The Right Moves (The Game #3)(4)
Author: Emma Hart

For me, dancing is as natural as breathing. It always has been.

Bianca instructs us to pair off, male and female, and I move towards the brown-haired girl. How could I go to anyone else? As cliché as it sounds, she’s the only person in this room I’m really aware of.

I tap her on the shoulder. “Do you want to…”

A pair of startlingly light blue eyes crash into mine. Blue. That’s what color they are. It’s the kind of blue that makes you stop dead and instantly makes you think of a crisp summer’s day, complete with beer and a barbecue. It’s also the kind of blue that shows everything, the hue too pale to hide shadows lurking beneath, and it’s the flicker of darkness that makes me pause and stare at her.

I’ve seen those shadows before.

I know how they linger, barely scratching the surface before pulling you under. And I know the climb is always harder than the fall… If you’re lucky enough to get a grip on the climb.

“Do I…?” she questions shyly, raising her hand to her face then dropping it again.

“Um.” I cough and scratch the back of my neck. Her hesitant smile reminds me what I’ve actually approached her for. “Do you want to dance together? Since we have to pair off. You know. Yeah.”

Shit. I sound like an awkward teen boy who has no idea how to speak to a girl.

Her smile stretches a little and her eyes flit around the dance hall. Everyone is paired off and talking to each other quietly.

“I… Sure,” she replies.

“Great. I’m Blake. Blake Smith.”

“Abbi Jenkins.” Abbi’s hand slips into my outstretched one. My fingers curl around her smaller ones, but my focus isn’t on the silky smooth skin against mine; it’s on the gentleness of her tone and the way her lips moved when she said her name.

“Abbi,” I repeat. “Have you danced long?”

“Since I was eight.” She takes her hand from mine and clasps both of hers in front of her stomach protectively. “We all need a little something to escape in, right?”

Right. “Definitely.”

Three sharp claps draw us both from the conversation, and we turn to Bianca. As she instructs us on what we need to do, my eyes trace the line of Abbi’s profile. It’s dainty and cute, from the way her button nose curves to the obvious plumpness of her lips. I don’t notice I’m smiling until her eyes meet mine again and she raises a questioning eyebrow. I shrug one of my shoulders, and her lips quirk.

“Shall we?”

“Uh, sure.” Shall we what? Crap.

Abbi lets the smile break across her face. “Dance,” she responds with a twinkle in her eyes.

Right. Dance. What we’re here for.

Shit. I come thousands of miles to achieve my dream, and what do I do? I get distracted by a pretty face. I need to be thinking with my feet not my damn dick.

For the second time since I walked into this studio, I offer her my hand, and for the second time, she takes it. She moves onto pointe seemingly without thinking and closes her eyes. Once again I’m struck by the ease of her movements as I fall into my own… With her. It’s not until you dance with someone you can truly appreciate the beauty of it.

And it’s been only a few seconds, a fleeting moment in the grand scheme of things, but seeing Abbi Jenkins give herself over to the music is to see true beauty.

One moment – one I’ll never forget.

Until she opens her eyes as we begin to move, and I’m reminded that even shadows can fall over true beauty.

Abbi looks at me, but I can tell she’s not really seeing me. There’s a gloss over her eyes, brightening the blue hue of her iris through the pain lingering there. She’s somewhere else, somewhere far away, but her steps never falter. She never falls out of time, never makes a wrong move. Even her breathing doesn’t change.

Despite the chopping and changing of the music and movements combined with Bianca’s never-ending comments and instructions on arm positioning and timing, my blood is rushing through my body as we move together. I can hear it pounding in my ears and drowning out the music. And I’m mesmerized. I’m mesmerized by the fluidity of her movements, the ease of our dance together. It’s like we’ve always danced together.

The music stops, and Abbi closes her eyes as we come to a standstill. When they open they’re clear again, and she smiles shyly. My arms fall from her and she steps back, her fingers lightly brushing across mine. She tugs her sleeves down over her hands, clasping her fingers in front of her stomach again.

“Thank you,” she says, her eyes meeting mine.

My lips curve on one side. “What for?”

“For the dance.” She smiles as softly as she speaks, turning back to the barre. I watch her go. Watch the gentle pad of her feet across the floor, the sway of her hips with each step…

“No,” I mutter, never taking my eyes from her. “Thank you.”

Chapter Three – Abbi

“Coffee?” Mom asks, eyeing the Starbucks at the end of the street.

I roll my eyes but I should have guessed she’d ask eventually. I’m sure coffee runs through her veins instead of blood.

“Would I deny you that?” My lips twitch as I look at her. She grins.

“You’ve tried, honey. You’ve tried!”

“Only because Dad made me hide all the coffee. I either did it, or he threatened he wouldn’t buy Barbie’s convertible. I was eight. I needed that car, Mom.” I laugh. “It was a life or death situation, y’know.”

She shakes her head, laughing silently, and grabs the door of Starbucks. “Life or death was me not getting my coffee that morning, Abbi. Do you want one?”

I look through the tall windows into the coffee shop and shake my head. Most of the tables are full since it’s just after lunch, and after making small talk with the manicurist and hairdresser for two hours, I need some quiet.

“No, I’m okay. I’ll wait out here.” I smile uneasily at her, my eyes darting between her and the windows. Mom follows my gaze and nods understandingly.

“I’ll only be a minute.” She hesitates, sucking the corner of her lip into her mouth, before pushing the door open and disappearing inside.

I sit down on the bench on the opposite sidewalk and sigh. My fingers run through my soft hair, and I realize how tired I am. I can barely believe something as simple as getting my hair and nails done has made me so exhausted. But that’s the thing with depression. You never know how or when it’s going to strike and it nearly always knocks you off your feet.