Chapter 13
THIRTEEN
Vaeda
The morning sun barely filters through the gauzy curtains of our penthouse, but I’m already awake. Gerardo is still asleep, his breathing even beside me, but my body won’t rest. My mind won’t stop replaying last night. Mateo’s eyes. That electricity.
I slip out of bed quietly, not bothering to change out of my leggings and oversized sweatshirt, the crop top underneath bunching under my chest. My ankle still throbs from wearing heels for too long, but I ignore it, grabbing my keys and jacket, then heading out the door before I have time to talk myself down.
Fusion Core is silent when I arrive, a stark contrast to the rushed activity on the streets.
This close to Christmas, everyone is scrambling to complete their shopping.
The cold fluorescent lights blink on as I walk in, the scent of floor polish lingering in the air.
It’s my day off, and yet somehow, here I am.
There’s a comfort in the studio I can’t find anywhere else.
It’s routine and discipline. The one place where my body still listens to me, even if only for a little while.
I settle behind my desk first, sorting through paperwork and registration forms we’ve neglected since the competition prep began. My ankle pulses, and I curl my toes, trying to stretch it without drawing attention to the pain, though no one is here to see me anyway.
After a while, the stillness becomes too much, so I pull off my sweater and leave the desk to walk onto the floor, the familiar squeak of my sneakers echoing across the space.
My hands find the sound system out of habit, fingers scrolling until a piano instrumental sounds through the speakers.
I stretch slowly, biting back a wince. Then I start to move.
It’s not a routine, nothing polished or planned. Just muscle memory and emotion, pouring out of me one step at a time. My body knows how to speak this language, even when my mind is exhausted. Even when my ankle screams.
I dance through the ache, letting it blend with the frustration, the confusion. Every extension, every turn is sharper than it should be, a reflection of everything I don’t say out loud.
I’m breathless and shaking when I finally stop, one hand on the mirror to steady myself. The studio falls quiet again, the music fading to a whisper. That’s when I hear the door, and I turn sharply, startled when I see him.
Mateo stands in the doorway, framed by the soft glow of the corridor light behind him. His coat is unzipped, cheeks pink from the cold, and his expression is unreadable.
“I was out walking,” he explains, his voice hesitant. “Saw the lights on. Didn’t think anyone would be here.”
My pulse stutters. “I wasn’t expecting company.”
He steps slowly inside, like he isn’t sure if he should be here. “I can see that.” I brush my fingers through my hair and nod, turning slightly so he can’t see the way my hand is trembling at my side. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”
“You didn’t.” The lie tastes bitter. “I was just... clearing my head.”
He glances at the mirror, our eyes meeting. “I get that.”
The silence stretches between us, thick with fear and anticipation. I can’t break the contact, and the intensity there knocks the air from my lungs.
“You look like you needed it,” he says gently.
“Yeah,” I reply, forcing a small smile. “I did.” And now, standing in the same room with him again, I’m not sure I can keep pretending that I don’t need more than just the dance.
MATEO
Vaeda leans against the barre, her arms crossed, the hint of exertion still glowing in her cheeks.
Her hair is pulled back in a loose twist, and a sheen of sweat glistens along her collarbone.
My eyes travel downward, over her braless chest and bare midriff, drops of sweat clinging to her porcelain skin.
She’s toned to perfection, her abs flexing with each labored breath.
My eyes glide back up, and I find her watching me like she always does, like she sees more than she should, more than I want her to.
“Did you ever find that Hip-hop class I suggested?” she asks, her voice casual, but her eyes are filled with heat.
I shake my head. “No.”
She arches an eyebrow. “No?”
“I was waiting for you.” The words hang there, more honest than I meant them to be, but I don’t take them back.
Her lips part slightly, and for a second, I think she might ignore it, let it pass unspoken.
Instead, she straightens. “There’s one happening right now,” she reveals.
“At a studio just a few blocks up.” She glances at the clock on the wall and then back at me.
“If we leave now, we can make it before warm-ups are over.”
I blink at her, trying to gauge what she’s really offering. “Are you coming with me?” I ask, half expecting her to laugh it off, the question asinine.
She gives a small shrug, her breasts moving with the motion as she turns on her heel and heads to her office. “I did say it would help loosen your movement. Might as well see if it works,” she calls out as she disappears.
A few moments later, she’s hauling a large sweatshirt over her head and grabbing her water bottle, her eyes dancing with excitement. I turn to follow her without another word, heart suddenly racing.
Leaving the studio, I wait patiently as she locks the door, pieces of her hair blowing in the chilly breeze. It feels like a dream, having her alone like this, her scent enveloping me as she steps in closer, her gaze traveling over my face. She nods for me to follow, and then we’re off.
We walk side by side through the late morning chill, the sky bruised with the dull light of early winter. She doesn’t say much, and neither do I, but the silence between us isn’t uncomfortable. It’s charged.
We reach the building and climb the stairs, the thump of bass-heavy music seeping through the floor as we approach, rattling something loose inside me. An eagerness.
When Vaeda opens the studio door, the space is full of energy. A group of dancers are already moving through stretches, the instructor calling out from the front with contagious enthusiasm.
Vaeda turns to me, her expression unreadable but open. “You ready?”
I nod, and I mean it. Maybe I don’t know what I’m doing, and maybe this is another edge I’m walking, but with her next to me, I’m willing to find out where it leads.
