Page 63 of No Rhyme or Roughing
Ryder tensed, and Rowan clapped him on the back. “We still want to know why you did it.”
Why he made a fool of himself,they meant.
I rolled my eyes. “Well, I’m headed out. Ryder, you still want to go to the, er… library?”
“Absolutely. I love the library. Books are my friends. They’re?—”
I grabbed his arm and dragged him from the kitchen. “Should’ve just stopped atabsolutely.”
Teddy’s voice followed us. “Since when does Ryder fucking read?”
Rowan laughed. “Since when does Ryder smile?”
Once we got outside, laughter rolled through me. “Teddy hit on your coach.” I doubled over, hands on my knees. “It’s not okay, but I needed that.”
“He’s in for a world of trouble.” Ryder shook his head. “You think they suspect anything about us?” he asked, one hand on the open passenger door.
“What isus?” I sighed. “No, Ry. Teddy wouldn’t imagine his little sister getting into bed with his best friend.”
His cheeks reddened, and it was adorable.
I sent him a wink, feeling bold. “Or that it’s going to happen again.”
We drovethrough the tunnel into Oakland, to where my second home used to be—Savannah’s Dance Studio. I had once spent every spare moment I had inside the labyrinth of rooms I parked in front of. It was huge, with every resource a dancer could imagine. Savannah had turned out many professional dancers. And also me.
The person who knew dance better than nearly anyone, who worked so damn hard—and never made it on the stage.
I led Ryder through the double glass doors to the desk that spanned the entryway. A teenage girl looked up at us, her eyes widening. She glanced at the TV behind her, where some kind of entertainment news played, and then back at me.
It was Ryder who noticed the story first. “Syd, is that you?”
I turned. The video showed dancers in a studio. Jameson appeared first, and immediately, I knew what it was. I should have expected this to get out eventually.
The headline read:JAMESON RHYS DATING HIS CHOREOGRAPHER?
Well, there went my career up in smoke. And yet, I felt nothing. No panic. No fear. Just the sudden, overwhelming desire to ignore it.
The girl behind the desk adjusted the scarf covering her hair, trying very hard not to stare.
I smiled and stepped forward. “Hello there. Is Savannah around?”
She didn’t answer. My patience with teenagers had its limits, and before I could say something biting, a tall figure rounded the corner. Her large brown eyes smiled before her lips did. Savannah had always been the most beautiful woman I knew—the epitome of a dancer—with her dark skin, long legs, and small waist.
“Is that really you, Syd?” She opened her arms, expecting me to rush into them the way I had as a child.
And that was exactly what I did.
More than my mother, Savannah had raised me here in this studio. She loved me in a way most of my family didn’t. Having her arms around me felt like home. Shestill smelled the same, like rosemary and sage—a comforting scent.
“It’s damn good to see you,” I said as she released me.
She lifted one brow. “Language, kid.”
Biting back a laugh, I nodded. There were rules here. “Sorry.” Remembering Ryder, I motioned him forward. “This is my friend, Ryder. I’m in town for just a bit, and we’re working on a project. Do you have any available space for us?”
“For you, always.” She looked over at the girl. “Mira, set them up in Studio Seven.”
Regaining her poise, Mira nodded and stood. “Right this way.”
