17. Jolie
17
JOLIE
W hen I get home, there are no messages and nothing is out of place. I spend fifteen minutes scouring my room before curiosity turns into frustration and eventually disappointment.
Jax hasn’t been back.
I built myself up the entire trek home, mentally preparing myself to not startle when he visited again. I was ready for answers. Now, who knows when he’ll return?
I undress and shower, peeking my head out of the steam every so often to glance at the mirror in case there’s a message for me, worried he’ll pop up any moment without warning.
While I rinse my hair, I wonder if he’s been in here while I’ve showered. While I’ve changed.
What has he seen?
Once I’m done showering and getting dressed, I walk out to the living room. Delilah is out there watching hockey, and while I’m not a huge sports fan, I am a fan of Delilah. She makes Lark happy and humors us through all our ballet shenanigans. If she can’t catch a Richmond Redhots game live, she’ll record it so we can watch it together, preferring not to watch alone.
She sticks the big bowl of kettle corn mixed with chopped up Twizzlers between us. Her Redhots good luck snack. It sounds strange, but it’s actually the perfect mix of sweet and salty.
“Get it together, Winston!” Delilah shouts, standing up from the loveseat and throwing her hands in the air. The Redhots are down by four. Delilah continues flailing her arms, so animated that I’ve stopped halfheartedly following the game. She’s far more entertaining. Her red curls bounce around her shoulders as she jumps, grabbing at her crimson Redhots jersey. Proscella is in big, bold letters across the back, right above the number fourteen, matching the goalie sliding into the splits on the screen, blocking the puck from entering the net.
“Yes, Frankie! That’s my boy!” She circles her arm in the air, rooting for him with hoots and cheers. I shovel some popcorn in my mouth, then take a bite of a Twizzler, enjoying both shows taking place before me. Lark comes out of her room in a robe, her wet hair wrapped up in a towel. When she sees her girlfriend, she chuckles, heading into the kitchen to grab some water.
An hour later, and about fifty glances toward my bedroom, the game finishes with the Redhots in the lead by one.
“I’m going to turn in. Big day of rehearsals tomorrow,” I say, stretching my arms out.
“Night, Jojo.” Lark tucks herself onto Delilah’s lap, waving goodnight to me. They’ll likely watch the last few minutes of the postgame show, but something else is consuming my mind.
Jax.
Could he be in there waiting for me?
I start down the hall, bracing myself for anything—
Knock, knock, knock, knock.
My attention snaps to the door behind me.
“I’ll get it,” Delilah says, shooing Lark toward her bedroom since she’s in just a robe.
Hinges whine and the front door opens, but I can’t see who’s there. Not until Delilah turns around and rolls her eyes.
Blake steps into the entryway.
“Hey, baby.” He shoots me a dazzling smile full of pearly white teeth, his blond waves bouncing with each step. He’s still in his dance clothes, his bag strapped to his back.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, brows furrowing. He blew me off when I asked him to keep me company last week and now he’s suddenly here in my apartment?
“Can’t a guy just wanna visit his favorite girl?” He continues forward without hesitation, bringing his hand to the base of my spine and guiding me toward my room. His fingers trace back and forth along the valley of my low back. It’s something I usually love, but right now, I’m just annoyed. I should be excited that he showed up, but I was really hoping to get some answers.
“I mean…yes, but—” I hold my breath, my hand hovering over the doorknob.
What if he opens the door and Jax has left me a message?
Luckily, I wiped down the mirror after my shower. No idea what he’d think seeing streaks of lipstick with some other guy’s name. I don’t see Blake as the jealous type, but I also don’t feel like explaining these odd occurrences.
When I don’t immediately open the door, Blake takes it upon himself.
“I hate that I never get to see you anymore, baby,” he says, twisting the metal. “No more stolen moments at the studio.”
