Chapter Thirteen Cord
Thirteen
Cord
I don’t text Allegra for the rest of my trip. It’s harder than I would like to admit. I reach for my phone often, when I’m bored, when I’m tired, when I’m missing home.
It’s ridiculous. And dangerous. I know I’m playing with fire, but I can’t seem to stop.
I almost suggest we skip our session the Saturday after I get home, telling myself Allegra is prepping for a show and it would be better for her to have the night off. But we need to start working on the choreography for the piece she promised me.
And the way the first glimpse of her pushing through the studio sends a wave of excitement through me surely only has to do with my excitement for the piece.
“Hey, Slippers. How was rehearsal?” I modulate my voice, so it sounds almost bored.
She tosses her bag onto one of the couches before sinking down to the floor next to it and leaning into a stretch. “We open in four days.”
I laugh, appreciating the length of her legs as they swing out to the side and she folds herself in half. “What ballet are you doing again?”
“Swan Lake.”
I don’t bother to hide my disdain, my nose wrinkling at the image of the staid and stodgy work.
“What’s wrong with Swan Lake?”
“Nothing, I guess. If you’re into boring music and outdated choreography.”
She pushes herself off the floor. “Not all of us can be as innovative as Cord Donovan. Where did you come up with the completely original idea for hot male strippers, again?”
I roll my eyes. “We are so much more than strippers.”
“And Swan Lake is so much more than a classic ballet. It’s history. And it’s art.”
“It’s boring as fuck.”
Her mouth drops open in indignation. “Reisinger would never.”
“Who?” I grin, though I know damn well who the choreographer of the famed ballet is.
She reaches into her bag, pulling out a beat-up pair of ballet slippers that promptly get launched directly toward my head.
I catch them easily and toss them right back. “You’re going to need those.”
She takes them and slips them on. “You don’t want me on pointe for this?”
I shake my head, gesturing for her to join me in the center of the studio. “We’re not going to go strictly ballet here, I want to experiment with some more modern movements, too.”
“How innovative.”
“I don’t remember you being this sarcastic last week.” I smirk at her sass and she gives me one of her own in return.
“That was before you introduced me to Chloe and Ava.” She shrugs, shaking out her arms and stretching them across her chest. “You brought this on yourself.”
“I’ve created a monster,” I mutter, even though I secretly love it.
It’s good to see a little fire in her. I step behind her, both of us facing the mirror.
“All right. So I’m thinking we’ll start on opposite sides of the stage.
I want the beginning of this piece to be a little combative, like these two don’t like each other, but they can’t help coming back together. ”
She nods. “So they have some kind of history?”
“Maybe. Or maybe there’s just something fundamentally different about them. They have different ways of looking at life and its priorities.”
“Is that enough to keep two people apart?”
I cross to the other side of the room. “The whole point is that it’s not.”
She turns to face me, both of us lined up on opposite sides of the studio. “So how do they come together? How do they bridge this gap?”
“That’s what we’re going to figure out.” I begin walking toward her, slowly, like a jungle cat stalking its prey.
Allegra matches my pace, the two of us meeting in the center of the studio, so little distance left between us that I can see the circle of light green around her pupils. Her breath hitches and I take the opportunity to breathe in the lavender dancing in the air.
“Is it okay if I touch you?” I ask.
She nods, eyes on me.
My hand cups the nape of her neck. Without me instructing her, her hand grips the side of my throat, mirroring the pose. “How did you know I was going to ask you to do that?”
She shrugs. “Intuition, I suppose.”
I swallow, ignoring how good it feels to have her skin pressed to mine. “Good. With your other hand, grab my wrist, the one that’s on your neck.”
She does as I ask, easily falling into the spin that comes naturally afterward.
“Did you sneak a look at my choreography notes, Slippers?” I come up behind her, my hand sliding across her stomach.
“I wouldn’t think you would bother with notes.”
I raise my eyebrows. “Is that an insult?”
“Only if you take it as one. I was thinking you were more of an on the fly, wherever the movement takes you kind of a choreographer.”
“I can be.” My hand tightens on her waist. “What should come next?”
She leans back into me, letting her hand latch on to my forearm. I lower my head, my nose running up the side of her throat. She spins in my arms, her hands coming to rest on my chest. Then she pushes me away.
