26. 26
Harlow
The dance studio is nice. It looks new. The cars in the parking lot are high end and the people filtering inside look like this isn’t a hobby — it’s a career.
I wander into the lobby, feeling lost. Nobody is at the front desk.
People of all ages file down the halls, turning into different classrooms. I glance inside the windows as I pass.
Instructors lead various types of dance and the students look about the same ages.
At the end of the hall, I finally come upon Killian.
There are four young-adult students, but it’s the second instructor who makes me do a double take.
Frida, his ex. Why would he work with her?
He wears all black and holds his chin as he studies a pair doing what looks like complicated footwork. Suddenly, the woman slides onto the hardwood floor and is dragged by her partner.
Killian shakes his head. Frida is already at his side. She slides into position and he demonstrates the move they just did, but far better. I never pictured Killian being able to do this kind of dancing. I thought he was too spoiled to apply himself to anything.
And with Frida at his side, they are beautiful together. The lines of their bodies flow with one another beautifully.
It’s rare I look in the mirror and compare myself to another woman.
Especially a woman as different as Frida.
She has subtle curves, and they’re a perfect hourglass.
I have an ass that pulls attention even when I wish it didn’t.
I can’t just cover it up with something baggy.
She’s much more slender, too. Her arms are so graceful when she moves.
I squint, just now realizing my upper arms are much thicker than I thought. And maybe worse... am I really that short?
Killian and me doing this dance would look absolutely ridiculous.
My chest tightens as a sense of unease sinks in. It’s moments like this I remember how different we are.
The song ends, and students clap. He helps Frida stand before dipping her playfully.
I hold my breath and step inside the classroom. The door shuts behind me with a loud thud. I flinch hard. Everyone looks over. Killian’s face lights up, and he literally drops Frida on the floor.
“Killian! Ow!” she belts out.
“Oops, sorry,” he says without sincerity and jogs toward me.
I cover my mouth to hide my smile.
Freaking Killian.
“You’re here,” he says, astonished.
“I am. What dance was that?”
“Paso Doble. This is the advanced Latin ballroom class.”
“I didn’t know you were so... you do ballroom?”
“Mm-hm. I know all of them. Jazz, hip hop, contemporary. I’ve been dancing since I was a kid.
Frida was my partner.” He points at a large picture on the wall above a bench.
It’s a picture of Killian and Frida at a competition.
The visual is stunning. She’s wearing almost nothing, yet looks like glamor defined.
Killian is striking, commanding the dance floor.
“We were the best in the world at one point.” He narrows his eyes and glances around the room. “Frida,” he calls out. “Where’s the picture of me and Asher in the music video?”
“I took it down,” she shouts across the room.
He chuckles. “Frida will always hate Asher.”
“You were in music videos?”
“Yep. I was a great backup dancer at concerts, too. But none of it pays much unless you have a studio like Frida.”
“I had no idea. Why did you stop?”
“Dad wanted me to be a doctor. I decided to be neither.” Then he shrugs, as if his lifelong craft is meaningless. “Want to try this dance?”
But he takes my hand and practically drags me to the other side of the room. I glance at the others. They watch, but Frida soon redirects the students to practice.
“Kill— I don’t know how,” I panic.
He brings me close and places his hand on my back. “I’ll show you.”
Of course, we don’t line up at all. Our reflection in the wall-sized mirror is comical, especially with my ass sticking out.
“Don’t be nervous,” he soothes.
He can tell I’m anxious, and that doesn’t help. He begins guiding me, showing me the steps. I am a hell of a club dancer, but this is foreign territory. I mess up, trip over his feet, predict the wrong direction. I’m a disaster.
I tip my head back and he’s wearing that crooked smile I love so much. He isn’t frustrated, and that’s surprising. It makes my mistakes easier to laugh about.
“I am so terrible at this,” I say, giggling softly.
He slows and his hand presses my body flush with his. I nearly melt against his warmth. He lowers his head and murmurs, “You’re doing so good, Harlow.”
I blush, and when I peek at our reflection again, we look better together.
At least, that’s what I want to believe.
“You can come here on your lunch break. I’ll teach you,” he says abruptly.
I furrow my brow. “When will I eat?”
He stops and searches the floor. “I’ll have it delivered.”
“I’m already really busy. I have a time limit. In fact, I need to get on the road before my next class starts.”
He sighs under his breath and nods, slow and maybe even disappointed.
Who is this man? Because he sure seems interested in moments like this, then doesn’t. The Killian I knew would steal a kiss or touch my butt. He definitely would say lewd things to make me squirm.
I can’t take it. This feels too good, and I want more. I just have to know. I have to.
“Killian,” I murmur and stare straight at our shoes because I can’t look him in the eye. “I have feelings for you. I know you want sex, but I need more.”
Silence.
Then—
“More?”
I almost groan, but I summon enough courage to look up. I expect a taunting smile in response to my vulnerable confession, but his expression isn’t playful at all. It’s stern and intense.
“Yeah. I want more, Kill. I don’t want to just sleep with each other. I want... I don’t know. I want you.”
“Why do you have to be like this?” he scolds, his tone sharp and impatient. “The sex is—”
He stops himself, and balls his fists. His nostrils flare. I don’t understand why he’s reacting this way.
“The sex is great,” I finish his sentence for him. “But it isn’t enough for me.”
“Why?” he hisses.
I lift my chin. “You know why. You of all people have to know I am not the type of woman who can sleep with a guy and it mean nothing. Being with you never means nothing, Killian.”
His jaw clenches, making the muscles bulge.
To my surprise, he takes my hands in his, and in an exasperated tone, he asks, “Why can’t we just have fun?”
“Because I’m in love with you, you idiot!”
I gasp and cover my mouth with both hands, horrified with myself. Frida and students stop what they’re doing. Their gaze burns my skin.
Damn it, Harlow. Why? My heart is already on the table. I didn’t need to hand him a knife in front of an audience.
As if this nightmare isn’t bad enough, Killian doesn’t respond with his own declaration of love.
He steps back and side-eyes me, as if I just told a stranger I loved him and they thought something is wrong with me.
There are no words to describe how painful this feels. Killian has become my world in so many ways, and at this moment, I’ve never felt so wrong about someone.
I rush out of the building.
He doesn’t feel the same way. That’s clear. We’ll never be together. That was the proof I needed.
And God, I regret it.
Because now?
It’s over.