“Well, we’re both busy with rehearsal, and we have early mornings ahead of us,” I ramble. What the hell am I saying? I shouldn’t be talking about an early morning, I should be asking him about taking our relationship public, like I’d practiced—or tried to practice—with Dr. Tanner.
My nerves scatter beneath my skin as the door creaks open. Following Blake into the bedroom, I peek over his shoulder, scanning every inch of the space. I heave a sigh of relief when nothing is different from how I left it an hour ago, though I can’t deny the twinge between my ribs.
Blake tosses his bag in the corner, then wraps his arms around my waist. “Such a long day. I’m glad you were home.”
“You are?” The words are out before I realize how awkward they sound. I’m just thrown off by his first unprompted visit and the strange things that have been happening. “I mean, I’m glad too!”
Glancing around the room again, I make sure Jax isn’t here. I turn my attention to Blake, who’s swaggering backward until he lands on the bed. He lies on top of the comforter, palm grazing it in invitation. I shove my hands in my pockets, swaying side to side. “How’s Swan Lake ?”
“You know, the usual.” He cocks his head to the side, and I’m certain he can sense my hesitation.
Why am I hesitating? We’ve done this dance many times before. There’s nothing holding me back—other than the possibility that the immortal ghost of a man could blow in here like a blizzard at any moment. Right now, all signs point to him being gone. Who knows if he’ll ever show up again?
That thought stings.
And that gives me pause. I shouldn’t care. I don’t care. The desire to see Jax right now, to send Blake home, that has to do with the answers I want, the closure they could possibly provide. Simple as that.
Blake pushes up on the bed, scooting down to its edge before he extends a hand out to me. I take it, and he tugs me between his legs, his palms skimming up the outsides of my thighs. Why am I thinking about an invisible being when this man’s right here?
Ask him, Jolie. Stop putting it off.
It takes me a moment to chase down a good segue.
“I’m looking forward to the showcase,” I say, running a hand through his thick waves, playfully mussing them.
He glowers and gently guides my hand to his shoulder, training his blond locks back into place. “You sure it won’t be too hard for you? If it’s easier, I can just grab the recording and send it to you after.”
It’s like an ice bucket tossed on my momentary playfulness. An all-too-sobering reminder that I screwed things up at the Institute. “Do you not want me there?”
Way to sound super insecure, Jolie.
“Not at all, baby,” Blake scoffs, almost too quickly. Does he know the real reason they let me go? Is he ashamed to be seen with me because I wasn’t invited back?
I never spoke with him about my injury. Not officially. The times I mentioned the pain around my hip joint and the ones that shot down my leg, he just chalked it up to the usual things, reminding me that ballerinas put their bodies through the wringer.
It comes with the territory.
But the perfectly normal way we torture our bodies isn’t as usual as most believe. These past weeks integrating physical therapy into my routine has shown me that. While my injury still persists, I am learning how to manage it better and adapt. My body is far less wrecked at the end of each day.
“Come here.” He pulls me into his lap, tucking the wild strands of my hair behind my ear. “I just know how much you miss dancing for the Institute.”
“I’ll be fine,” I reassure him. Maybe it will be hard, but I still want to support him and Lark. “I’m excited to come. Bet you’re blowing them away with your performance as Prince Siegfried.”
Besides, being there might show the Institute that I don’t hold it against them for letting me go. That I’m still open to coming back. It’s a long shot, but I want to get back there, be with my friends and reclaim my place under their spotlight. Even though things are going better at Ballet Potomac, it doesn’t hurt to keep my options open. Who knows how long it will take for them to see me as a viable option for soloist, much less principal?
“I don’t know about blowing them away, but I’d be doing better if I wasn’t partnering Nina.”
“I’m sure it’s not that bad.”
“Not that bad?” Blake scoffs, clearly aggravated by this production’s Odette. “She stormed out right after rehearsal today. Wouldn’t even stay to go over the final pas de deux after the director complained about us being out of sync. How are we supposed to be ready for the showcase if she isn’t fucking there to rehearse?”
