Page 7 of The Unraveling

We slip a little at the final moment as my bare feet don’t allow me to spin quite like a ballet slipper, but no one minds and neither do we. Everyone is high on the drug of watching real professionals do what they do well.

I’m uncertain about a lot in my life. I second-guess myself. I say stupid things to baristas and I can never quite decide whether or not I can really pull off hats the way some people can, but dance? Dance I am sure of. Ballet I am good at. There is no question, and I never doubt that. I’ve never been able to afford that kind of doubt.

I laugh at the sound of the last note and fall into David’s arms, both of us shedding the personality of the characters we have just briefly inhabited. I was a coquette. He was a stallion.

Now we’re back to being what we really are. Me, a traumatized ex-ballerina with a fear of inferiority, and him, a slightly femme, extremely horned-up playboy queen.

The whole room has erupted into applause and whistling and cheering. My cheeks are flushed from the exertion and the attention and the stage lights. I forgot how warm they can be.

I return to Jane and Artie and Jordan. Arabella is nearby, too, but still on the phone.

Jane and Artie start gushing. Jane is smoking another cigarette, her black curtain bangs resting on her slightly dimming eyelashes. “You’re amazing, incredible, I’ve never seen anything like it.”

Artie seems almost offended. “I find it shocking that you didn’t tell us you could do this. My god, woman, we were at The Nutcracker tonight and it only barely came up! What other secrets are you hiding from us?”

Chapter Two

Afew hours later Jordan and I stumble into our building laughing. I am high on it all. I can’t believe something as stupid as dancing at that club made me feel like myself again.

Like a dancer.

As we wait for the elevator Jordan grabs my hand and squeezes. I look at him and squeeze back. I feel good right now. Not irritated with him. Not unhappy. Not lost. I started feeling like this a month ago and keep trying to ignore it, which just makes me act bitchy to him a lot.

Maybe things will get better.

He pulls me into the elevator and as soon as the doors close, he grabs my waist and scoops me to him while hungrily kissing my neck. His body feels strong against mine. He’s so mellow in his daily life, so I absolutely love it when he takes control. His stubble gently tickles my neck and I lean my head back and moan. He moves up to my ear and whispers, “I need to be inside you.”

Ecstasy runs through me. I put my hands in his hair and move his head so his lips are on mine. “I want you,” I whisper back.

He slides his hand up my legs, wrapping the string of my thong around his fingers and pulling hungrily at me. I move closer to him, intoxicated, as he pulls the thong down in an impressively fast and seamless motion and I step lightly, as if choreographed, out of the sliver of lace.

He touches me, reacting to how wet I am, saying gruffly into my ear, “Fuck, Jocelyn.”

He tastes so good. Touching him is as exciting as the very first time, but so much more satisfying still, now that he knows all the little spots on me that make me go crazy. Now that I recognize his natural scent and anticipate the way his hands feel in my hair and the way the hardness of his stomach feels against mine.

—

The elevator stops in time, stopping us. It’s a good thing, too, because I don’t think we would have waited. We hurry down the little hall to our flat, both of us suppressing laughter as we pass our judgmental, rude neighbor, Janice.

Once past her, I can’t help but explode with a snort.

“Shh!” he says, gently clapping a hand over my mouth and an arm around my shoulder, him laughing just as hard as I am.

He gets the big brass key into the lock, and we stumble in like a new couple in a rom-com instead of what we are, which is almost a year into domestic bliss.

We run through our small apartment, barely able to get to the bedroom fast enough. I’m pulling at his belt while he’s unbuttoning his shirt and the straps of my dress are hanging off my shoulders, exposing my breasts.

He pushes me onto the bed with just the right amount of force, and stands there for a moment to take me in.

“God, you’re beautiful. And so fucking hot.”

With this, he climbs on top of me, groaning into my neck with hunger.

I moan against the warmth of his skin, his shirt fully off now. He goes lower, taking my nipple in his teeth, where he gently flicks it with his tongue.

“Oh god,” I whisper, “please more.”

He moves his mouth to my other breast but continues to tease the first one gently between his fingers. I arch my back and inadvertently push my breast further into his mouth. He growls in pleasure.

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