Page 59 of The Thought of You

I mouth the words as I move my body with the freedom I never experience outside this studio. It’s the reason my stepmom insisted I take dance as a girl—something to simultaneously help me loosen up and build my confidence.

This outlet worked so well I never gave it up, but nowadays, dancing is just a way to escape the colliding thoughts in my crowded head. When I’m moving like this, energy courses through me, clearing my mind and making me smile.

It’s hard not to smile with this much fire blazing inside me through every bounce, shimmy, and twerk of my hips, the latter of which doesn’t match Shakira’s abilities in the slightest, but this isn’t about accuracy or skill level at all.

This is my time. No scores or judgments at all. I’m just dancing for me.

And a surprising guest, evidently, as my head swivels to the side and catches movement by the door. My gyrations slow as I strain my neck for a better view through the glass—who is lurking out there at this hour?

The studio’s been empty for half an hour.

With the song nearing the end, the trumpets softer now, I tiptoe toward my phone and turn it off, then wait for any sign of more movement. Another shuffle outside draws my attention, and I inch toward the door. Did one of the parents or guardians leave something behind? I yank on the handle, and the familiar face staring back at me is unexpected.

“What the hell?” I screech through a heavy exhale as beady eyes shine under the streetlight. “Why are you creeping around in the dark like a possum?”

Owen enters the light of the studio, his features more visible and prominent under the bill of his baseball cap. “A possum?” He scoffs. “There are much sexier animals to compare me to.”

“This is about being creepy, not sexy.”

“So, you admit I am sexy, then?” He lifts his chin, angling it to the side, and I nearly lose myself to the outline of his strong jaw.

The urge to trace every line, valley, and peak of his chiseled physique suddenly captures me in a chokehold. My imagination runs wild like a bull once its pen opens, bucking and kicking through my lower stomach.

Being this close to Owen hurls a hot current of desire for this frustrating man.

“You don’t need to answer, but your silence speaks for itself.” With a wink, he maneuvers around me, but he doesn’t disappear down the sidewalk or cobblestone alley toward Bready or Knot and the rest of the square.

Instead, he enters the dance studio.

“Wait.” I pick up my feet one after the other with great difficulty. “What do you think you’re doing?”

He reaches his long fingers for the folder tucked underneath one bulging arm. “Two days early.”

I place my hands on my hips and wait for an explanation.

“You asked for my class schedule, and I’m turning it in two days earlier than the deadline you gave me.” His grin widens, transforming from an innocent one to something more smug. “Do I get extra credit for that?”

“Not quite.” I accept the folder—props to him for using one. In my flustered state, I didn’t think to use one for my own, and I appreciate his attention to detail. “You could’ve given this to me at school in the morning.”

“I couldn’t wait that long. It’s a good idea.”

“You didn’t think so this morning.” With the folder in one hand, I place the other back on my hip, my pulse slowing back to its normal rhythm after a quick dance.

“I just needed a minute to let the idea wash over me. Kind of like chocolate mousse. It’s not really meant to be whipped like that, but once you realize it still holds the same flavor in a different, delightful medium, you agree it’s a great idea.”

“Do you ever get dizzy living in your own head with all those wild thoughts?”

“Do you?” he tosses back.

“Touché.”

He presents a small bag dangling from his wrist that I hadn’t noticed. “I’m also here tonight to give you this.”

I don’t immediately accept the black-and-white gift bag from Conversation Pieces, the C and P scrolled across the front in a vintage Victorian font.

“It’s not going to burst with confetti the second you touch it. It’s just a gift.”

“Why? Are you trying to buy my affections?”

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