Page 28 of Guarded Hearts
“Her contract. She can’t have a relationship with anyone on the tour.”
Tyler’s eyes widened. “That’s in the contract?”
“Yes. People talk. It’s just—nothing is going on. We’re putting a stop to it.”
Tyler raised his eyebrows in a look of disbelief. “Putting a stop to it? That’s what that was?”
“Yes. Today. From now on, it’s just dancing.”
“The mattress mambo has always been my favorite.”
I frowned. Mattress mambo? “We’re swing dancing.”
Tyler chuckled. “Yeah, I know. Never mind. Alyssa really thinks Mia would fire her?”
Did I think she would? I wasn’t sure. But Alyssa believed it. The risk was too great, and I understood why telling Mia wasn’t a realistic option. The situation could easily spiral out of control. Who’d bankrupt themselves for great sex?
“Yes, she thinks so. The contract says she’d be fired. Mia hired that company instead of her mother to manage everyone. Maybe they’re not so understanding. Why risk it?”
“If it’s over anyway,” Tyler reasoned, “there’s nothing to tell Mia.”
“Exactly,” I agreed with a nod, relief flowing through me like a flood. “There’s nothing to tell.”
Chapter Twelve
Alyssa
Ihadn’t touched Pasha in two weeks—not a graze, not a brush of the hand, nothing. Every night, I dreamed of him, of touching him, of my legs locked around him while he brought me to climax over and over. I’d never had so many orgasmic dreams about anyone. Each dance session was chock-full of sexual tension, and at night, my subconscious took over, offering satisfaction I couldn’t find while I was awake.
He’d finally mastered the basic steps, the hip sway, the rock step, and he and Mia had started to break apart the routine. Today, whether I liked it or not, we’d have to touch during our session. Basic steps were over. The complicated routine I’d been so happy to craft loomed in front of us.
I had taken on the male part during the joint session to give Mia the freedom to go through the whole routine and for Pasha to study it in all its broken pieces. From the sidelines, he’d watched, his face changing from amusement to a frown depending on which section of the routine Mia and I had done in slow motion.
“Worried yet?” I asked him once the door clicked closed and Mia was gone.
“No, no, no.” He took his place in the middle of the floor. “I’ll be fine.”
“You say that about everything.” Over the last few weeks, it hadn’t mattered what difficult thing he’d been asked to do by me or by Mia. His response was always the same. There was no way everything was always fine.
“I know,” he said, running through the basic steps again at a faster speed. “It’s true. Very few things are truly terrible.”
I stared at him while I thought through what he’d said. Being this far in debt was terrible. Choosing shitty boyfriends all the time was terrible. Thinking about having to move in with my sister and her awful boyfriend was terrible.
“So, like, what’s the standard? The benchmark you measure that by?” I asked.
He stopped dancing, picked up his water bottle, and poured its contents into his mouth. “Everyone is alive. Everything is okay.”
I digested his words, surprise momentarily stealing my voice. “That’s a pretty high standard for something beingfine.” What did it say about his life that he thought death was the worst thing possible? It was. But death wasn’t where my mind went first when I thought about terrible things. Did I want to ask?
“Everyone is different.” He came back to the mirror and raised his eyebrows. “Are we starting?” He extended his hand.
My hand hovered over his before I molded our palms together, our hands clasped, and I rested my other hand on his shoulder. His other hand was on my hip, but it was too low.
I cleared my throat. “You probably want to bring that other hand higher—between my ribs and shoulder blades, since you’re leading me.”
I’d considered wearing a longer shirt for this rehearsal, knowing he’d be touching my bare skin. Instead, I’d worn a sports bra and leggings.Part of teaching him the dance was hand positions, and bare skin made it easy to figure out where he’d touched and whether he was in the right spot. Now that I was standing so close to him, my justification was weak. There was so much electricity running, I could be wearing ten full coverage snowsuits and still know exactly the place where his hand had grazed my body. I hadn’t worn this to teach him the dance. I’d worn it to torture us.
He moved his hand, and my body warmed at the contact. I tried to ignore the spark of desire and covered his hand on my side with mine.
