Page 1 of No Rhyme or Roughing
CHAPTER ONE
SYDNEY
When reaching for your dreams, it’s always a good idea not to sleep with the boss.
I knew this. I’d reminded myself of it every step, with every touch, every time he told me I was different. I wasn’t like all those other girls who’d fallen for him—because why would I want to be like other girls?
His words, not mine.
According to him, they were needy, jealous, and just plain naïve. And once, I would have believed him. I would have reveled in his praise, basked in the way he separated me from my gender, made me special.
But this time, I knew better—or at least, I wanted to.
Girls are freaking awesome. Ourbodies do amazing things, make miracles. We’re sweet and take care of each other, even when we don’t particularly like one another. My own brother once told me that if I was ever being harassed, I shouldn’t look for a man to help me. It needed to be a woman. Only we truly understood the stakes in the dating world.
So, how did I fall for Jameson Rhys? That wasn’t even his real name, and this barely felt like real life. Me, standing here—curvy choreographer extraordinaire. Him, over there—a god among men. Which, let’s face it, wasn’t saying much considering my low opinion of the male gender.
Oh, I knew there were good ones. But untilallof them were good, we had to be cautious, guarding not only our bodies but also our bleeding hearts.
“And again,” I called out, clapping my hands. “One, two, turn on three!”
Jameson flashed a grin, his perfect mouth curving as he pivoted on one heel, launching into a flawless ballet spin. He landed with a sweeping arm and bowed dramatically.
The surrounding dancers broke into cheers and applause, and I couldn’t help but laugh. He rarely took rehearsals seriously, but this was our last one before the group I’d spent months with left on tour.
I approached him, unable to suppress my smile. “That move could use some work.” Rising onto my toes, I straightened my spine and spun once, twice, three times in quick succession.
The dancers, who I wasn’t delusional enough to call friends, clapped even louder. I dropped back onto my heels and cleared my throat, grounding myself. Thiswasn’t my old dance studio. “You’re all going to do brilliantly. Good luck out there. You have my number if you need it.”
I turned away, grimacing at my own words. They were good, but I worried I’d made the choreography too complicated for this batch of commercial dancers Jameson’s team had hired. I knew how he thought—the visuals mattered more than the actual dancing.
He jogged over as I stuffed my three water bottles into my duffel bag. “Syd, wait.”
I didn’t stop, bending to gather papers covered in scrawled combinations and notes for new moves. “Good luck out there, Jamo.”
My voice sounded small, like it had last night when Jameson asked me to join him on tour—not as his girlfriend, of course. Never that. He’d made some excuse about needing my help with the dancing, but we both knew what he really wanted—to have me on hand, hidden from view, for his convenience.
“I meant what I said.” His voice dropped. “At least consider coming with us.”
“I can’t.” I still didn’t look at him. Everything in me screamed to give in, to do what he wanted, to make him happy. Not because of who he was, but because of who I’d been ever since my tenth birthday—the day my world shattered.
He reached for my arm. “Can you just talk to me?”
I slung my bag over my shoulder and turned to face him. “I have a job.” My nails dug into the strap as I gripped it tightly. “You have no idea how much I wish I could be there for you, but you’ll have more fun without me.”
His lips pressed into a frown as he rubbed the nape of his neck. Auburn hair fell into his green eyes, and I wanted to brush it back, to see his gaze fixed on mine. He sighed. “Fine. Whatever. I’ll call you when I return to town.”
“Yeah, sure. That sounds good.” What he didn’t know was that I’d be gone by then. To where, I didn’t know. I hadn’t accepted any of the offers I’d received, struggling to make a decision—and to say no.
He didn’t kiss me goodbye, didn’t even wave as I inched toward the studio door.
By the time I reached my car, the second-guessing hit me. I didn’t want to upset him. That wasn’t in my nature. I threw my bag into the backseat of my blindingly yellow Prius and slammed the door.
This was a mistake. I knew it even as I headed toward the studio again. But when had I ever been good at making smart decisions? I’d pursued dancing despite not having the "right" physique, slept with my first big break, and come home to California.
I expected the studio to be mostly empty as dancers filed out, with Jameson alone, staying late to work on his moves like the perfectionist he was. But when I opened the door to Studio 4, he wasn’t alone.
A tall redhead pressed against his chest, her manicured nails digging into his even-more-perfect ass.
