No was the easy answer.
Yes was the optimistic challenge.
I don’t know was the truth, so that was what I went with. “I’m probably overthinking, per usual,” I said with a weak smile. Now that the tears had tapered off and I had other company besides my treacherous thoughts, it was easier to pull myself back from the brink of despair. “The chances of me dancing in Yvette’s place again are slim. This was probably a one-time thing.”
“Maybe, but the practices wouldn’t be for anyone else. They would be for you.” Asher’s hand paused at the curve of my jaw. He cupped my face, his touch tender. I unconsciously leaned into him. Fatigue was settling into my bones, but the press of his skin against mine gave me enough strength to keep going. “If you’re worried about overexerting yourself, I have a solution.”
He always knew what I was thinking without me having to say it.
“We can incorporate your practices into my training,” he said in response to the quizzical arch of my brows. “You don’t have to dance the full two hours every time. We can break up the choreography into pieces. Ninety minutes for my training, thirty for yours, depending on how you’re feeling. We’ll be in the studio anyway. We might as well make full use of it.” A roguish grin appeared. “I’m not a dancer, but I can spot you if you need me to.”
A laugh cleared the rasp in my throat. “I don’t think spotting means what you think it means in ballet.”
Dancers used the spotting technique to maintain control and avoid dizziness during the execution of various turns. It involved finding a stationary focal point and had nothing to do with partner assistance the way it did in the gym.
“Ah, well.” Asher shrugged. “Regardless, I’ll be there if you need me.”
I battled a wave of emotion. “Thank you. That’s…” Do not cry again. Once was enough. “I’ll think about it.”
It was a good idea. It straddled the line between practice and overexertion, and I could rehearse without the pressure of my peers. It was a more palatable option than giving up.
Shame stole through me at my earlier weakness. If Asher hadn’t been here, I might’ve admitted defeat after one bad rehearsal.
Was that the type of person I’d become? Had I grown so soft that I couldn’t handle a bad day, or was I so hard on myself that I thought a bad day was the end of the world?
I didn’t like either possibility.
“Actually, I don’t need to think about it,” I said. My resolve firmed. “You’re right. We’ll add my practice to our training sessions.”
“Good.” Asher’s smile was as slow and languid as the warmth seeping under my skin. “That’s my girl.”
That’s my girl.
Three words shouldn’t have the power to undo me, but they did.
Butterflies erupted low in my stomach. They were so distracting I almost overlooked the novelty of seeing Asher at RAB again. As far as I knew, he hadn’t stepped foot in the building since we changed our training location.
“What are you doing here?” I asked as we made our slow ascent up the stairs toward the exit. “We didn’t have a meeting, did we?”
“No, but I had my midsummer check-in with Lavinia. It was one of Coach’s requirements.” Asher placed a hand on the small of my back and steered me around a box of props that someone had carelessly left in the aisle. “Don’t worry. I didn’t talk too much shit about you.”
“Wow, thanks. I appreciate the glowing recommendation.”
“Anytime.” His mouth quirked. “But I also wanted to come by and see you. I wanted to give you formal notice.”
I eyed him with wariness. “About what?”
“About this weekend.” He pushed the door open. Thankfully, the hinges let out a squeak this time instead of a full-on metallic screech.
I racked my brain for upcoming special occasions and came up empty. “What’s happening this weekend?”
Asher glanced at me again, his eyes dancing with mischief. “We’re going on our first official date.”
CHAPTER 29SCARLETT
Asher refused to tell me what our date would entail. He only gave me a dress code (nice but casual), so I spent the next four days trying to guess the activity.
My friends helped. Our new group chat was growing increasingly active, and I was relieved to see them hitting it off, virtually at least. They’d been a little hesitant with each other at first, but the texts were now flying fast and furious.
CARINA
Nice but casual is THE most generic description ever. He didn’t give you more than that?
Nope. He won’t even tell me which part of London it’s in
BROOKLYN
Maybe it’s not London
BROOKLYN
Maybe he’s taking you on a weekend trip to the Cotswolds or something
Hmmm…I don’t think we’re traveling anywhere, or he would’ve told me to pack
CARINA
