Page 15 of The Comeback

Is she asking me out? Hell, we’re like oil and vinegar. She doesn’t like me. And I don’t like her, right? Of course, I don’t. I can’t.

“Yes. It only seems fair. I have three annoying brothers who eat like pigs. It’s a lot of dishes. If I can prove to you that ballet is a real sport and help you secure your place on the team, it only seems fair.”

“That’s crazy.” I shake my head and wipe my hands on my jeans. Why is it so hot in here? “Your parents won’t want me there for dinner.”

“Don’t get all weird about it. My dad wants to see you succeed.” She purses her lips together. “He wants me to be wrong. Hell, I want to be wrong. You were great before you were hurt, and you’re too young to be washed up.” Her face flushes as she glances around like she expects someone to be sneaking up behind her. “Sorry. If my dad heard I used washed up again, he’d snap. You’re too young to be working a nine-to-five job.”

“Yeah.” I drag my hand through my hair. What do I have to lose? A couple of hours of sleep. That’s nothing. Not if I can break through the plateau I’ve been banging my head against for months. “I’ll see you tomorrow at five.”

“Perfect.” She pats my bicep, and my body hums.

Do not go there. Do. Not. Go. There. No matter what you do. Don’t jump down that rabbit hole. She’s the daughter of one of your coaches. And you might not even be in town in a month.

Did you forget you fight like cats and dogs?

But fighting like cats and dogs could lead to some scorching hot sex.

Shit. I went there.

I jump backward, causing her hand to drop to her side. A contract. Don’t forget. The only thing that matters is getting a solid contract and not turning into my deadbeat dad. “I’ve got to go.”

Chapter Nine

Charlotte

As I open the studio door the following day, I inhale the maintenance crew’s lemon cleaner. There’s nothing like the smell of lemon and bleach. Okay, cupcakes, chocolate, fresh baked bread, they can all beat the previous combination hands down, but if I want to fit in my tights, I’ll stick to inhaling cleaning solutions.

Last night, I stayed up until midnight studying Weston’s film, looking for behavior patterns. I had all the information I needed after the first hour, but I couldn’t stop watching him. His muscles rippled with every movement, and his reflexes were catlike. He’s a phenomenal football player. Or he was. Somehow, I’ve got to get that back for him.

I set my gear down and switch on the music. Something’s got to help me overcome this lack of sleep. Weston is not scheduled to arrive for thirty minutes, giving me time to warm up and get in some much-needed floor time.

Fifteen minutes later, I stretch to the floor, letting my back and leg muscles lengthen. The ache is a dull tension. The good kind of stretching. The muscles around my knee are finally ready to move and not knock my ass to the floor.

“When was your injury?”

“Oh!” I jump and spin around. My eyes widen as I see Weston leaning against the wall, wearing a sleeveless T-shirt that exposes his solid biceps. There’s nothing wrong with the man’s arms. Or his abs. Or his thighs. Holy hell. In short, it’s impossible to ignore the man’s strength.

He arches an eyebrow. “When was your injury?”

My injury? Hell, I can’t remember my name. I clear my throat. “It was two years ago. I was playing basketball.” I lick my lips and shove the memories into their nice, neat package where I keep them. “I was going in for a layup, and a girl on the defense cut too low and took out my knees.”

“How does it feel?” He shoves off the wall.

I shrug. “When I get up in the morning or now?”

He chuckles. “Now.”

“It feels good now. But when I get up, it’s stiff, and when it’s going to rain, I know it two days before the weathermen do.”

“I hear ya.” He nods.

“Like you, I spent a lot of time returning from my injury.” I cross my arms over my chest to put a barrier between us. The man makes me feel weak, and I hate weakness. “I never had aspirations of going into the pros, so I didn’t make it back onto the court. But I did run a marathon last year because my brother bet I couldn’t.”

He chuckles. “This betting thing seems to be a problem for you. Do you want me to call in a professional?”

“I think I’ll pass.” Damn it. I liked it better when he was showing me his butthead personality. Now, I’m starting to like him, and I don’t want to. I won’t date a football player. Especially one that could be on his way out of town in less than a month. “Before my injury, I was planning to be a high school P.E. teacher, but all the amazing people that helped me strengthen my knee inspired me to move into therapy.”

“Listen. I was an ass yesterday. You were right about that. I haven’t been too involved with dance outside of my sister taking it when she was in elementary school.”

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