7. Rowan
ROWAN
I don’t expect to see Samson again. Certainly not as soon as the following afternoon.
But as my “Adult Introduction to Ballet” class files through the doors to the studio, there’s a familiar grump among them.
What the heck is he doing here?
I mean, sure, he needs dance lessons. I’m not sure I’ve ever met anyone more in need of them than Samson. But taking part in a class? A ballet class?
Wasn’t what I expected. But that’s Samson. Constantly surprising me.
I shouldn’t like it as much as I do. Not if I want to keep my life uncomplicated. And I do. I can’t let anyone close now. Every time I find happiness, it’s taken from me.
Last time, it was in the worst possible way.
I’m not subjecting Samson to the same fate.
I greet everyone who enters, encouraging them to don the ballet shoes they were told to purchase in advance. I hear the same comments I always do about how they don’t look how they expected them to.
I haven’t got the heart to tell them they won’t be dancing on pointe for several years, if at all. Nor how painful it can be. I want them to develop a love for ballet, for how exciting it can be, not scare them off.
The only student I actively avoid is Samson. The corner of his lips curls up when I pass by him, like he finds my aversion amusing. When he pulls out a pair of simple black ballet shoes, I fight to hide my surprise.
Not only has he shown up to the class, he’s come prepared.
When everyone is ready, I clear my throat and sweep my arms wide.
“Hello and welcome to Rhythm Studio. This class will cover the most basic principles of ballet. You don’t need to have any experience at all, and I promise this is a safe space.
There’s no judgment. All of you are beginners.
Most importantly, we’re going to have fun! ”
One or two of the faces smile at this, but everyone else seems to be questioning all the choices they made that led to this moment. Everyone except Samson, who has his arms folded over his chest, his gorgeously hewn face not betraying any emotion at all.
“Please find a space on the floor, and we’ll get started.”
Everyone cringes and slinks against the back wall. I bite back my sigh. This always happens during the first few lessons. No one wants to be at the front, but they can’t dance if they don’t have the space to.
Surprise catches me as a figure detaches from the herd. Samson strides confidently to the front and center, shaking out his limbs.
A few people exchange uncertain looks, creeping forward a step or two. I’m about to encourage them closer when Samson suddenly speaks. “Come on, you heard him. Why are you here if you’re going to be a chickenshit about it?”
I almost choke at his words, but they work. There are a few chuckles and sheepish faces, but everyone falls into a neat line on either side of Samson.
He raises an eyebrow at me, and I incline my head in thanks, my heart pounding in my chest. “Great. Let’s get warmed up with some simple stretches.”
I try not to pay more attention to Samson than anyone else during the class.
I fail.
Miserably.
I can’t seem to help myself. My eyes seek him out without my permission. My hands linger longer than appropriate when I correct his posture.
Not that he seems to mind. His little smirk whenever I touch him tells me everything I need to remember and very little about what I should forget.
This man is trouble. Dangerous. Intriguing. And while I might get off on all of these things, I don’t need them in my life.
Not again.
Not after what I experienced, what I saw with my own two eyes. I’ve had enough danger and trouble to last my entire life.
“Oh, no, more like this,” I say with a smile as I move up to a woman who is trying her best to get into second position. I demonstrate the correct stance and add, “Like my old teacher used to say, our feet are allowed to be friends, but they aren’t dating when in second. No touching allowed here!”
She grins at me, and I move on to someone else, correcting them with smiles and words of praise. Samson is doing well, his agility slightly frightening, the sight of his muscles bunching under his thin sweatpants detrimental.
The hour drags like it never has before. I have to concentrate far harder than usual just to get through it. My smile never slips from my face. I doubt any of the students know I’m distracted.
Except Samson. From the intensity in how he watches, he knows.
I think I distract him, too. His eyes don’t leave me for even a second. I don’t think it’s got anything to do with learning the moves.
It’s because of me.
“That’s it for tonight,” I say as the class finally comes to an end. “Just a reminder that you will have a different instructor for the next two sessions as I’m preparing for the big show. But don’t worry, they will be just as friendly and patient as I am.”
I bid everyone farewell, encouraging them to come back next week.
I already know which ones will. They won’t necessarily have been the strongest dancers tonight, but the most enthusiastic ones.
They’re the ones who had something unlocked in them by the freedom of movement.
Who felt lighter as the music took over.
Who weren’t so bogged down by the position of their feet or their posture.
