Page 63 of The Alpha's Pen Pal

I giggled again at his goofiness, then took a sip of my water. I was still thirsty from rehearsal that day, and I’d skimped on my water intake afterwards because I’d been so focused on getting ready.

The server came by just then, and we placed our order, both of us holding back a laugh as Wesley ordered his ratatouille.

“How are you doing?” Wesley asked once she had walked away. “After the other night, I mean.”

“I’m all right.” I shrugged. “Honestly, I’ve tried not to think about it much,” I admitted.

“It’s okay to be upset. To be hurt and confused,” he said.

“I know,” I murmured. “But I can’t let it distract me from my work.”

“Have you thought about talking to them?”

My head shook as I answered him. “I mean, I’ve thought about it, but I don’t really know what I would say. ‘I know you lied to me? I met Jack. He’s still alive. Why would you do that to a child?’”

He winced and then nodded. “I see your point,” he said. “Still—”

I shook my head again, with more urgency this time. “No. I don’t want to talk to them,” I told him. “Ever since I asked her about the letter, and then even more so after I saw Jack, I’ve realized more and more that there were so many little things they did that, while not obviously cruel, were actually really terrible, horrible things to do to someone who was supposed to be your daughter.”

He swallowed, and his hands clenched into fists on the tabletop.

“But I don’t want to talk about them,” I said, covering one of his fists with my hand.

He relaxed under my touch, and his eyes moved to my hand on his. He unclenched his fist, then turned it so it was palm up, and clasped my hand with it.

“Tell me more about yourself,” he said, returning his warm gaze to my face.

“Like what?” I asked.

“Anything? Everything?”

“There’s not much to tell,” I shrugged.

“It’s been almost twelve years since we wrote to each other, and you say there is NOTHING you can tell me about your life and what you’ve been up to?” he asked incredulously. “I told you earlier not to lie to me, Twinkle Toes,” he teased.

I chuckled again. Every time he said that nickname, I sort of hated it, but I also sort of loved it. It was better than the normal “baby” or “babe” that most men tried to use on their girlfriends. I despised those pet names.

“Tell me about that dance competition you mentioned,” he said. “The one with the car race name.”

“Oh my god.” I laughed again, so hard tears came to my eyes.

I hadn’t done that in so long. Laughed that hard. Every moment I spent with him, I found myself relaxing more and more. He just had a way of making me feel at ease, making me laugh and feel comfortable just being myself. It had been far too long since I felt I could just be me.

“The Youth America Grand Prix?” I asked, wiping my eyes with my free hand.

“Yes, that.” He grinned.

“It’s a really, really well-known competition in the ballet world, especially with pre-professional dancers,” I told him. “There are regional comps, and then you can be invited to participate in the finals in New York, where you can win scholarships and get job offers. The finals are how I got my apprenticeship with the ballet company in Salt Lake City.”

“So you won?” he asked, a hint of pride in his voice.

“No,” I said. “I didn’t win any of the top prizes in New York. Just got noticed by a company and got lucky that it was one near where we lived.”

“It sounds intense,” he said.

“It is.” I nodded. “You have to learn the original choreography from a ballet, and it has to be a variation from the approved list, which is different for different age groups. You have to know your strengths and weaknesses to pick the right variation for yourself.”

He nodded, and his eyes never strayed from my face as I talked. He was genuinely invested in what I had to say and truly interested in learning and understanding my world.

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