Page 81 of Rookie Season
“Well, damn girl!”Cora exclaims before she sticks her fingers in her mouth and whistles.
My cheeks—already red from exertion—grow warmer as I cross the dance floor to retrieve my water bottle from a table in the corner, taking long, slow inhales to catch my breath before taking a swig.
“It needs work,” I tell Cora.
The two of us are currently at Golden Gate Grooves after hours. I’ve been here every night after work since deciding I’m going to audition forExpressions, practicing my routine relentlessly. My knees are basically two huge bruises, and my toes are a bleeding, taped-up mess, but I’m pushing as hard as I can until it’s as perfect as I can make it.
I’m frustrated with my lack of progress, though. I know my choreography is solid, showcasing my range as a dancer, but something about my routine is still not gelling the way I want it to. It’s missing afeeling, and I wish I could put my finger on the pulse of exactly what that feeling is.
“It’s technically perfect,” my friend says thoughtfully. “But I think it’s possibly?—”
“Lacking emotion,” I fill in the blank for her, and she nods awkwardly.
“If I absolutelyhadto give you a critique,” she says, pinching her index finger and thumb together. “I’d say maybe a teensy bit?”
I laugh, charmed by her reluctance to say anything negative about my performance. “Don’t worry, I appreciate honesty, and I welcome your opinion.”
This makes Cora smile. “Good. Means we’re real friends.”
“Exactly,” I nod, then redirect the conversation, not wanting my dance to hog our whole evening. “You want to show me your piece now?”
“For sure!” Cora’s on her feet in an instant, and I sink into the chair she was just occupying.
She decided to join me tonight for this very reason—so we could work on our audition pieces together and critique each other—and I’m glad for the company, especially as the boys have been gone for the past three days.
Even though I’ve been holed up in the studio for most of each day, I’ve missed them all, eagerly reading every update they send in our group text conversation, but more than that, specifically awaiting Noah’s direct texts for my eyes only. So many texts over the past few days, some checking in to see how I am and how my day was, some so flirty and playful they make my stomach spark with anticipation.
His plane should be landing soon.
The thought—Noah being back in the loft tonight—has my heart speeding up. Hopefully with his arms back around me as we sleep. I’ve missed the warmth of his body next to mine over the past few nights. So much so that the first night he left, I even snuck into his room and stole one of his hoodies to sleep in. It’s huge, soft, and smells just like him…I’m never giving it back. But maybe even more than that, I’ve just missedhim.Our late night talks that end with him sneaking into the kitchen at one in the morning to grab us snacks; his surprisingly sharp, understated wit that makes me smile; those brown eyes that watch me intently, really listening every time I speak.
I smile to myself as I curl my legs up on the chair in front of me and watch Cora dance to her chosen song ‘Confident’—her confidence seeping through in every move, confirming it’s the perfect song for her. She manages to look simultaneously fierce and full of heart as she dances, and it brings me chills. She’s amazing.
When she finishes, I jump to my feet, applauding—even though my stomach is plummeting. I could feel her routine, sense the emotions she was trying to convey through her movements. It makes me even more insecure about mine.
“The casting directors would be dumb not to offer you a role,” I tell her. My words aren’t even to amp her up, it’s just the honest truth.
“Right?” she responds with a laugh, doing an exaggerated hair flip before her face turns serious. “Now hit me with your feedback.”
I tell her about some footwork midway through the dance that could be sharpened up, but other than that I have nothing. We chat for a little longer before my phone pings next to me. I grab it with the speed of an Olympic sprinter.
Noah
Just landed. Are you at the loft?
Noah
You better be, or I might find you and drag you home.
The deliciously playful threat has my stomach swooping.
Beside me, Cora chuckles. “Is that your loverboy roommate?”
“It’s Noah,” I confirm, her word choice making me smile. Noah hasn’t made a single move on me since the first night we kissed, but he slept next to me every night until the day he left for Canada. I get the distinct feeling that he’s holding off because he’s trying to prove to me that I can trust him.
Because Noah isthatguy. A gentleman.
The guy who would put my needs before his any day of the week. The thought warms me to the core, and after being away from him for the past three days, what I need more than anything right now is to be the one to show him what he means to me. Show him I trust him. That I care for him as much as he’s made it clear he cares for me.