But all the same, dance is like any craft. Talent is a great start, but you need dedication to take it far. Dedication and hard work. Not everyone is cut out for it.
Samson leans against the wall as everyone leaves, stoic mask in place and arms crossed over that massive chest again.
I suspect he will be back too, but not for the same reason. He was one of those who took something extra from the class tonight, but I’m not sure if it was because of the dancing…or the teacher.
When the final student leaves, I finally turn to Samson. “Well?”
A brow rises. “Well what?”
“What did you think?” I ask. “Is ballet everything you thought it would be?”
He rubs a hand over his beard. “S’alright. Be better with axes.”
“Yes, I remember when the New York City Ballet performed with them in The Nutcracker. Gave the show a whole new meaning.”
Samson grins, and the sight makes my knees weak. “Cracking nuts with axes does sound fun.”
“While pirouetting.”
“Is that the thing you do on one leg?” He twirls his finger in the air to demonstrate.
“Yes.”
“Can you show me?”
I pause as I’m reaching for my water. “A pirouette?”
“No, cracking nuts with axes,” he deadpans. “Yes, a pirouette. You can do one, right?”
I scoff, immediately moving to the middle of the floor. “Puh-lease. Like breathing air.”
I don’t rush. I take a deep breath, centering myself. Then, I choose Samson as my fixed point and rise up on my toes.
Then I’m twirling.
The world falls away as I spin and spin, my leg kicking out on each rotation to keep me upright. There’s nothing except glimpses of Samson. The point I return to each time.
I spin for longer than I have in years. I’m showing off a little; I can’t help it. I shouldn’t want to impress this man. Being who he is, there’s probably little that impresses him.
But as I come to a stop, I realize I’ve done just that.
“That was beautiful,” he breathes. His arms are loose by his sides now, and he takes a step closer. “You move, and I’m moved.”
I give a shaky laugh. “Very poetic.”
“I stole it from Hozier. But it stands.”
“Hozier?”
“He’s a musician…” Samson scowls. “Don’t tell me you’ve got terrible music taste. Cade’s bad enough.”
A sour taste blossoms in my mouth. “Cade?”
“My brother,” he grunts, making the taste disappear. “Terrible fucking taste in music. Stuck somewhere in the nineties, and not the good nineties. The cheesy pop era.”
I give a mock shiver. “With the tacky, choreographed boy band dances? No, thanks.”
“Good. Already got one Cade in my life, I don’t have room for another.”
I drift forward a few inches. Somehow, we’re almost close enough to touch. “Wasn’t aware that I’m in your life.”
“You shouldn’t be,” he murmurs. One of his hands reaches out to rest on my hip. The one where my sheet music resides. “You’re not meant to be.”
“Well, if you don’t like my company, you could just…stop showing up.”
“If only it were that easy.”
I put a hand on his chest. To push him away, I tell myself. But instead, I seek out his heart. I bite my lip when I find it racing in time with my own.
His gaze snags on where my teeth are sinking into my lip. “You’re too goddamned hot for your own good.”
“I know I am.”
Samson chuckles. “Not lacking in confidence. I like that.”
His nose brushes against mine, and I suck in a breath. What am I doing? Random hookups are fine, but this isn’t that. Far from it.
I take a deep breath and step back. Then step back some more. “I can’t.”
Samson shifts on his feet, his eyes not moving from my face. “That’s supposed to be my line.”
My eyes narrow. “What do you mean?”
“Nothing.” He rakes a hand over his face. “Ignore me. Why can’t you do whatever we were or weren’t about to do?”
“Come on.” I roll my eyes with a huff. “We both know you were about five seconds away from kissing me.”
“There’s that ego again.”
“And there’s that stubborn bastard,” I shoot back with a grin. God, I shouldn’t love fighting with him like this, but I do. I fucking do. There’s something wrong with me.
That’s not exactly news.
My grin fades from my face as I remember what being close to me means. What it costs. “You’re my student now. It would be inappropriate.”
“I’m not that kind of student.”
“I know,” I say, my shoulders dropping slightly. “But all of this feels…dangerous.”
His tongue runs along his front teeth, but he says nothing.
“Are you dangerous, Samson?” I ask, my voice low.
“I can be.”
The way he says that, the tone of his voice… A threat, a promise. But then he takes a step back and runs a hand through his hair. Disappointment floods me, an unexpected wave that pulls me under for just a moment.
But then he opens his mouth and all feels right in the world once more.
“Let’s go grab something to eat.”