Page 43 of Off Balance

"I couldn't very well leave my own party to tend to your poor choices, could I? I trusted the doorman to handle getting you safely to your uncle." The disapproving way he looks down at me makes me feel small.

Even though I know I didn't technically do anything wrong, I could have prevented it from happening in the first place. It's not like I don't know firsthand that you shouldn't drink something that's just handed to you. If I hadn't lost my temper and chugged half of the drink I didn't want in the first place, it wouldn't have mattered if the drink was roofied.

A thought occurs to me that overshadows his disapproval. "Did anyone else get sick?"

"Did anyone else get falling down drunk, you mean? No. You were the only one."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure. What kind of question is this?"

I get some semblance of relief. At least that means whoever the roofie was initially intended for was hopefully safe. It could have been one of the female members of the company instead of me, and much worse could have happened. Hell, in hindsight, much worse could have happened to me than waking up with a slightheadache and Dom's boner in my face. A guilty flush creeps up my neck, but I push it down and focus on the issue at hand.

"I didn't even finish half of one drink. I think someone slipped me a roofie."

"You think someone drugged you?" he asks incredulously.

"It was probably intended for someone else," I amend, weirdly offended that he doesn't think I'd be worth the effort. I shake off the thought and look pointedly at Emile. "Someone could have been assaulted. You're very sure no one else was acting out of sorts or left the party with a stranger?" I can't imagine a member of the company drugging one of their peers. They might be assholes, but they aren't that kind of assholes.

"I am sure," Emile placates, but I get the feeling he still doesn't believe me.

"Dom is taking me to the hospital to be tested for drugs in my system. Then we'll alert the authorities and the bar manager so they are aware of the situation."

He looks taken aback. "I am not sure that's necessary, Cameron. No one was hurt."

"Someone could have been very badly hurt. And I wouldn't say that I'm unscathed, Emile. I woke up in a strange place, in strange clothes, only to be told that I was found passed out, covered in vomit, in an alley. Dumped outside like trash. My clothes are saturated in booze I know I didn't spill on myself, becauseI wasn’t drinking." I take a deep breath. "And to top it all off, not only were you not there for me when I needed you, but you don't believe me. And I know I'm going to walk into the studio tomorrow and face the judgment of two dozen people who already don't respect me."

"Cameron," he says placatingly, reaching to put a hand on my shoulder. But I shrink away from him. "You are angry. I understand. I will try to make it up to you."

"How?" I demand, getting angrier by the moment. "How can you make up for this, Emile?"

He's quiet for a moment, pensive. To his credit, his expression is pained. Normally, he shows no emotion at all. So he must be feeling something.

"How about I make a donation to your little community ballet?"

That gets my attention. Emile has always disapproved of my involvement with the community theater. He looks sincere.

I look down at my feet, embarrassed at my outburst. I know I'm taking this out on him because of my own guilt. Even as angry with him as I am, there's no excuse for what I've done. Screwing someone else isn't the right way to get back at somebody. That's not why I did it. The reasoning doesn’t matter, though. The fact is that I did, and then I sat here and plotted to do it again.

I look down at Dom's gift. The satin pointe shoes are symbolic of everything that's wrong with us. Beautiful on the outside, full of potential until you put them on, and then you realize you're not good enough to pull them off and they're rubbing a blister on the bottom of your foot.

I shouldn't have played around with them when I know I have a rehearsal tomorrow. It'll affect my performance and could throw the other dancers off their game as well. Emile will fuss. It pains me to admit I shouldn't be wearing them. I wasn't cut out for it, anyway.

"You don't have to do that," I say meekly. "But maybe you could come to the Summer Showcase with me?"

"If you promise you won't wear those ridiculous things," he says with a laugh. I chuckle at the joke and promise I won't.

They were just a stupid fantasy, anyway.

CHAPTER 12

DOM

When we said we'd pretend nothing happened, I didn't think that would mean pretending we barely know each other. Even before we crossed the line, we were growing close as friends. Or at least I thought we were, but ever since I saw Alistar escorting Cam out of the studio and into his town car, he's been cold and distant. Our training sessions have been cut in half and shortened because of his increased rehearsal schedule, which I understand, but I know it's more than that. He's purposefully avoiding me, shutting me out.

It took everything in me not to punch that bastard so hard he'd forget he ever met Cameron Stevens. I can't imagine what kind of excuse he conjured up to make Cam forgive him, but the look of mortification on his face when I stepped out into the hallway and saw them together gave me the idea that I'm the excuse.

Cam probably forgave him because he feels guilty about being with me. I’m an idiot if I ever thought he would leave Alistar, whether it was because of his actions or because of mine. If anything, I just threw him further into his arms. What's worse, Cam refused to get himself drug tested, which means he can't report the crime and have it looked into.

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