“What are you doing?”
I glanced up, and my reply died an instant death.
No. It can’t be.
She’d tied her hair up instead of leaving it down, and she wore a leotard, leg warmers over tights, and a wrap skirt instead of a shirt and jeans, but it was unmistakably her.
The girl from the pub.
She had the same midnight hair, the same red lips, the same piercing gray eyes that were currently boring a hole through my face.
If it weren’t for the tangible heat of her stare, I would’ve thought I’d conjured her through the mere force of my thoughts.
“I’m not snooping.” I recovered from my shock and raised my hands in a gesture of surrender. “The bag fell, and I was simply picking up the items.”
She responded with a wary stare as she walked toward me—or rather, toward her bag.
I should’ve known she was a dancer. Even at the pub, she’d moved with the grace of one, her posture perfect, her movements smooth and fluid. But whereas I’d picked up on a touch of apprehension at the Angry Boar, here, she carried herself with the ease of someone who was completely in her element.
“Do you go here?” I asked.
I guessed she was in her mid-twenties, which seemed outside RAB’s target age range, but maybe she was here for professional training.
A small smirk crossed her mouth. “You could say that.”
“Then this is a sign. What are the chances we’d run into each other twice?” I hoped our schedules overlapped this summer. Seeing her might make my forced training sessions a bit more bearable. “Now you have to tell me your name. It’s only polite.”
“Oh, I’m sure you’ll find out soon enough,” she said dryly.
She bent to retrieve her scarf while I picked up the remaining book on the floor. The worn yellow-and-green cover sparked a flare of recognition.
“Leo Agnelli,” I said appreciatively. “Good taste.”
Our hands brushed when she reached for the outstretched book, and a frisson of electricity shot up my arm. It was so sharp, so unexpected, that I almost dropped the paperback.
What the hell?
She stiffened, making me wonder if she’d felt it too, but her expression was unreadable. “You read Leo Agnelli.” Her tone contained a heavy dose of skepticism.
“Occasionally.” The little jolt must’ve been static from our clothing. That was the only feasible explanation. “Try not to act so surprised, Chloe. I promise I’ll live up to your ‘dumb athlete’ preconception of me in other ways.”
A small laugh escaped. She quickly covered it up, but it was too late. I’d heard it, she knew I’d heard it, and my ability to draw that smile out of her might just be the highlight of my shitty week.
“My name isn’t Chloe,” she said.
“I didn’t think so, but since you refuse to tell me what it actually is, I’ll have to keep guessing until I get it right, Alice.”
“That’s going to get old real fast.”
“Luckily, there’s an easy solution to the problem.”
I was being pushier than normal, but I would’ve backed off if I’d picked up on any signs of discomfort from her.
However, the gleam of laughter in her eyes told me she wasn’t as annoyed as she pretended to be…and she hadn’t pulled her hand away yet.
We must’ve come to the same realization because our gazes dropped to our hands at the same time.
The air crackled with sudden tension, and another electric spark streaked through me.
The first had been bright and brief, like lightning in a cloudless sky. This one was slower, more potent, and the heat from it made me feel like I was running laps in Markovic Stadium instead of standing frozen in an air-conditioned dance studio.
Mystery Girl swallowed, and even the steady hum of the AC wasn’t enough to drown out my roaring pulse.
I tried to think of something else to say, but I couldn’t remember what we were talking about or why I was here.
I hadn’t been this out of sorts around a girl since my ill-fated childhood crush on Hailey Brompton (she’d moved to Brighton during Year Five and broke my heart).
The thrill of seeing Mystery Girl again faded into trepidation.
How did she have such a strong effect on me when I barely knew her? Maybe our close proximity wasn’t a good thing after all. If I were smart, I’d stay away and focus on my goals: a league championship with Blackcastle, followed by the Euro Cup and the World Cup.
My inexplicable fascination with this girl did not factor anywhere into the equation.
Flirting was one thing; losing focus was another.
“Let’s get this over with.” A familiar, unwelcome voice cut through the tension.
Vincent strode in, wearing sunglasses inside like a douche.
