Page 44 of Not Strictly Ballroom

I press my lips together tightly, preventing any sound from escaping, and try to breathe through my nose. My breathing is choppy as the pressure builds in waves, and I have to clamp my jaw together and try to swallow down the moan that’s desperate to get out.

“That’s it, D, fuck my hand. Fuck it hard.” His voice is soft, a whisper against my neck, but all the more potent for it.

I grip the edge of the sink. As much as his name is on my lips, I am not going to scream it in his gran’s house and give the game away, and he knows it. I’m barely holding it together when he goes in for the kill.

“What you’re doing to my hand, I’m going to do to your tight little hole.” I feel disoriented and lightheaded. I want all his dirty words. I can’t hold off any longer and with a jerk, I come, spilling over Nick’s hand. I gasp for breath and my heart rate starts to slow its staccato beat. When I can stand upright again, he releases his hold on my hip. I turn my head enough to capture his mouth in a long, lazy kiss. When we break apart, he smiles, and I see the light reflecting the stars in his eyes. Then he glances down into the sink, at the plate I’m holding, then back at me and, with a smirk, says, “You missed a bit.”

“Again,” Darcy says, as the samba music ends.

Krystal stands with her hands on her hips and is panting slightly. “Darcy, it’s fine.”

I hide a small smile, knowing Darcy well enough to be fairly confident what his next words will be. From my vantage point, sitting cross-legged on the studio floor, it looked pretty good to me.

“I don’t want fine, I want perfect,” he replies.

“Then it’s perfect.” She throws one hand in the air with a whatever expression as she walks over to her bag and lifts out a bottle of water. He glowers after her.

“It can’t be just fine and perfect. It doesn’t feel perfect to me.” Darcy is in full-on focus mode. He has been since the regional competition. He’s staking everything on winning this competition, and I understand how important it is for him, but he has a habit of driving himself too hard. Julia knew him well enough to call him out on it. Krystal looks like she might rub him the wrong way instead.

“It’s good enough,” she replies, taking a swig. Yes, she definitely said the wrong thing.

“Good enough doesn’t win,” he says with some passion. “Good enough is mid-range, lower placings, third—if you’re lucky. I need to win this.”

“I’m surprised you’ve never won with that attitude.”

Darcy deflates a little. “I’ve never had the chance to go; either Julia or I was sick or injured each year.”

“Well, that’s my luck then, as I’m sure Andrew and I wouldn’t have won against you.”

I don’t need to see his green eyes right now to know that they’ll be burning brightly. I see his jaw tighten and he clenches his fists. I debate whether to intervene. Whilst this is all extremely entertaining, Darcy could say something that jeopardises them dancing together. He looks on the edge, throwing a retort out, then he seems to realise this and turns away.

Krystal puts her jacket on, clear that she’s done for the evening. I can’t say I blame her. She works in the daytime and can only practise in the evening. She has to travel over to practice, which is anything up to an hour depending on traffic. She’s done that almost every day since regionals two weeks ago. But the Nationals are only a few days away, so I understand why Darcy is pushing to get in as much practice as possible.

“I’ll be back tomorrow,” she says, picking up her bag.

“Okay, and thank you.” Darcy seems to have recovered enough from what she said to not want to bite back any longer.

“Look Darcy, we’ll be fine,” she says. “The waltz is foot perfect, as are the quickstep and foxtrot. The samba, jive, rumba, and cha-cha-cha are really good. We just need another run through on the pasa doble, tango, and Viennese waltz and they’ll be just as good. We still have a couple more days to practise.”

“You’re right. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Okay then.” She turns my way. “Bye Nick.” I raise a hand in a wave before she’s through the door and gone.

Darcy settles down on the floor next to me with a sigh, then draws his knees up and folds his arms on top of them, resting his chin and looking glum.

“Don’t let it eat you up.” I nudge him gently with my shoulder. He closes his eyes and I stay silent, knowing he’ll speak when he’s ready. After a moment he opens them and lifts his head to rest it on the wall behind him.

“How can she be so blasé about it all? It’s like she isn’t even bothered. And to say that, about if I had competed. To say they probably won because I wasn’t there . . .” He trails off and I know he’s thinking that life is unfair and that success seems to come easily to people who don’t appear to want it or work hard for it. It’s a dangerous thought for him to brood on at any time, especially not a few days out from the most important competition of his life.

“You know, she really paid you a massive compliment.”

He tilts his head to me and gives me his best “please explain this shit you’re telling me” look. So cute.

“Despite what you think, we know Krystal does work hard, and she’s a really good dancer. You can’t say for sure that if you’d danced in the Nationals before, you would’ve won. It very much depends on what happens on the day. But the three-time national ballroom champion has just said you could have beaten them. I think that’s a huge fucking compliment, D.”

His face softens a little, and he allows a small smile to escape. I stand and hold out my hand to pull him up.

“Now, come and dance some swing with me. I want to give Mrs Herringsworth the dance of her life on our forties day.” We have it planned for two weeks after the Nationals. I’ve taken over the advertising, and so far there’s been a lot of interest.

---