Chapter Five Cord
Five
Cord
Allegra freezes, as if my demand is unreasonable. “What do you mean?”
“I need to see what I’m working with. So show me what you can do.” I find it hard to believe she didn’t expect dancing to be on the program at some point in these dance lessons.
“What, you want me to just get up there and freestyle?”
I shrug. “Sure. Or show me something choreographed, I don’t care.”
She gestures to her feet. “But I don’t have my pointe shoes. I didn’t even bring a pair of ballet slippers. All I’ve got are these.”
“You mean to tell me you came to a dance class and didn’t bring the proper footwear?”
She glares at me. “I wasn’t aware this was an actual dance class.”
Damn. She’s cute when she’s ornery. I don’t bother to hold back my smirk. “So take them off and dance barefoot. You mean to tell me a trained dancer with Ballet New York can’t dance unless she’s got her favorite pair of slippers?”
She scowls at me but kicks off her Uggs. Her socks are covered in cartoon slices of pizza, which is almost too adorable for words except I wonder when was the last time she let herself enjoy a piece of pizza. Hell, I think it was only a year ago that Chloe ate a slice in front of me.
Allegra yanks her sweatshirt over her head, leaving her in leggings and a sports bra.
I fight really hard not to let my eyes linger on the swells of her breasts or the strip of exposed skin between the bottom of her bra and the top of her leggings.
Allegra strides into the center of the room. Though her shoulders are pressed back and her posture is straight, I don’t miss the deep breath she heaves as she pulls out her phone and taps on the screen. Once she finds what she’s looking for, she slides her phone across the floor and out of the way.
The music starts and it doesn’t take more than a few beats before she’s completely swept away in it. She loses herself in the choreography, floating around the room like she’s dancing on clouds. Her technique is precise, her lines, impeccable. It’s clear that she loves it.
I have to swallow forcefully to knock the emotions down. They’re rising in my chest, making it hard to catch my breath.
She looks so beautiful, flying across the floor.
But even in just these two minutes, I can see that there is something missing: confidence. Allegra has everything it takes to be a prima ballerina, a principal at BNY if that’s what she wants. What she doesn’t have is the belief that she’s capable of it.
It would be surprising, the lack of faith in her skills and talents, but I’ve seen it so many times before.
Ballet has the tendency to beat the confidence right out of you.
And given what her director said to her, the environment at BNY doesn’t seem to be focused on building up their dancers.
It’s more likely that asshole is looking to break her down.
Makes it much easier to get away with whatever he wants that way.
I almost wish she’d brought her pointe shoes so I could watch this piece as it’s really meant to be danced, but even still, she’s breathtaking to watch.
The song ends with a flourish as she hits her final pose. Her chest is heaving, but I pull my eyes away, not willing to be one more man who objectifies her.
I clap my hands, the appreciation for her performance genuine.
Her eyes fly to mine, and there’s surprise there, like she expects me to be mocking her.
“Your technique is impeccable.” I stand and meet her in the center of the room.
“Thank you.” She takes a subtle step back. “Why do I feel like there’s a but in there somewhere?”
“No but. Though we might have our work cut out for us.”
“Though is just another word for but.” She bristles at the implication.
“You clearly love to dance, Slippers, but there’s something important missing from your performance.”
“Pointe shoes?” She doesn’t bother hiding the sarcasm.
So there is some fire in her. Good. Now I just need to bring it out.
I shake my head. Reaching out a single finger, I tap the center of her forehead. “You dance here.” I move my finger so it’s level with her heart, careful not to make contact with her chest. “You need to dance from here.”
She scoffs, though I would bet money it’s not the first time she’s been given that feedback. “Are you going to pretend like you go out on your stage every night and dance from the heart?”
I shrug. “I do. I love what I do, I love being onstage.”
“So do I.”
I believe her. Who would put themselves through the torture of being a professional ballet dancer if they didn’t love it? “But are you having any fun? How do you expect to entertain an audience if you, the performer, aren’t having any fun?”
“Ballet isn’t supposed to be fun.”
I don’t hold back my laugh. “Truer words have never been spoken.” I tap her forehead again, this time letting my finger linger before it drifts down, dancing over the curve of her cheek. “But my point stands. You’re in your head, and we’re going to have to work on that.”
Something tells me it would be much easier if the problem were with her dancing, and not with her mindset.
I cross to the other side of the room, grabbing a single chair and bringing it back to where Allegra stands, a dumbfounded expression still on her pretty face. “I want to make one thing clear before we go any further here.”
She nods, opens her mouth as if to speak, and then closes it again without saying anything.
“If you really want to do this, I’m going to need to push you. You are locked up tight in your comfort zone, and if you really want this, we’re going to have to break you out.”
She nods again, looking less sure by the moment.
“But everyone has boundaries that shouldn’t be crossed. And I need you to promise me you will stop me if I venture too close to yours.” I drop any hint of teasing from my voice. This is important, and I need her to know that I am one hundred percent serious.
“Do we need a safe word or something?” Her voice is breathy and her cheeks flush.
I swallow down a breath of my own. “It’s not a bad idea.”
I close my eyes for the briefest second, tamping down any thoughts of Allegra and activities that might require a safe word. I should not be imagining her spread out on my sheets.
I stifle a groan.
“How about umbrella?” she blurts out before I’ve truly recovered my wits.
Maybe she was paying more attention to my performance the night before than I thought. I let a cocky smile overtake my face, using it as a shield. “Umbrella it is.” I gesture to the chair. “Now sit.”
She does, even as she asks, “Why?”
“Because the first step here is exposure therapy.”
“Exposure therapy?” she echoes. “What does that mean?”
I tap on my phone and find the right song. The opening beats of “Pony” thud through the speakers.
The realization of what exposure therapy means dawns on her face. I watch her eyes for any hint of trepidation, but instead, they go wide. Her tongue darts out of her mouth, licking along her bottom lip.
And I realize I might have just made a huge fucking mistake.
“A little cliché, don’t you think?” she asks, but the sarcasm has drained from her voice, leaving something that sounds remarkably like wanting behind.
I circle behind her, mostly so I don’t have to look her in the eye.
“I noticed last night that you did everything in your power to avoid a lap dance.” My hands land on her shoulders, pulling her back in the chair.
I haven’t done a lap dance in quite some time, leaving that portion of the program to the rest of the guys in my show.
But I know these moves well, could do them in my sleep if I needed to.
So I’m not sure why I feel like I’m doing this for the very first time.
“It wasn’t my night. I was there for my sister.” The breathiness is back in her voice, laced with anticipation.
“Well, tonight is just about you.” I cross back around so I’m standing right in front of her. I need to be able to see her face for this part. “I’m going to put my hands on you. And I’m going to put your hands on me.” I don’t know if it’s a warning or a promise. “What’s your word, Slippers?”
“Umbrella.”
“Good.”
It’s the last thing I say.