room opening up to me. Honey-blond floors gleamed, welcoming my feet to stay a while. I dropped the bag on my shoulder and began to get ready.
Within minutes, I was stretched and limber and pulling out the disc of songs I’d brought to dance to. I started with a smooth melody to shake out my muscles, then it bled into an up-tempo beat. I felt my muscles pulling and stretching, no longer burning as they did in the early classes. I loved the freedom that dance gave me. My body became liquid as I moved, creating brush strokes along the floor. I could have looked like a beached whale for all I knew—floundering and completely a mess—but in my head in those moments, I was the famous ballet dancer Margot Fonteyn, floating gracefully in my own world.
The melody turned softer and faded into a familiar chord that haunted me each time I heard it. Swan Lake piped over the sound system, and I instantly went into a high leg spin, followed by a pirouette, before my hands stretched outward, my head thrown back as I danced. I was lost to the music, completely under its spell.
My eyes only opened as the chords finally came to an end. I was facing the window that looked out onto Main Street, normally empty of any foot traffic but now occupied by the most handsome man I had ever seen. Not many handsome men stayed in this town, and the ones who did burned out quickly, their good looks lost behind years of labor and hard living.
I stumbled then, my eyes flashing closed as I caught myself. An embarrassed smile flashed across my cheeks. I saw the stranger’s eyes rise for a moment in concern before just a twitch of a grin pulled at his lips.
I blinked, struggling to recognize him through the cloudy glass and passgae of time, the resounding silence echoing in the room as the music ended, breaking me from my thoughts and signaling my time was over. The stranger waved before his grin grew wider when, without thinking, I raised my own hand in a lame attempt at a hello before feeling instantly self-conscious. My god, he’d seen me dancing, swirling and twirling my curvy assets all over this dance floor.
I felt silly that my hand was still up, until he did the unthinkable. He winked.
My heart nearly fell to the floor.
I watched his retreating form, unable to turn away from the broad shoulders, narrow waist, and his fine, sculpted behind. The way his jeans hung on his ass actually had me salivating. My god, what would I do for just one night with a man like that?
TWO
Chrissy
I pulled my hair out of its bun as I walked home, feeling oddly discouraged and utterly exhausted. I walked by the small pub at the corner of my street and Main, smelled the decadent scent of fries, and wandered in.
The old door’s worn hinges squeaked as I stepped in. I’d been coming here for years, ever since I was a little girl. I sat at one corner of the shiny bar and smiled brightly at Hank, the owner and bartender.
“Hey, Chrissy.” He smiled. “What can I get ya?”
I ordered a plate of fries and a craft beer, my indulgence for the night, though not the healthiest post-workout snack.
I pulled out my phone as I waited for my food, sipping on my beer and catching up on Chad’s latest tweets. Then I logged into Facebook to find an update on his relationship status. Chad Wallace is in a relationship with Katrina Moore.
Katrina Moore? I scrunched my nose. Her over-plump pink lips and fake boobs nearly made me gag.
She was a picture-perfect Barbie, yet the last text I had from Chad was from just this morning. What an asshole.
I set down my phone, about to consider changing my number, when a steaming plate of fried potatoes was placed in front of me.
“Where did the ranch go?” I asked sweetly.
“Got it here.” Hank pulled a small cup from under the counter. “Been coming here since you were six years old, Chrissy. I got your ranch.” He chuckled and set it down.
“Thank you.” I dipped a long spicy French fry into
Within minutes, I was stretched and limber and pulling out the disc of songs I’d brought to dance to. I started with a smooth melody to shake out my muscles, then it bled into an up-tempo beat. I felt my muscles pulling and stretching, no longer burning as they did in the early classes. I loved the freedom that dance gave me. My body became liquid as I moved, creating brush strokes along the floor. I could have looked like a beached whale for all I knew—floundering and completely a mess—but in my head in those moments, I was the famous ballet dancer Margot Fonteyn, floating gracefully in my own world.
The melody turned softer and faded into a familiar chord that haunted me each time I heard it. Swan Lake piped over the sound system, and I instantly went into a high leg spin, followed by a pirouette, before my hands stretched outward, my head thrown back as I danced. I was lost to the music, completely under its spell.
My eyes only opened as the chords finally came to an end. I was facing the window that looked out onto Main Street, normally empty of any foot traffic but now occupied by the most handsome man I had ever seen. Not many handsome men stayed in this town, and the ones who did burned out quickly, their good looks lost behind years of labor and hard living.
I stumbled then, my eyes flashing closed as I caught myself. An embarrassed smile flashed across my cheeks. I saw the stranger’s eyes rise for a moment in concern before just a twitch of a grin pulled at his lips.
I blinked, struggling to recognize him through the cloudy glass and passgae of time, the resounding silence echoing in the room as the music ended, breaking me from my thoughts and signaling my time was over. The stranger waved before his grin grew wider when, without thinking, I raised my own hand in a lame attempt at a hello before feeling instantly self-conscious. My god, he’d seen me dancing, swirling and twirling my curvy assets all over this dance floor.
I felt silly that my hand was still up, until he did the unthinkable. He winked.
My heart nearly fell to the floor.
I watched his retreating form, unable to turn away from the broad shoulders, narrow waist, and his fine, sculpted behind. The way his jeans hung on his ass actually had me salivating. My god, what would I do for just one night with a man like that?
TWO
Chrissy
I pulled my hair out of its bun as I walked home, feeling oddly discouraged and utterly exhausted. I walked by the small pub at the corner of my street and Main, smelled the decadent scent of fries, and wandered in.
The old door’s worn hinges squeaked as I stepped in. I’d been coming here for years, ever since I was a little girl. I sat at one corner of the shiny bar and smiled brightly at Hank, the owner and bartender.
“Hey, Chrissy.” He smiled. “What can I get ya?”
I ordered a plate of fries and a craft beer, my indulgence for the night, though not the healthiest post-workout snack.
I pulled out my phone as I waited for my food, sipping on my beer and catching up on Chad’s latest tweets. Then I logged into Facebook to find an update on his relationship status. Chad Wallace is in a relationship with Katrina Moore.
Katrina Moore? I scrunched my nose. Her over-plump pink lips and fake boobs nearly made me gag.
She was a picture-perfect Barbie, yet the last text I had from Chad was from just this morning. What an asshole.
I set down my phone, about to consider changing my number, when a steaming plate of fried potatoes was placed in front of me.
“Where did the ranch go?” I asked sweetly.
“Got it here.” Hank pulled a small cup from under the counter. “Been coming here since you were six years old, Chrissy. I got your ranch.” He chuckled and set it down.
“Thank you.” I dipped a long spicy French fry into
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