“That’s tough. I’m sorry, Blake.” I give him a sympathetic smile. For a moment, it’s almost like old times. How it was before the accident, when we would commiserate about our long days at rehearsals. “Maybe she just needs the night to cool off and rest.”
“She needs to get rid of the prima donna attitude and practice, or the director is going to question our place in the company. I’ve worked too hard to go back now.” His words slice into me, full of painful understanding before he tosses in a quick “Sorry.”
“It’s okay.” I pretend they don’t hurt. That they’re a scratch, not something that pierces deep. “I get it.”
“I knew you would,” he says, his hand finding the hem of my shirt. The hard-on beneath my ass is a not-so-subtle clue where he wants this to go.
“Blake…” I begin as he lifts my shirt over my head.
Shivering in my bra, I watch him take off his own shirt, his abs drawing my attention.
Damn.
“I know we both have long days ahead, baby, but I’ll make it quick.” He says it like he doesn’t always make it quick. He nudges me off him so he can remove his sweats. His erection springs free, and he grips it immediately, giving it a few tugs for emphasis. Then he guides my hand along his silken length.
Up and down. Up and down.
He groans, hips arching up into my hand. “I need this so bad.”
Blake is beautiful. Renowned. The first time I saw him dance, he captivated me. I was still in the corps back then, and when his eyes met mine, it was as if he danced just for me. Of all the girls there, this rising star wanted my number. Wanted me .
I rub my thumb over the head of his cock, still miles away in the memory of how it felt to have him fawn over me afterhours.
My body should warm at the memory, but my veins chill. I should be into this. Instead, I just follow his rhythm, and he releases his grasp. He doesn’t kiss me, doesn’t look at me. Not really. It’s like I’m not even here. Like this is less about us and more about stroking his bruised ego.
Years later, this is still the only thing we do together. A quick release and an even quicker goodbye.
I stop my hand, and Blake hisses. “Baby, I’m so close. Don’t stop.”
“Why don’t we ever do anything outside of this ?” My gaze drops down to his weeping erection, his chest heaving as he catches his breath. “Are you ashamed of me or something?”
“Why would you even think that?” He frowns, then cocks his head to one side. “You’re incredible, but you know why we chose to keep things a secret.”
“I know we did , but why now?” My voice shakes. “We haven’t been at the company together for months. There’s no reason to keep things under wraps.”
This probably isn’t how Dr. Tanner would suggest I go about this, but right now, I’m too rattled to care.
“You’re right. There is no reason,” he agrees, shaking his head quickly. “How about I take you out after the showcase? I’ll text you where to meet me at the theater when I’m done, and we’ll go on a real date.”
“Really?”
“We’ll be dressed up anyway. Might as well take my girl out.” He flashes me a brilliant smile.
My girl.
My chest unclenches. “I’m sorry for overreacting.”
I’m so stupid. I make a mental note to talk about my irrational insecurities at my next session with Dr. Tanner.
“No need to be sorry,” he says, brushing my embarrassment away.
The vision of Blake pulling me into his arms after the showcase and kissing me in front of the company glides through my mind. No more hiding. No more secret rendezvous. He’d take me around, introduce me as his girlfriend to the Institute’s benefactors as they greeted him. Then we’d spend the night dining and drinking and dancing. The next up-and-coming ballet power couple.
Blake’s cock presses against my stomach. Guess I shouldn’t leave him hanging. He is finally giving me what I want, even if the conversation to get there was a bit more awkward than I’d anticipated.
I grip around his shaft, and he jerks in surprise. “Damn, baby, your hand is freezing.”
“Sorry,” I say quickly, inspecting my hand. A few tiny white flecks drift onto my shoulder…
“You really shouldn’t leave your thermostat so low in winter,” Blake says, rubbing his hands together and blowing between them before encircling my own a few times. “I know they are calling for early spring, but the temperature drops at night.”
It sure does.
Just not for the reason Blake thinks.