Page 11 of The Way We Dance

Ty

Isat in my car outside of Brisé that next Thursday, mentally preparing myself to give Miss Priss a second chance. Something I learned early on was the importance of a second chance and I owed it to Coach to try again. He had been a father figure since I got in the league and without him, I would probably be headed down the path my brother took.

Trouble.

I was in the same spot I was in on Tuesday and had a clear view of Brisé. I waited as everyone filed out of the studio, hoping I could get in there after everyone else left.

Less witnesses.

The image of Giselle sprinting across the park the other night flashed in my head. I had been sitting in my car, wrapping my head around her holier than thou persona, when I saw her emerge from the studio and lock the door.

She didn’t know I was watching, she couldn’t have seen me from where I was parked, but I watched on as she tried looking calm and collected. But once she passed the small group of people lingering on the sidewalks, she ran.

Fast.

It was as if all the grace she exuded was dropped and replaced with fear. She ran like she was being chased, fearful of what was behind her. There was not another soul around but I kept my eye on her as long as I could to be sure.

I even got out of my car and walked a little to make sure she had gotten as far as she could, safely. When I started my car, it still took me a bit to pull away.

The mindfuck of seeing her so studious and poised, to manic and undone, was confusing. Yet, exciting.

I wasn’t mean enough to wish she lived in fear, but I was man enough to love seeing a woman like her completely unraveled. That had been twice in one night and both showing her in fear. Not surprised or stunned.

Fear.

I focused back on the door and wondered if everyone had left yet. Thinking back to a few nights before had gotten me off my focus and now I wasn’t sure if the place was empty.

But another one of the many things Coach taught me was that being punctual was a life skill. Being late was for the weak. So with that in mind, I glanced at the clock and got out of my car, jogging across the street until I was in front of Brisé.

I opened the door, trying to be louder than last time so I didn’t take anyone by surprise. Again, Coach taught me the importance of not repeating past mistakes.

“Hello?” I yelled when I didn’t see anyone in the lobby. I walked in a little further and looked through the big window where I assumed the parents sat and watched their kids do ballet. I could see the studio on the other side and I wondered if it was a two-way window or if there was a mirror on the other side.

I was so flustered on Tuesday that I hadn’t even noticed.

Giselle had her back to the window and her head down, chin to chest. Her arms were dangling by her sides loosely before she started spinning them around. I was both curious and intrigued at what she was doing, so I sat down in one of the chairs and mindlessly propped my legs up on the chair in front of me.

There was no doubt that Giselle was as uptight as the PR department at an after party. She was hard to talk to and hard to connect with. At least in the fourteen minutes I had been here the other day, she was.

Still, there was also no doubt that her body was fervent and dedicated. She walked her walk and talked her talk. Her curves and muscles were indicative of a perfect ballerina and it had me entranced.

That is, until she tilted her head up, turned, and narrowed her eyes at me. Definitely not a mirror window.

Knowing it would piss her off, and still not being able to help it, I lifted my hand and wiggled my fingers in a coquettish wave. I even managed a real smile when I could tell that she was physically trying not to roll her eyes. That would have been very unprofessional.

She didn’t come to the lobby, and she didn’t exactly invite me into the studio, but when her hands found her hips and one eye brow shot up, I took that as a sign she was waiting for me to get started.

I stood up as nonchalantly as I could, not wanting her to know that for five seconds, she kind of scared me. I opened the door and remembered to remove my shoes before walking closer to where she was still standing.

“You came,” she said flatly.

“I told you I would be back to start over.”

“I was not sure you meant that,” she sighed and walked over to a small table she had in the corner of the studio. She grabbed a phone off the table and thumbed around for a moment before music came over the speakers in the studio.

It was a soft and whimsical song. Something I could picture at a ballet, not that I had ever been to one.

Giselle walked back to me and clapped her hands in that way she did to get my attention.

---