Page 24 of Wounded Dance
The grass moved up my thigh. I was feeling it, for sure, the tiny tender blade sending a prickly charge over my skin, his hand so close I could almost feel it. That heat unfurled in me again, but not in my belly this time. Lower. It was unsettling and strong.
Denham wasn’t looking at me now, but at the slender piece of grass making its way along my leg. This was crazy, the heat, this boy, his closeness, the caress as he skimmed my body.
It moved up my thigh, daringly close to dangerous places. I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move. No one had ever acted like this. Not even in movies. Who was this boy?
The gravel crunched on the side of the house. Mom’s minivan pulling in. Denham looked up at me, his face devilishly charming. He pulled the blade of grass away. “To be continued,” he said.
As he walked back into the house, I yanked my swimsuit top back into place, covering my belly. I wanted to go in, but couldn’t yet, rooted to the chair. I closed my eyes and pictured all sorts of things, remembering Denham’s words about the rush, riding the wave, the itch that needed a really intense scratch.
And his promise.To be continued.
I shake my head to chase away those thoughts. In the hall of Dreamcatcher Dance Academy, a door opens and a mom comes out with a small crying girl in her arms. She holds the little dancer close. “I’m sorry you fell down,” the mom says and kisses the girl’s knee.
“I got hurted,” the girl says between gulping sobs.
“I’m right here,” the mom says. “You’ll be all right.”
I imagine all the hurts Gwen has kissed away for Gabriella in her four years. Then I picture Denham trying to take her away. What would he teach her, exactly? How to jack up a car and steal its tires? How to get parole?
I stand up and head over to Studio 2, where Jacob teaches his class. Blitz is inside, doing a dramatic spin for the kids. They try to follow his example, and Blitz instructs them in how to adjust. He’s good. Good with the little girls, the energetic boys.
Good with me.
I turn to head into one of the empty studios. There’s always one thing I can do to help me through my anxiety and fear.
Dance.
Chapter 11
Wednesday is our free day. No class to teach. No class to take.
Sometimes Blitz and I work out here at the hotel. Other times we head to Dreamcatcher to practice.
Today we hang out in bed well past our usual time. Blitz holds me close, the sheer silks draped along the frame keeping the outside world away.
I’ve learned to sleep naked, as that is what Blitz prefers for himself. His skin is heavenly against mine. I feel safe and warm and protected.
He strokes my hair. “What should we do with this day?” he asks.
I turn to him. I’m tired of thinking about our struggles. Denham’s green truck parked at the academy. My past. Blitz’s future.
“I just want to spend it with you,” I say.
His hand pushes my hair back from my forehead. “Every day with you is a miracle,” he says.
I feel the same.
His lips meet mine. I’ve grown comfortable lying next to him. Gone is my shyness or insecurity. It’s dim in the room, the hotel’s blackout curtains keeping the day away, so I break the kiss to get up and slide the heavy fabric aside.
Light floods in, illuminating the bed.
I turn to Blitz. He’s lying there on top of the sheets, his lean dancer’s body exposed. I am too, my black hair falling down my back.
“You are gorgeous,” he says. “I could lie here and stare at you all day.”
“You’re quite the picture yourself,” I say. I push aside the silks to crawl back onto the pure white bedding.
“You cannot do that,” Blitz growls. “I cannot resist you when you come at me that way.”
