Chapter 37
Easton
“So what was the plan for tonight again?” I look up at Rayne.
Now I’m sitting on the piano bench, and she’s standing a few steps away from me, running her fingers through her long, messy hair and trying to tame it.
It’s the first time I’ve seen her in a dance studio with all the rings on her fingers, and I have no idea why, but with them she somehow seems more . . . complete. More like herself.
She gives me a look of amusement. “The plan was that you help me with the choreography by playing the song.”
“I can still do that.”
“You’ll have to.” She smiles, and I love it.
“I know. By the way, Jax uploaded a few videos of us to TikTok with the songs we recorded before I met you. They’re not as good as the ones from last weekend, of course, but—”
“All your songs are good,” she says, glaring at me reproachfully.
“Okay, okay. Sorry. Anyway, it seems to be going pretty well. At least there are a few people who want more from us.”
“Of course they do. How could they not? You guys are great.” She nods confidently, as if she hadn’t expected anything else. She probably didn’t.
“He also took a few videos from our day in the studio and posted them as Instagram stories. I have no idea when he had time to make them, but right now it really looks like something could happen.”
“It will, because you’re good. So much happens on social media these days that I’m really not surprised.” She shrugs.
“Maybe dreams come true after all.” I have to swallow the lump in my throat, otherwise I won’t be able to get the words out. I still don’t really believe it, no matter how good we might actually be. There are a thousand others who are just as good.
Her gaze softens. “I’m sure they do.”
“Yeah, but it probably would have been a good idea to deal with all the marketing stuff first.”
Rayne makes a face. “Stop being so negative! You’re just getting started, and it’s going to be fine.
Besides, so much of this stuff is so unpredictable that it’s impossible to say whether it would have made any difference.
What matters is what comes next. And to make that work, we should really get started now. ”
“Yeah, just a minute.” I reach out to her because I need to touch her. I’m addicted to feeling her skin against mine. But Rayne laughs and takes a couple of steps backward.
“Oh no. Your hands have to stay where they are.” She points to the piano. “Otherwise we won’t get anything done today.”
“Okay.” With a sigh, I give in and turn around on the bench so I can lift the lid.
It’s hard to ignore the fact that a few moments ago, Rayne was sitting right there in front of me, her feet propped up and my head between her legs.
The memory of her scent and taste makes me much too warm.
And all the blood in my body goes south again.
I’m glad I’m not wearing jeans, otherwise they would be getting uncomfortable.
“Ready?”
I look up and catch her eye in the mirror.
She raises her eyebrows in a question. I want to say no because I’d really like to disappear into her room with her and take off her clothes again.
Actually, the T-shirt belongs to me, but it looks much better on her, even though it’s way too big for her.
Maybe that’s exactly what makes it so hot.
Get a grip on yourself.
I clear my throat and nod. “Ready.”
“Let’s go.” She smiles, her eyes sparkling as if she knows very well that I’m not ready at all.
I take a deep breath and put my hands on the keys, even though “Dance with You ’Til Midnight” isn’t actually a piano song. But it will be okay to work on the choreography like this. In the mirror, I watch Rayne close her eyes and take a breath. When I start singing, she takes the first step.
My fingers find the right keys all by themselves. I know the melody by heart; it’s become second nature, just like the lyrics. That’s pretty useful right now, because I wouldn’t be able to do this if I had to concentrate.
I can only look at Rayne, my eyes following her every movement. It’s clear that she feels the song the same way I do. She dances, I sing, and it’s perfect. Not in a controlled, truly perfect way but her own kind of perfect.
Her steps are sure and light, her hair flying as she spins. Slow steps, fast ones, turns and leaps. I have no idea how she does it, but I can’t look away. I watch Rayne dance every day in ballet, and I saw her in that one contemporary class, but somehow this is different. Better.
Because it’s our song, and because every one of her movements fits with our words. Because the dance is powerful and strong, but also sad and fearful. I didn’t know it was possible to see emotions, but when she dances, I can.
Forgot to breathe
Forgot to see
Forgot my fucking name
I really do forget everything when I’m watching her, but the words don’t disappear because she embodies them. I only come back to reality when she pauses and turns to look at me. It takes a few seconds for me to notice and stop playing. The last notes ring out, and then the piano falls silent.
“What do you think?” she asks. There’s a kind of uncertainty in her voice that I know all too well.
“Of course I’m not finished with it, it can’t be done so fast. That was just what came to my mind first. Melanie helped me a little with the moves during class, but I’m not quite sure if everything fits yet.
Maybe it would be better not to do the video, or maybe I just shouldn’t dance, and you and the guys do the video alone.
Of course no one will be interested in seeing me dance, and—”
“Stop.” I interrupt her, and her mouth snaps shut.
“That was . . . I can’t even explain how that made me feel, Rayne.
” I stand up and go to her, taking her hands and wrapping my fingers around hers.
“You’re going to dance in this video. Unless you really don’t want to.
But you should, because you’re part of this song. Okay?”
Her gray eyes shine as she looks up at me. “Okay.” Then she smiles. “I was wondering if we should do some of the dancing together.”
I have to laugh. “I can’t dance.”
“Neither can I,” she argues.
“You just saw yourself in the mirror, didn’t you? At least a little bit?”
She shrugs. “Yes, but—”
“No buts.” I put my hands on either side of her face. Her skin is warm and soft. “You can do this. Why do you always doubt yourself so much?”
Her long black lashes cast shadows on her cheeks as she lowers her eyes. “Because I’m not as good as my mom,” she whispers, so softly that I can barely understand her. “I came here because I want to be like her. But I just can’t do it.”
“That’s not true.”
“Yes, it is. But today, for a moment I thought I might be able to get there after all. Everything was going really well in class, and then . . .” she swallows and exhales with a sigh. “Then I started working on this choreography and it was . . . a lot of fun.”
My brow creases. I don’t like the way she makes it sound. “Why are you saying that like it’s a problem?”
“Because none of the others enjoy it. Everyone else wants to do ballet, and contemporary dance is just a course that they have to take because it was assigned to them. And I’m . . .” she trails off and bites her lower lip insecurely.
“You’re you,” I say firmly. “You don’t have to be like your mom or anyone else at this school. You don’t have to be anything. You are who you are, and you’re perfect just like that. You’re talented and beautiful and . . . Damn it, Rayne, can you please try to see yourself the way I see you?”
She doesn’t say anything for a moment, just looks at me. Then she smiles. It’s small and seems a little sad, but it’s still a smile.
“I’ll try.” She stands on tiptoes and kisses me lightly, and I get goose bumps. “Dance with me,” she whispers against my lips. “Just once. I want to know what it feels like.”
I rest my forehead against hers. “If you want to dance with me, I’ll dance with you until you don’t want to anymore.”
“That will never happen,” she says, and in that moment, we both truly believe it.