7. Chloe
CHLOE
I sip my tea as I look at the note with a neatly written phone number on it.
After Liam left, I went back to sleep only to wake up about half an hour ago, and the first thing I did was reach for my phone.
The piece of paper fell to the floor and I instantly reached for it, afraid that if I didn’t it would get lost in the abyss that is the mess under my bed.
773-210-1210
I’m expecting a text for you.
Liam.
For five minutes, I stared at the note. I memorized the number and studied his writing. I looked at it until I forced myself to do something besides obsess over it.
I decided that making myself breakfast was a good distraction. For the most part it was, but now that I’m finished eating and just sipping on my tea, the number is the only thing that I can think about.
Should I actually use it?
I know I agreed to going to one of his games and dinner in the next few days but texting or calling him seems like we are stepping into uncharted territory.
In the last ten years, I’ve had one serious relationship and that was while I still lived in Texas trying to decide if I should take a shot and audition to become a dancer.
My relationship with Marc lasted about a year and when I decided to pursue dancing professionally, we ended things.
Last I heard, he married his high school sweetheart and is living in San Diego and I became the ballerina that I am today.
Since then, dating has always taken a back seat. Sure I’ve gone on a date here and there but nothing that lasted more than a night or two.
That’s how I thought it would go with Liam. I thought we were going to have our one night of fun and then I wouldn’t hear from him ever again.
He’s a professional hockey player whose season is about to start and I’m about to enter the busiest time of the year for us dancers. I thought that he would leave this morning and tell me that we should hang out sometime when our schedules lined up, but we would never actually do it.
I thought that Liam was a never stay in contact with a woman type of man.
But from everything that he told me before he left and leaving his number, I’m starting to think that I was wrong for even thinking that.
It’s just a number, it doesn’t mean anything. Use it or don’t.
Right.
It’s just a number. Having Liam’s number doesn’t mean that he’s going to be my next boyfriend or anything. For all I know we could go to dinner again and spend more time together and become friends and nothing more.
Would it even be possible to become friends with someone that made me beg for an orgasm and made every single inch of my body weep?
It might be hard, but it’s possible.
God, why am I overthinking this so much?
The guy I slept with last night gave me his number, that’s it. There is no need to think about the things that can possibly happen.
I doubt Liam is thinking this hard about what our night together can possibly turn into, so I shouldn’t either.
Besides, I have other things to worry about, like going to the grocery store and breaking in a new set of pointe shoes for the week.
Something that they don’t tell you about being a ballerina, or any professional dancer at that, is the amount of dance shoes you go through in such a short period of time.
During the off season, I go through about ten pairs of shoes in about three months and that’s only with one dance class and two or three practices a week. When performance season comes around, I’m going through double if not triple the amount in a given month. It’s nuts.
If it wasn’t for the dance company giving its dancers free shoes whenever they need them, I would go broke buying new ones every few days.
But I’m exactly where I want to be.
I’ve dreamt about being a professional dancer, a ballerina for as long as I can remember. From the day my mom took me to my first dance class, I knew that that’s what I wanted to do for the rest of my life.
Being on stage, with a spotlight on me called my name and for years I did everything in my power to accomplish it.
It kicked my ass on more than a handful of occasions and there were more than a few times that I wanted to quit, but I didn’t.
And good thing too because if I had, I wouldn’t be where I am today. A part of one of the most well known and respected dance companies in the world, being the ballerina that I wanted to be when I was three years old.
I’m at the height of my career and going up higher is the only option I see fit.
Three year old Chloe would be very proud.
Sure, dancing has taken a lot of my time in the last ten years.
I’ve lost friendships because of it, I don’t get to see my family as often as I want and it definitely hurts, but I’m doing something for myself.
I dance because I love it and it’s what I want to do.
I’m not forcing myself to do it and in a few years when I finally decide to hang up my pointe shoes, I know I will be happy about it.
Well, hopefully. Things can change.
But fingers crossed things stay how they are for a little while.
For now, I ignore the phone number sitting on my counter and go do what I had planned.
As much as I try though, I can’t seem to think about anything else other than Liam.
Thoughts of our night together and how he controlled my body invaded every single inch of my mind.
Nobody has made my body sing the way he did and as I think about it, I can’t help but want more.
I almost give in and text him just that when I get back to my apartment, but I don’t. Thank god.
If Liam and I become friends, those are definitely not things I should be thinking about. No matter how good they feel.
By afternoon, I somewhat succeeded in keeping Liam out of my head. He only crept in a few times, and I see that as a win.
