Neither of them had cross-trained with dance before, so I took it easy on them the first day. Even so, by the time our session ended, everyone was exhausted and dripping with sweat.
“I take back everything I said about football being more strenuous than ballet.” Vincent guzzled a bottle of water. His face gleamed with perspiration. “I can’t believe you did this for fun for half your life.”
“It wasn’t just for fun. It was my job,” I reminded him. A pang hit me at the word was, as in former, as in it was no longer my job. Not the professional dance part, anyway.
And yes, I had found ballet fun when I was younger. I’d loved the discipline, the choreography, and the costumes, but most of all, I’d loved discovering something I had a natural talent for. While my peers stressed about what they were going to do after graduation, I already had my future locked in.
Then a rainy summer night stole that future away, and I was left with the pieces of what could’ve been.
A wave of prickles swarmed my skin. I turned and wiped down the barre, hoping Vincent didn’t pick up on my mood shift.
I loved that he didn’t tiptoe around my past the way our parents did, but sometimes, I wasn’t in the right mental space to talk about it.
“If the sessions are too hard for you, you could quit,” Asher said. He grabbed a wipe to help me clean the barre, and this time, the tingles suffusing my body had nothing to do with the ghosts of my past. “I’m sure Coach would understand.”
Vincent’s eyes sharpened. “Oh, I’ll be fine. I’m more worried about you.” He tossed his empty bottle into his duffel bag. “After all, only one person in this room has a World Cup to their name, and it’s not you.”
The temperature plummeted to subarctic levels.
Asher’s face hardened as I suppressed a wince. Even I knew bringing up the World Cup was a no-no around him, and I barely knew the man.
“Perhaps not, but at least I don’t have to cheat to win.”
“Cheating according to whom? Not the ref. Not the—”
“Stop it!” My interjection sliced through their argument for the second time that day. “I let your earlier spat slide, but I won’t do that again. This is a training session, not a cage fight. I don’t know how you operate in your club, but in my studio, you will behave like adults and you will act like professionals. If you can’t or won’t do that, then I’m happy to relay that message to your manager because I did not sign up to be your babysitter, mediator, or therapist. Is that clear?”
Asher and Vincent gaped at me, their brewing fight forgotten.
I rarely yelled, but between my unwanted reactions to Asher and the prospect of dealing with their bickering for an entire summer, I’d just about had it.
“Is that clear?” I repeated.
“Crystal.” Asher responded first, his earlier scowl melting into something akin to appreciation as he examined me.
I almost preferred the scowl.
“You got it, sis.” Vincent offered a cheeky smile when I glared at him, but he didn’t attempt to provoke Asher again. Well, Asher had provoked him first, but he’d escalated it by bringing up the World Cup. “I’ll see you for dinner Thursday?”
I wasn’t fooled. He wanted to remind Asher that he was the odd man out in this trio, but if he thought I’d show him favoritism just because he was my brother, he was sorely mistaken.
Nevertheless, I nodded. “Remember, it’s your turn to choose.”
Vincent and I had a standing Thursday night sibling dinner every week (barring travel and club obligations). I’d stayed in London with our mother while he’d moved to Paris with our father after our parents’ divorce, so we only saw each other during holidays growing up.
After he transferred to Blackcastle a few years ago, we tried to make up for lost time. Nothing beat family, especially when you were surrounded by as many wannabe freeloaders and starfuckers as Vincent was.
“I have a Match interview in an hour, so I’ll see you later.” He shot a warning glare at Asher before leaving.
I shook my head. The Match mention was obviously aimed at Asher. The two competed for press and sponsorships off the pitch as much as they did for glory on the pitch. Everything was a dick measuring contest to them, and they were constantly trying to one-up the other.
“So,” Asher said as I packed up and got ready to leave, too. Their session was my last of the day, and I was looking forward to a nice, long bath at home. It helped with the aches and pains. Plus, I liked the bubbles. “I finally know your name.”
“Did it live up to your expectations?” I quipped.
“Half of it did. You look like a Scarlett.” His gaze briefly touched my mouth, and my skin warmed yet again.
“Ah, but the DuBois threw you off.”
“You could say that.” The careless grin he threw my way shouldn’t have made my pulse race, but it did. “However, I have to commend you on achieving something that I thought was impossible.”
“What’s that?”
“Making me like someone with the last name DuBois.”
I rolled my eyes even as I fought an exasperated laugh. “You are an incorrigible flirt.”
“Flirt? Yes. Incorrigible? That’s a matter of opinion.” Asher followed me into the hall, his long legs keeping easy pace with my brisk stride. “Besides, I have to be extra nice to you now that I know you’re Vincent’s sister. You’ve suffered enough.”
My laugh finally broke free, and his answering smile soothed my sting of guilt over laughing at Vincent’s expense.
I truly wasn’t prepared for how charismatic Asher was in person. I’d glimpsed it at the pub last week, but the effect had been muted by the beer spill and our crowded surroundings.
Being alone with him after seeing him in action during training and bearing the full weight of his attention when there was no one else around…that was a whole other matter.
He commanded attention the way no one else did. It was dangerous.
“Are you two stepsiblings?” Asher asked when I didn’t respond.
