away. And no matter how much I want to or how hard I try, I can’t tear my eyes away from his.

“Are you coming?” he asks.

“Where?”

His lips twitch. “We have a dance to choreograph.”

Chapter Eight – Blake

I fiddle with the scrap of paper Abbi wrote her number on on Sunday. I flip it between my fingers repeatedly, my eyes darting to and from my phone.

And I feel like a complete and utter dork.

I know nothing about this girl besides her name and the fact she can dance as well as any seasoned ballerina. I also know she’s beautiful – you’d have to be completely blind not to see that – and I am stupidly f**king attracted to her lithe little body. But that’s it. I have no idea what she does aside from dance, if she has a boyfriend, or why she gets a shadow behind her eyes when she dances. But I want to.

I spent all day yesterday convincing myself I want to know because we’ll be spending a lot of time together over the next month. That we’ll work best as a pas de deux if we’re friends. That to build the element of trust needed between dance partners, we should know each other as more than just dancers. And when I was telling myself that, I was denying the fact it’s because the shadows in her eyes are too familiar.

I was denying the fact I want to know Abbi because something about her reminds me of Tori. Something I can’t put my finger on; perhaps it’s the way she loses herself in dance, or the way she seems so delicate, so fragile. Maybe it’s because sometimes her smiles seem a little forced, a little too trying.

Or maybe that’s me. Maybe I’m seeing something that isn’t there, reading too much into it. She could just be shy. And here I am comparing her to my dead sister.