Page 17 of Rookie Season
Teaching dance is wonderful so far, but instructing little girls under ten years old isn’t exactly a workout—and pushing my body to its limit again hurts in the best way. Helps me tune out the noise of my mind and concentrate on putting one foot in front of the other, over and over, even when it hurts so bad my legs scream at me to stop.
If I can’t dance anymore, at least I can still run,I tell myself as I finally slow the pace to a walk, bending forward to catch my breath. I already know I’ll make my way back heretomorrow, and the day after that, running towards oblivion until my body aches.
With a genuine smile, I wipe my damp face and hair with a towel and make my way back up towards 3B.
From the end of the hallway, I can already hear the thumping bassline of a popular rap song and the carry of voices yelling and whooping. The party is clearly in full swing. My plan is to sneak in and make my way straight to my room without stopping to talk to anyone. A hot date with Harry curled in my lap and a rom com playing on my laptop awaits me, because I know I’m not going to get any sleep with all the noise.
Still, when I push open the door to our loft, I’m shocked by just how many people are crammed in here. There are bodies everywhere—crowds of people taking shots by the kitchen island, playing beer pong at the dining room table, and grinding and moving together on the living room rug like it’s a nightclub dance floor.
The music is loud, the lights are dim, and I take a deep breath to center myself.
The apartment is filled with hot women dressed in equally hot outfits, so I’m sure nobody will notice the sweaty, red-faced girl in sneakers, leggings, and a baggy T-shirt creeping towards her room.
I’m wrong.
I’ve barely taken two steps in the direction of my room when a gigantic man clutching a red cup gives me an appreciative onceover, his eyes zeroing in on where my sweat-soaked, oversized shirt is slipping off one of my shoulders.
“You look hot,” he says with a smile that is dangerously close to leer territory. “Literally.”
“Good one,” I reply tartly, pasting on a sassy smile—even while I’m clenching my fists at my sides, my fingernailspressing crescent-moon-shaped divots into my palms. “Really witty. Did you come up with it yourself?”
The guy blinks through a beer-addled haze, and for a split second, I feel a little bad for my rudeness. Maybe he really was just trying to make a funny comment, and I’m being a total jerk.
But then, the guy’s hazy eyes clear, and he smiles in a way I assume he thinks is seductive. “You’re a feisty little thing. I like it. What’s your name, sweetheart?”
I really don’t want to entertain talking to him—I just want to get to my room. Without answering his question, I move to step around him. He moves with me, matching my sidestep and effectively blocking me from walking away.
“Come on, don’t be like that. I’m just messing with you; can’t you take a little joke?” The guy leans down as he speaks, his grin mocking and the scent of beer sour on his breath making my stomach lurch at the unbidden memory it conjures.
Beer-tinged breath, warm and moist against my neck as his hands wrapped around my wrists, holding them way too hard…
I know in my rational mind that we’re in a crowded room right now, that he probably means no harm and is just doing a really terrible job at attempting flirtatious banter. But my rational mind has no control over the adrenaline currently coursing through my veins.
It’s too loud in here. Too dark.
Fear prickles in my chest, and I take an involuntary step backwards.
“Watch it!” A girl shrieks as I stumble into her. Clear liquid sloshes out of her cup.
“S-sorry,” I mumble as she gives me a dirty look and turns away in disgust. Meanwhile, I scan the crowd of people for Fisher. He’s across the room, his back turned tome as he plays beer pong with a brunette in a short black skirt.
Penn is on the other side of the table, but he doesn’t see me, his face turned as he whispers something in his pretty blonde partner’s ear.
Don’t panic.
“You’re in my way,” I say tartly, and it takes every ounce of courage in me to stand firm and tilt my chin up to meet the guy’s eyes.
“Or are you in mine?” His grin widens, and he licks his lips suggestively. “Wanna dance, spitfire?”
I take another step backwards, but a hand lands on my arm, and as much as I’m trying to appear casual and unbothered, I flinch involuntarily at the contact, my eyes screwing up for a beat.
“Ally, there you are.” The voice that accompanies the hand is steady and low.
Familiar.
I open my eyes and almost faint in relief when I find Noah standing at my side. He’s wearing sweatpants, a hoodie, and an expression of supreme annoyance. I’ve never been happier to see him.
“Noah, hi,” I breathe, smiling at him. More shakily than I’d like, but smiling nonetheless. I’m unsure why on earth he was looking for me but immensely grateful that he was.