“I like that.” Rounding my shoulders, I slide even farther away from her, putting more space in between us. “We’ll put some kind of solo in here. Do you have any thoughts?”
Her head tilts to the side. “Do you have a song picked out?”
“I’m still looking for the perfect one. But it will be pretty slow. Probably something R and B.”
“Let me think on it.”
“Sure. Let’s plan on an eight count and then we come back together.” I cross back to the center of the floor and crook my finger in her direction.
“Did you just summon me?” A pink flush spreads over her chest. I can’t tell if she’s embarrassed or turned on, but I know which I would prefer.
My hand finds the back of her neck again, but this time I cup her gently, cradling her head in my hands. “Dip,” I warn a second before lowering her almost to the floor. I bring her back to standing, my hands trailing down her arms to settle on her hips. “Hands on my shoulders,” I instruct.
She doesn’t say anything, but she follows my directives, our movements flowing seamlessly from one to the next. She’s looser than I expected, open to my choreography and bringing her own flair to it.
I lift her, spinning in a slow circle. When I lower her back to the ground, her body drags against mine. I don’t let her feet find purchase. “Wrap your thigh around my hip.” My voice comes out huskier than it should.
She positions her leg and I step into a deep lunge. The move presses our cores together and we take in a collective breath. We rise once again and my hands move to her elbows.
“Drop into a split.” I lower her and raise her again with ease, spinning her around so her back is pressed to my front. “Now let’s put those salsa lessons to good use.” My hands brace her hips and she leans back into my chest.
I lead her in a slowed-down version of the salsa steps we practiced in the club. Her hips move easily now, curving and swaying right along with mine.
I add a few more steps and then we go back to our beginning positions and run through everything. I pause to ask for her thoughts, her ideas, the piece becoming more of a collaboration than one I’ve choreographed on my own. It’s a give-and-take, and I find myself enjoying the process.
I check my watch after our second run-through. “We should probably stop here. I want to work on some lifts, but I want Noah to be here so we have an extra spotter, and I know how packed the rest of your week is.”
She shrugs. When we finished with the choreography, she dropped her hands from around my neck, so I dropped mine from her waist, but we still stand close enough together that I can read the reluctance in her eyes. “We don’t need a spotter, I know how to fall.”
I raise both eyebrows. “You think I’m going to chance you getting injured right before you open a show?”
“I thought you hated Swan Lake.”
“Just because I think classical ballet is boring doesn’t mean I don’t understand what it means to you.”
She opens her mouth and I expect one of her fiery comebacks, but instead all she says is “Thank you.”
I mask my surprise at her genuine thanks. “For what?”
“For respecting me and my career.”
My jaw clenches. “You don’t have to thank me for the bare minimum, Allegra.”
She shuffles a step away as if the small distance between us can keep me from seeing too much.
I clear my throat, needing this lesson to come to an end even more than she does. “Anyway. It’s getting late. Do you need a ride home?”
She shakes her head. “Subway is fine.” She crosses the studio to the sitting area and gathers her things. “I have a dress rehearsal Tuesday evening and a show on Saturday, so I won’t be around for another lesson.”
I nod. “I figured as much. We can finish working on the piece next week. Tuesday?” I make my voice casual but can’t deny that I want to know when I’ll see her again.
“Sounds good.” She takes her time slipping into her sweatshirt and stepping into her joggers and Uggs.
I watch her the entire time, my eyes unable to pull away. “Next week is our last week before auditions, right?” She’s ready, I know she is. But the real question is whether or not she knows she is.
Her face falls slightly. “Yeah, that’s right.”
“And the weekend after auditions is your sister’s wedding?” It’s a cursory question because I know exactly when the wedding is. “How is planning going?”
“You are not actually coming with me to my sister’s wedding.”
“You think I’m going to disappoint Bethany on her big day?”
“How do you know my sister’s—you know what? I don’t want to know.” She throws her bag over her shoulder and heads toward the door. “See you next week, Cord.”
“Merde, Slippers.”
It isn’t until she’s already out the door that I realize I might have fucked up, bestowing her with the traditional send-off ballet dancers give to one another before a show.
Oh well. There’s no way she hasn’t figured out something about my training by now. But she clearly doesn’t know the whole story, at least not yet. Or she wouldn’t keep coming back here.