Over 1 year and 8 months ago
I stand at the door checking everything over. I have my keys, my bag, snacks, my slippers, pointe shoes, extra laces, and extra hair ties. It’s part of my ritual. My parents say I’d forget my head if it wasn’t attached. I arm the flat and step out the door, then head for the lift. My thoughts are consumed by the routine I need to perfect if I want to impress the choreographers. The music for the piece plays in my head, and I close my eyes, focusing on the movements. I glide down the hall and as I reach the lift, I rise into a pointe position. I open my eyes to spot before I spin to prevent dizziness, and my eyes collide with a pair of bright green eyes. I pause and the man watches me closer. He’s leaning against the back of the lift with his arms folded across his chest, as if he’s relaxed, but I can feel the energy coming from him. He’s so tall and his body is a mass of coiled muscles as he continues watching me intently. I can’t tell if he’s angry or not.
“I’m so sorry,” I apologize as I step onto the lift, and notice the lobby button is already pushed.
I lean against the side and bow my head, carefully watching him through my loose hair. He has longish hair that hangs down his neck almost to his shoulders. His lips are full and I bite my lip wondering what they would feel like on mine. My belly tightens and I grip the railing to keep from stepping closer to him. Something about him calls to me but also scares me. I’m so inexperienced when it comes to men. My eyes leisurely trail his body. His black Henley molds to his chest and arms. He’s wearing black jeans with black combat boots. His jeans fit him good but not tight like some men are wearing these days. He moves slightly, just a bunching of his muscles, and my eyes fly up to his watching me still. Now the green is clouded, his pupils flare. He knows I was checking him out.
I close my eyes to regain control of myself, but instead all I can picture is him holding me. Him lifting me up so I can reach his lips. Me pulling on his hair as he kisses me.
“Calman…” He groans into my ear as the ding from the lift notifies us we’ve reached the lobby.
The doors are barely opened before I take off as fast as my short legs can carry me.
“Hey.” He raises his voice, but I keep going.
As we pass the doorman’s desk, he stops the man and I breathe a sigh of relief as I continue on in embarrassment.
I just eye-fucked a stranger in the elevator. I know my girlfriends would have flirted with him, but I don’t know how to do that.
Ballet is my life.
I pray I don’t run into him again as I head for the Tube to get to the studio for my first lesson of the day.
Goodreads TBR - https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/43558028-hope-s-kiss
Preorder link: https://books2read.com/HopesKiss