Page 82 of Rookie Season
Ally
I’m at the studio…but not going to lie, I like the sound of that.
Noah
I’m already on my way.
And holy hell, if that doesn’t make my entire body break into prickles of anticipation.
“That!” Cora suddenly exclaims, pointing an almost accusing finger at me.
“What?” I tear my eyes from my phone screen.
“That smirk.”
“Cora, I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I say with a laugh.
“When Noah texted, you got this almost feral look on your face.” She looks at me with a grin. “No offense.”
“None taken.” I lift a brow. “Go on…”
“You looked at your phone like you werehungry.Like there was endless possibility in whatever he texted you—spare me the gory details—and you were ready to leap right into wherever that possibility might take you.”
Her words land exactly where I need them to, a sudden understanding that I didn’t see before settling over me.
Iusedto pour every emotion into my dancing. Every part of myself. When I was a kid, I expressed my fears, my joy. In my teen years, my angsty frustrations. And as I grew into an adult, my femininity also became a part of how I danced. The part of me that felt confident in being a woman and expressing how strong and vibrant I felt. Embracing my body and channeling all of that passion into my creative outlet, same as I’d always done with everything else I felt.
But Tyler’s accusations that I was teasing him, using my body to make him want me when we danced together, now linger at the back of my mind.
Logically, I know his accusations are false. Like Noah and I talked about, Tyler alone was responsible for Tyler’s actions. But I think that sometimes, the human mind copes by overpowering logic, and for me, turning off the emotional connection between my brain and my body was a protective measure to keep myself safe.
And when I started dancing again a few weeks ago, I allowed myself to start feeling again. Powerful. Fierce. Competent. Angry. Happy.
But I haven’t let myself feel sexy as I dance. Not once—except for the night Noah and I danced together during that stupid game, when that part of me came alive again as I moved.
It’s so clear to me now: for ourExpressionsauditions,we’re meant to tell the story of ourselves. But the story I’ve been telling in my routine hasn’t included how I feel about Noah. It’s the missing piece.
“Am I right or am I right?” Cora prompts me as I stand quietly, processing all of this.
“You’re right,” I tell my friend, shaking my head. “You’re one hundred percent right.”
“I know.” She grins as she grabs her jacket and throws it on, zipping it up as she adds, “Not just a pretty face over here, you know.”
“I never doubted that.”
“Good.” She bumps my hip with hers as she shimmies past me. “Find that emotion in your piece, and you’ll be incredible. Mark my words.” She raises her eyebrows. “Okay, I gotta bounce now, I have a date with a very hot bath.”
We say our goodbyes, and she heads out. But instead of getting ready to leave as well, I pace around impatiently, waiting for Noah.
When the front door finally opens, I run before I can think. Noah catches me in his arms easily, pulling my body to his. He’s wearing a soft turquoise Lions tee that molds to his upper body. I press my face into his warm, solid chest, inhaling his familiar, comforting smell, and the soft thud of his heartbeat.
“Welcome home,” I murmur.
“I missed you,” he tells me, pulling back slightly so he can look down at me, his hand moving to push a stray lock of hair off my forehead.
“Same.” My heart catches in my throat. “I’m so happy you’re back.”
“Me too.” He presses a feather soft kiss to my cheek andlowers his voice as he says, “Is this the part where I drag you home, so I get you all to myself for the next twelve hours?”
