Chapter 24 #2
My phone buzzes as I’m pulling my sneakers out of my bag, muscles still trembling from the last sequence. I glance at the screen and feel that stupid, traitorous flutter in my chest.
Dane.
I swipe to answer. “Hey.”
“Hey,” he says, voice deep, low—rough in that way it gets when he’s been talking business all day. “You finished?”
“Just walked out.” I sink onto a bench in the hallway, letting my back hit the wall. “How’d your meeting go?”
“Long.” A dry exhale. “I’ve got a dinner now. Trying very hard not to stab someone, but we’ll see how the night plays out.”
A smile pulls at my lips. “Charming.”
He ignores that. “Did you talk to Sloane?”
I pull a face he can’t see. “Yeah. This morning.”
“And?” he asks, but the tone tells me he already has a guess.
“She knows,” I say. “I told her.”
“You told her,” he repeats, and I hear something shift in him. “Good.” Then, after a beat, “I figured she knew, anyway.”
My brows lift. “How?”
“Because she kept looking at me today like she finally solved a math equation she’s been staring at for three years, She’s terrible at pretending she isn’t thinking something.”
A laugh escapes me before I can stop it. “Yeah, that’s Sloane.”
“How was rehearsal?” he asks, and I can picture him leaning back in some black car with tinted windows, jacket off, tie loosened, looking sexy as hell.
“Exhausting,” I admit. “We ran the swing break four times, then the finale. I think my feet hate me.”
“And the lifts?” he says, too casually to actually be casual.
I groan. “Oh my God, are you still on this?”
“Just making sure no one dropped you,” he replies, sounding smug. “Or touched you too long.”
“Dane.”
“What?” he says, all innocence. “Workplace safety is very important.”
I cover my eyes with my hand, laughing under my breath. “You’re crazy.”
“Only when it comes to you.”
My heart does a weird little flip that I try very hard to ignore.
He clears his throat. “I’ll send Kent to pick you up for dinner.”
“What dinner?”
“The one you’re now going to have at my place,” he says. “I’ll be back late, but you can settle in—”
“No,” I say a little too quick. “I—I can’t tonight.”
There’s a pause. Not cold, not irritated. Just... waiting.
“I need to take Elsie to the school bus in the morning,” I add, which is true. The rest—that I can already feel myself leaning too far toward him—is the part I swallow down.
“Right,” he says, and I can hear the faint disappointment in his tone. “Then another night.”
“Yeah,” I say, tone soft. “Another night.”
He exhales, quieter this time. “Alright. I have to go. Try not to exhaust yourself before I get to see you again.”
“I’m a professional,” I say, pretending I don’t feel warm all over.
“That’s one word for you,” he murmurs, and I can hear his smirk. “Goodnight, Ivy.”
“Goodnight.”
I hang up and stare at my phone for a long moment, pretending my pulse isn’t doing cartwheels. Pretending that I don’t miss him already.
Too late, my brain whispers. Way, way too late.
I startle when soft hands land on my shoulders from behind, Jennie’s citrusy perfume washing over me.
“I hope you’re not running off without saying goodbye.” She drops onto the bench next to me, legs stretched out before her.
“As if I would dare.” I grin.
“You’re still alive, then. Even in my tequila-induced haze, Sloane sounded pretty mad.”
“It’s fine. Sort of sorted. Thanks for dealing with that, you definitely softened the blow.”
“That’s what friends are for.” She studies me for a moment, then tucks a stray hair behind my ear. “You look half-dead.”
“Long night,” I say, trying—and failing—to smother the stupid grin tugging at my mouth.
Jennie narrows her eyes. “Ugh. So jealous. Come for a drink and tell me everything.”
“Okay, you’re on. How’s Brody?”
“Mmm.” She frowns. “Come on, let’s go. I’ll tell you all about it.”
She links her arm through mine and pulls me toward the exit, talking a mile a minute, and just like that, my tiredness begins to lift.
The apartment is dark and quiet when I slip inside, the only sound the soft buzz of the fridge and the faint whistle of the radiator. Sloane and Elsie must have gone to bed; Elsie’s door is cracked enough for me to see the glow of her night-light spilling across the hallway floor.
I drop my dance bag by the couch and head straight for the kitchen, suddenly aware of how empty my stomach is.
Dinner was a minute between choreography drills and costume notes, and now I’m scavenging like some kind of nocturnal creature.
I end up making a grilled cheese, burning the first side because my eyes keep drifting, unfocused, replaying last night at Dane’s house.
When I close my eyes, I can still feel his hands tracing every inch of my skin, his body pressed against mine.
How he breathed my name like it meant something.
By the time I crawl into bed, sleep should hit me like a brick. I only had a handful of hours last night—if that. But instead I’m wide awake, staring at the ceiling, skin warm and prickling with memories I can’t shove aside.
I roll onto my side, exhaling through parted lips. The sheets feel too cool without him. My body feels too awake. My brain stuck on replay.
I grab my phone on instinct, thumb hovering over his name, trying to decide if texting him at nearly midnight is insane—
The screen lights up.
dane
You still awake?
My pulse jumps.
me
Yeah. Can't sleep.
The response comes almost instantly.
dane
I’m on my way home from dinner. Can I swing by?
I sit up so fast the mattress squeaks.
me
But Sloane and Elsie are asleep.
dane
I’ll be quiet.
There’s a pause as the dots flicker.
Then another message:
dane
Five minutes.
I swear my heart forgets how to function for a full second. It’s reckless and stupid and exactly what I want.
I tiptoe to the front door when he texts that he’s outside. The hallway light casts him in a soft glow—navy jacket, open collar, hair slightly mussed like he ran a hand through it on the ride over. He looks unfairly good for someone who’s worked since sunrise.
He steps inside without a word, closing the door with a soft click. His eyes crinkle when they meet mine, a quiet smile curving his mouth, and it takes everything in me not to grab him right there in the hallway.
We move quietly—almost comically so—as I lead him to my room.
Once the door is shut behind us, he cups my face in his hands and presses a lingering kiss on my lips.
“You came,” I whisper, aware of how breathless I sound.
He steps closer, fingertips brushing the side of my jaw in a feather-light caress. “Try and stop me.”
The heat in his eyes steals whatever clever response I might’ve had.
He peels off his jacket, then his shirt, muscles shifting in the glow of my bedside lamp. He unbuckles his belt and steps out of his pants, leaving only dark boxers that cling like temptation.
“You’re getting way too comfortable for someone who said five minutes,” I tease.
He gives me that devastating smile that’s impossible to resist. “Shall we sleep, Ivy? I always sleep better with you.” He rubs the pad of his thumb softly on my chin. “I’ll leave before anyone wakes.”
I just nod, taking his hand as he climbs into bed, pulling me against his chest. His arm wraps around my waist, firm and protective, and the moment my cheek presses against his shoulder, a quiet part of me soothes—some tight, restless knot unraveling.
His breath evens long before mine does, warm against my forehead, steady and grounding. I trace patterns on his ribs with the tip of my finger, committing the moment to memory.
At some point, sleep finally catches up.
When my eyes blink open a few hours later, the room is faintly gray with early dawn. The bed is cooled on his side, the pillow indented, the sheets still smelling of his cologne.
He’s gone.
And taken my stupid heart with him.
This time, I fear for good.