The music pulses rhythmically through the speakers, echoing off mirrored walls and reverberating through the polished hardwood floor.
Vaeda stands next to me, discarding her sweater and pulling her hair out of its messy bun and into a high ponytail, exposing the elegant slope of her neck.
My pulse quickens as I glance her way, my throat suddenly dry.
The instructor, a dynamic young woman with an infectious energy, steps to the front of the room, clapping her hands sharply to gather our attention. “Alright, everyone! Let’s break down today’s choreography step-by-step. Watch closely, follow along, and feel the music.”
We spread out across the dance floor, giving each other enough space to move freely. I position myself behind Vaeda, acutely aware of her proximity, the warmth of her body emanating like a subtle invitation.
The instructor leads us through the routine slowly at first, demonstrating each fluid movement with precision and grace.
I focus intently, mirroring her actions, feeling the rhythm seep into my muscles, coaxing them into motion.
In front of me, Vaeda moves effortlessly, her body interpreting the beat with an ease I envy and admire.
“Great, now pick up the pace,” the instructor encourages, increasing the tempo slightly.
The movements become more pronounced, hips swiveling, arms extending with controlled sensuality.
My heart pounds harder, the combination of music and motion making it difficult to concentrate on anything other than the woman in front of me.
“Now,” the instructor announces, her voice cutting through the rhythm. “Find a partner. It’s time to put what we’ve learned into practice.”
Vaeda turns slowly, eyes locking with mine immediately. There’s no hesitation, no questioning glance, just an unspoken understanding pulling us together, closing the short distance between us.
“Ready?” she asks softly, her voice barely registering over the music.
“Always,” I respond, my voice carrying more weight than intended.
She takes a small step closer, her eyes flickering with intensity as my hands settle lightly on her waist. The heat of her bare skin sends a jolt of electricity up my spine. Her breath hitches audibly as her fingertips rest on my shoulders, light but unmistakably present.
The instructor restarts the music, louder now, each beat pounding like a heartbeat shared between us. We move as one, bodies instinctively finding a rhythm, hips rolling, limbs weaving together in seamless synchronicity. Every touch is charged, every look smoldering.
The dance demands proximity, encourages intimacy, and I’m all too willing to comply. My fingers grip her hips tighter, pulling her closer until there’s barely space left between us. Vaeda doesn’t resist; instead, she matches the pressure, leaning into my touch, her body molding to mine.
Our eyes meet, the air heavy with unspoken desire. The room around us fades, the other dancers forgotten. All that remains is the heat of her body pressed against me, the electric sensation of her breath mingling with mine, and the undeniable chemistry that has haunted us from the very start.
As the routine draws us even closer, my fingertips skim the bare skin at her waist, tracing gentle circles that send shivers visibly rippling through her.
Her breath fans across my neck, warm and uneven.
The temptation to close the final distance, to erase all boundaries between us, nearly overwhelms me.
“Good,” the instructor’s voice breaks through our trance. “Now slow it down, feel the sensuality in each movement. Let the dance speak for you.”
Vaeda’s eyes never leave mine as we follow the guidance, each motion deliberate, filled with a restrained intensity that pushes me to the brink of control. Her chest rises and falls rapidly, mirroring my own erratic heartbeat.
My lips brush her ear, my voice barely a whisper, deep and roughened with longing. “Like this?”
She nods subtly, pressing herself even closer, her fingers gripping my shoulders firmly. Our bodies communicate in ways words never could, speaking truths we both fear to admit aloud.
The song eventually fades, leaving only the silence punctuated by our labored breaths.
Reluctantly, I loosen my grip, stepping back just enough to let reality seep back in.
Vaeda’s cheeks are flushed, her eyes glazed with the same overwhelming desire I feel coursing through my veins.
We remain in the charged aftermath, neither willing to fully break the connection we’ve established.
“Mateo,” she breathes out, voice unsteady.
I lift my gaze, meeting hers squarely. “I know,” I respond quietly, understanding passing silently between us. The consequences are all painfully clear. Yet, I find myself stepping closer once more, drawn inexorably back into her orbit, and she doesn’t pull away.
The instructor’s voice echoes again, signaling the end of class, breaking our fragile bubble. Vaeda finally steps back fully, inhaling deeply, visibly collecting herself.
“Great job, everyone!” The instructor’s cheerful voice feels out of place in our heightened reality. “Keep practicing. Remember, dancing is about feeling. Trust yourselves and trust each other.”
Trust.
The word hangs heavily between us as we exit the studio and into the cool afternoon air. Vaeda glances at me from beside me, vulnerability flickering briefly in her eyes before she covers it again with practiced composure.
“That was... intense,” she murmurs softly.
I nod, the admission echoing in my mind. “Yes, it was.”
We walk in silence for a moment, the sun creating gentle halos around us despite the cold winter day. The intensity of the experience we shared refuses to fade, and it’s taking everything in me not to haul her down a darkened alley and do what I’ve been dreaming of for months.
“Mateo,” she says finally, her voice steadying, “this can’t—”
“I know,” I interrupt gently, even though it pains me. “But right now, let’s just… not think about that.”
She hesitates, then nods slowly, the smallest smile tugging at her lips. For now, today, we can pretend the rest doesn’t exist. Even if we both know it definitely does.