Page 38 of The Way We Dance

"Football."

Ty's eyes got wide and he looked impressed and confused at the same time.

"I will chat with him about football instead of ballet. I will ask him to tell me what he likes about it and show him that I am invested in his happiness. Because I am invested in his happiness."

"Do you know anything about football?"

"I know enough."

"Tell me something….. anything…." he crossed his arms, challenging me to run off some football rules or plays. Or maybe he thought I would give him some basics—field distance, a position—or use the word touchdown.

Instead, I smirked a little and crossed my arms back, mirroring him. "I know that when someone grabs your helmet and slams your head down, you are supposed to get up and punch them."

His smile fell and his eyes darkened. Was that too much? Did I go too far?

We stayed like that for a full minute; me keeping my poise and him staring daggers into me. He finally pursed his lips and flared his nose, "You watched my game?"

"I saw that part," I admitted.

"He had it coming," he defended himself but there was no need. Maybe he thought of me as soft and dainty, unable to fathom punches being thrown, but I knew when a punch was warranted.

"He did," I nodded. "My only concern was a broken hand and a concussion setting back your arabesque."

Ty snorted and dropped his defenses at my words. He ran a hand through his messy hair and it was only then that I started realizing he was in jeans and a t-shirt, no hat. Every time I had seen him before, he was in gym clothes, ready to workout, with his hat on backward.

This version of him, in plain clothes, was just another level of material for my brain on nights I needed to give myself the same release I did last night. I would not deny myself that. I was positive I was not the only woman in the world that had Tyson Black in their repertoire.

Ty was back to staring at me, analyzing me. His eyes were darting around my face, looking for God knows what. I felt vulnerable and exposed for a minute, like the ice I coated myself with every morning was melting away with the heat of his stare.

I couldn't let that happen.

So I did what I did best and clapped twice, breaking the spell. "In the studio for an extra lesson, or out."

Ty looked at the window with the dance floor behind it and then back to me. For a minute, I thought he was about to call my bluff and choose option A. But he held his hands up in surrender and backed away.

"You win, Miss Priss. As much as I love the way we dance, I have a whole day of doing nothing to get back to."

"Thank you for the help," I nodded, my manners seeming important.

"Any time," he saluted me and back peddled out of the door.

I didn't want him to know I was going to rush behind him to lock the door. I didn't want him to assume I was scared—even though I was almost positive he was catching on because he kept walking me home.

However, I counted to ten and lunged toward the door, not breathing until I was sure I was safe. It took several breaths before I walked toward my office and as I entered, the phone started ringing and my day was officially underway.

* * *

“Hi Sam!”I greeted him on Tuesday evening as he drug his feet into the studio slowly. He didn't look happy to be there and my heart broke a little. I was hoping by the time I saw him again, he would have bounced back.

“Hi Sam!” I repeated, not accepting his moping as an excuse to not be polite.

“Hi Miss Metro,” he mumbled. He had his eyes to the ground, taking his assigned spot on the floor.

With the entire class here, I couldn’t take the time to chat with him about football or anything else I was going to try doing. I was just going to have to wait until class was over.

We got to work on the different sections for our recital and separating the parts. I then went to each group and gave them a dance to practice. Since this was my advanced class, they all knew the steps and just needed to be able to perform them in the correct order for the individual songs.

It made being the only teacher in the studio easier.

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