3. Rowan
ROWAN
My hot encounter with the lumberjack-esque stranger is a distraction, all right. One I can’t stop thinking about.
Even if I’m starting to wish I could.
If we’d had sex—hell, if he’d gotten off—maybe I’d be able to forget about it. But I can’t. I lie awake at night with the ghost of his rough palms on my thighs. Trying to emulate the tight heat of his mouth with my own hand. Fantasizing about him saying my name—one he doesn’t even know.
In my dreams he does. There, everything is different.
But then I wake up to the reality that is my life.
Today hasn’t gotten off to a good start. My miniature dachshund, Nugget, ate both my TV remote and part of a potted plant. He also left me a tiny package of poop under a bookshelf. I hit my head while cleaning it up.
Then I’m greeted by an empty container of oat milk and an error light flashing on my coffee machine.
As if that’s not enough, the date on the calendar mocks me as I walk past to leave—a reminder of why I need so many distractions these days. The anniversary that’s rapidly approaching, whether I want it to or not.
I enter the studio to find my friends gathered in a circle. Sitting on the floor cross-legged, each of them looks up at me expectantly.
“Oh god. Can we not?” I say lightly, dropping a box of homemade cookies on a table against the wall. “I’m not in the mood.”
“You’re never in the mood to talk about it,” Marcy says quietly, her wide brown eyes solemn. “But you should. It’s not healthy to bottle your feelings up the way you have been. We’ve all noticed how hard you’ve been working. You’ve barely left the studio since we went to Rounds last week.”
“It’s fine.” I force my smile into place. “I’m fine. Everything is fine.”
Shane and Clay exchange a loaded look before the latter speaks. “You keep saying that, but we know you’re not. In two weeks it will have been a year, and—”
“I’m well aware of the date,” I snap.
Clay reels back, shocked. It’s an expression that’s mirrored on the other faces in the circle.
I take several deep breaths and smooth down my shirt. They’ve never seen me like this, untethered and unhinged. But it’s becoming worse with each day, each minute. I feel like I’m spiraling entirely.
When I’m certain I have myself under control, I smile once more. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to snap. But I really, really don’t want to talk about it. I can’t.”
“None of us will judge you if you want to take a break,” Shane says.
“No, this is what I need.” I add another smile to take the bite out of my words. “Come on. Into position, everyone.”
There’s a pause before everyone scrambles to do as I say.
I don’t meet anyone’s eyes in the mirror as I call out the beat.
Not even my own.
I stay far longer than anyone else, dancing despite the ache in my feet. I know there’ll be blood when I take off my pointe shoes, but I don’t care.
If I stop, I’ll think. And if I think, I’ll remember.
I can’t do that. Not today. Not this week.
All of my friends offered to keep me company, but I ushered them away. I don’t need company. There’s only ever been one person who was truly able to lift my mood. I might appear like liquid sunshine, but it’s a facade, a disguise.
Only he ever saw what lies beneath. Saw it and embraced it.
But he can’t cheer me up this time.
Not when he’s the reason I’m feeling this way.
It’s your fault he’s dead.
The thought sends me stumbling out of my pirouette. I catch myself and brace my hands on my knees. With my eyes closed, I take several deep breaths.
Don’t think about him.
Keep moving.
Keep moving.
The sound of slow clapping has my eyes flying open. I whirl around to see the man from Rounds lounging against the wall. He’s wearing a leather jacket this time, and dark jeans. He looks good. Dangerous, even. My cock stirs.
“Very impressive.”
My eyes dart to the door. The bolt I slid across after everyone left is still in place. “How did you get in here?”
He smirks. “I’m a man of many talents.”
My blood heats. “I remember.”
A shadow passes over his face before he smooths it away. I wait for him to say more. To explain how he made it into a locked room without me seeing or hearing him. Or how he found me in the first place.
But he just watches me.
I flash back to the other night. To how he watched me on the bed before taking me apart with his hands and mouth. The memory loosens my tongue. “Was I so captivating that you had to resort to illegal activities to track me down?”
“Someone’s got an ego.” His eyes slowly roll down my body. “And illegal is fun.”
I move until I’m in front of him, close enough for my pointe shoes to brush against his steel-toe boots. “I never break the law, so I wouldn’t know, and my ego is a well-deserved one, given you’re stalking me after one night together and you don’t even know my name.”
“Oh, I know your name, Rowan Mitchell.” The syllables drip like honey from his tongue. “I know more than you think.”
I should step away, I know this. This man is waving more red flags than a bullfighter.
But he’s also distracting me. It’s hard to think with him this close.
Which is exactly what I need.
I smile and tilt my head. “That doesn’t seem fair. I don’t know anything about you…other than that you’re a terrible dancer.”
He scowls. “There are other things I’m good at, as you know.” I blush, and he adds, “And I am not a terrible dancer. I’ve been practicing. And practice makes fucking perfect.”
Aw, now I feel bad. I didn’t realize he felt strongly about dance. I arch an eyebrow and step to the side. “Oh? Really. Go on, then. Show me.”
The lines on his forehead deepen. “Now? Here?”
“We are in a dance studio.” I laugh. “But don’t worry. I’ll let you off in exchange for your name.”
“Those are my options? To dance or give you my name?”
“One does seem easier than the other…”
“Samson,” he blurts out. His eyes widen like he’s surprised to hear himself say it. He sighs and then repeats himself. “My name is Samson.”
“A pleasure to meet you,” I say. “Funny how I’ve had your tongue in my ass but didn’t know your name until now.”
Samson’s lips curve. “Good to know I was memorable.”
“Oh, there was no question of that,” I say lightly. “The question remains as to what you’re doing here and how you found me.”
He puts a foot against the wall, the action brushing his knee against my thigh. My cock stirs at the gentle touch. “Your face is plastered over half the city.”
The realization falls into place. “You’ve seen the posters for the show.”
Samson hums. “Didn’t realize I got seduced by a celebrity.”
I twirl away to hide my blush, only to be confronted with the mirror that runs all the way along the wall. Fuck.
“I’m not a celebrity,” I say, sliding effortlessly into the splits. I give a small moan at the blissful stretch along my hamstrings. “Just a dancer in a show.”
“The lead dancer in the most anticipated performance of the year.”
I lift my head to see Samson’s gaze lingering on my ass. I can’t help but grin at him in the mirror. “Shame, isn’t it? You could’ve had more of this, but alas, you left…”
Samson’s gaze snaps up to my face. There’s no embarrassment there, just a hint of regret. “I had to. It was the right thing to do.”
I swing my legs around and ease into another stretch. This one has my back arching off the ground. “Do you have some sort of moral objection to fucking me? Are you closeted?”
“Fuck no,” he says gruffly, scratching at his beard. “I’m out and proud.”
“Then what is it?” I drop to the floor and twist to face him. “Oh, don’t tell me you’re in a relationship.”
“Nope.” Relief floods me at his speedy response. “I’m single.”
“Good. I can’t stand the idea that I might’ve done something wrong.”
He studies me quizzically. “Cheating is where you draw the line?”
That’s an…odd thing to say. “Draw what line?”
“Never mind,” he mutters, shaking his head. “I don’t know what I’m doing here.”
“Neither do I.” I get to my feet and put my hands on my hips. “Weren’t you meant to be telling me that?”
“Telling you what?”
Is he being deliberately obtuse? “Why you’re here.”
“Oh.” He blinks and rubs his beard again. “I thought maybe you could teach me to dance?”