"But you're kinda boring and snobby," he suggested, with a look of no shame for having just insulted me.
"That I am." I wasn’t going to disagree. I was boring and probably came across more snobby than I intended to. That was what my world taught me I had to be in order to be successful.
He huffed at my agreement and turned around, shaking his head.
“Let’s agree that we are two different people that can mutually benefit from one another without having to be friends, shall we?”
He turned back to me at my question and eyed me once again. “What are you getting out of this?”
I didn’t want to tell him I was using him as a way to not be alone, that I was scared. I also didn’t want to mention how much I was getting paid—that was ill-mannered. But there was one more truth that I didn’t mind sharing.
“Helping a mighty football player for the coveted Atlanta Jets is a positive mark on my resume for future endeavors.”
“Nobody is going to know I was here, Miss Metro,” he pointed at me and lowered his brows. His sneer at my name grated down my spine but I kept myself together.
“Of course not,” I whispered, lowering my head. Mr. Peyton didn’t say this was on the down low but now that I saw Ty’s anger toward this getting out, it was safe to assume the backlash wouldn’t be worth the headline.
“Ya know what?” Ty started toward the door of the studio, slipping his shoes back on. “I think I’ll call it a night.”
“But we haven't even begun,” I tried to keep the panic from my voice. Ty Black was a stranger but he wasn’t a threat and I wasn’t ready to be left alone.
“Lets try again on Thursday. I think I’ve had all I can take tonight, Miss Priss.” He opened the glass door to the studio and I saw him leave the main door through the lobby before I could say anything else.
I counted to five to keep myself from chasing him, but once five hit, I ran toward the door and locked it. I leaned against it in relief and slid down to the floor, taking in a few deep breaths.
“You’re fine,” I told myself with a whisper.
I still didn’t want to be in the studio alone, though. I didn’t bother changing again, or even cleaning up the way I should have. I quickly grabbed my things, throwing a sweater over my leotards, and slipped into my sensible shoes.
Peeking out of the door, I made sure there was no one creeping around before letting myself out and quickly locking the doors to Brisé behind me.
I may have been overreacting. The cops felt that what happened the week before was random and unplanned, that someone probably found themselves in trouble and chose my unlocked doors as a refuge.
Crime was not prevalent in this area and even if it was, nothing was taken. There was never a reason for someone to rob a ballet studio, either.
Nonetheless, after getting the doors secured, I crossed the street to head toward the park. When I was sure I had cleared the few lingering walkers on the sidewalks, I lowered my poise and dignity and ran as fast as I could across the park, not stopping until I was safely in my apartment building.