Around dinner, though, all that goes down the drain and it’s all thanks to a text message from Betty.
Betty: So, how was the party? Any sugar daddies that I need to know about?
Should I tell her?
A part of me wants to keep Liam and our short time together to myself but the other part, really wants to tell my best friend. I had a professional hockey player in my bed for crying out loud, that’s worth sharing with her.
Besides, Liam didn’t say I couldn’t.
I text her back.
Me: Well… I owe you a coffee…
The message barely says read when my phone starts to ring with my best friend’s name dancing across the screen.
“Tell me everything!” Betty yells out as soon as I answer the phone.
I can’t help but to giggle like a schoolgirl at her excitement.
“There’s not much to tell.” I say to her, a smile forming on my face.
“Not much to tell? Chloe, you just giggled like a little girl on Christmas! There’s so much to tell!”
Another giggle escapes me and the second it does I know that I won’t be able to hold anything back.
“What do you want to know?” I ask, shyly.
“Everything!”
“Well, his name is Liam…” I start and the second I do, Betty is screaming every thirty seconds, enjoying everything that I tell her.
I tell everything from meeting his gaze at the opera house to us grabbing a bite to eat together to us coming back to my place. I don’t tell her all the lovely details of course, but I do say enough to get her by.
“Did he really say that?” Betty asks, after I told her what Liam said about me being more than a one-night stand.
“Yeah, he really said it and trust me I was just as shocked as you are.”
She lets out another shriek that has me pulling the phone away from my ear.
“So are you really going to see him again?” She asks and I’m sure if she were standing in front of me right now, she would jump up and down.
“I don’t know,” I answer, telling her the truth.
“What’s not to know? A hot hockey player wants to take you out to dinner again, it’s a simple yes or no answer.”
“I know it is, but I don’t want it to turn into anything.” As soon as the words leave my mouth, I know it’s a shit reason.
“Who says it has to turn into anything? You can have fun, Chlo, and it doesn’t have to be more than that. If the guy wants to wine and dine you and make you scream out his name afterwards, let him. It won’t hurt.”
I roll my eyes even though she can’t see.
She’s right, I know she’s right. Going to dinner again with Liam isn’t going to hurt and it doesn’t mean that something more is going to happen between us.
But why does a part of me want something to happen?
Why does a part of me want to go on a date with him and see if we have a possibility of working out?
Why is it that after only one night with him, I want more?
Maybe I should just say yes and see where it goes. If it does head in the direction of a relationship, it wouldn’t be so bad, would it?
No, it wouldn’t, but as much as a part of me wants to see where this could go, the other part is telling me that I don’t have time for a relationship.
Fun, yes. Relationship, no.
I’m at the peak of my career and I have to concentrate on that.
Nothing else.
“I say, call him up and set something up, because after next week you won’t have a whole lot of time.” Betty says, not waiting for me to respond.
What she says though, takes me off guard.
“Next week? Why won’t I have time after next week?” I try to rack my brain for what she might be talking about, but I can’t come up with anything.
“Because rehearsals for Nutcracker and The Little Match Girl start up the following week. Haven’t you checked your email? The schedule was sent out this morning.”
I mentally slap myself.
For weeks, we’ve been told to be on the lookout for the rehearsal schedule for our winter shows.
I knew it was coming, so I shouldn’t be so surprised, but it’s still a little shocking that rehearsals are happening so soon.
It’s only September.
“No, I haven’t checked my email.” I concede.
Putting the phone on speaker, I reach for my laptop and start looking for said email.
Sure enough, sitting between two department store coupons is my rehearsal schedule for the next two months and the show schedule from November to January.
I guess I won’t have a personal life until after New Years. But it would be worth it, I know it will.
“It’s a lot,” Betty says after a minute. “So do as I say, and text or call the guy. Get some fun in before dance takes over your life.”
She’s right yet again. This might be the only chance I get to have some fun for the next few months. Might as well take my shot.
“Alright. I’ll call him,” I say into my phone, a smile spreading across my face.
“Atta girl. Get that hockey dick.” She says with a chuckle.
The call ends quickly after and as soon as I get off the phone with Betty, I open my messages and start typing out a message to the number I mesmerized this morning.
I promised him that I would contact him.
This is me doing that.
I’ll just send one text message, we will go out to dinner, have some fun and then I will concentrate on dancing for the foreseeable future.
Nothing, and I mean nothing, will come out of a little text.
I’m sure of it.