Page 31 of Off Balance

I make my escape before he has the chance to protest, and suck in a deep lungful of air as I walk towards my mom and Dwayne standing near the bar. When I get closer, I notice Dom behind them, turning to pass my mother a glass of champagne. After I’ve hugged my mom and Dwayne, Dom holds a glass out to me. Deciding one won’t hurt, I take it gratefully and gulp it down a little too fast. Hopefully, it will be enough to calm my nerves.

"I didn't know you were here.” Tickets toDe Pointe Eliteproductions are far more expensive than the small community company I was dancing with before. If I didn't work here, I wouldn't be able to afford a ticket to the show, much less an opening night or final performance night, which are the most expensive tickets.

“Dom wanted to surprise you,” Dwayne says, nudging his brother playfully.

"Wouldn't miss it for the world," my mom says, getting teary-eyed the way she has for every performance since I was five years old.

Dom trades out my empty glass for a tumbler of club soda and lime, and I can no longer avoid looking straight at him. He looks… well, there's no other way to put it. He looksedible. He's wearing a three-piece suit that might be the same or similar to the one he wore to opening night. Only this one fits him like a glove, molding to his muscular frame in all the right places.His stubble has grown into a short, neatly trimmed beard that makes me want to call him Daddy in public.

"Thank you," I say, stuttering through my hotness induced dry mouth. "You look… nice." I want to facepalm over how stupid I sound.

"And you look beautiful," Dom says.

"Doesn't he?" My mother gushes. "Oh, seeing you in the lead role for such a big production! I'm so proud of you, and you did so well."

"You’re a star, kid," Dwayne says, patting my shoulder.He really should have been a dad.

I blush at the praise. "It was?—"

"Perfect," Dom says before I can point out my mistakes. "It was perfect."

"Well, I don't know about perfect," Emile says in a cheery voice, stepping up behind me and placing his hand on my waist again. The smile I offer him must look more like a grimace, if his raised eyebrow is anything to go by. "Darling, you know some of the footwork during the second act was?—"

"Perfect," Dom interrupts, his tone firm and unrelenting.

Emile scoffs and pretends to brush him off. "Yes, well, we can't all live by the same standards, now can we, Mr. Connor?"

The use of his last name suggests he knows exactly who Dom is and has likely read all about his tabloid drama. He looks smug about it, and it turns my stomach. Looking around for something to change the subject, I point to the small bunch of wildflowers Dom is holding.

"Those are beautiful," I say, pointing to them. I give Dom pleading eyes not to engage with Emile. He dips his head in a quick nod and then holds the flowers out to me.

"They're for you. To celebrate a successful production. You were absolute perfection." To his credit, the words are clearly only for me and not directed at Emile. He really believes everything I do is perfect up there. "And, I, uh, I got you this, too."

Dom hands me a shiny white box with a bow on it that's coincidently the same color as my outfit. After unwrapping the bow, I open the box to find a pair of pointe shoes. In my size.

"You… You got me pointe shoes?" I look up at Dom with a mixture of amusement and wonder.This man.

Emile laughs loudly enough to get the attention of people around us. "How ridiculous! It is a joke gift, right? A gag?”

"No," I answer before Dom does. "I’ve always wanted to try them." It's not something male dancers typically do.There are very few applications where men wear pointe shoes, and they're usually comedic. "I think they could be beautiful for a dance I’ve been working on."

"I see," Emile says, conscious of being watched. "Well, as long as it's just at home in your free time. I'd hate to see you embarrass yourself." He laughs haughtily and takes the box from me. He passes it back to Dom the way one might hand off a dirty shirt to be laundered. "Come, darling. We must be sure to make time for everyone. It was good to see you all again," he says airily.

I can feel the tension in the set of Dom’s shoulders just as well as I can see it. I mouth, "I'm sorry," as I let Emile steer me away.

We're halfway through the crowd when someone grabs my hand. I’m pulled out of Emile's hold, forced to turn around and see who is trying to get my attention. It's Dom. I say a silent prayer that he isn't here to punch Emile in the face, but Dom doesn’t look at Emile. He’s only looking at me. I let him pull me close to lean down and speak close to my ear.

"Don't let him take this from you. You deserve better."

His breath tickles my neck, and when he pulls back, he gazes down at me for a long, drawn-out moment. We're so close, I'd barely have to push up on my toes to kiss him if I wanted to. My gaze drops to his mouth. His bottom lip is plumper than the top, and pinker. There’s a small scar I've never noticed before that makes his cupid's bow more pronounced. My hand instinctively lifts to trace over it the way I've wanted to do to the scar across the bridge of his nose.

"Cameron?"

Emile's voice is just behind me, his hand on my shoulder. Snatching my hand back and stepping away from Dom, I thank him, making sure Emile can hear me. The last thing I need is for him to think there's something going on between us.

When I turn to Emile, my mask is back in place. I show him a bright smile and let him lead me away. I barely talk for the rest of the night, through the afterparty and the second party that's being held on the roof of an upscale club. Despite the chill in the air, most of the women are wearing tiny dresses and sky-high heels. I changed into an almost sheer black dress shirt and black slacks, slicked back my hair, and left the eyeliner from my stage makeup on.

Unfortunately, looking good isn't enough to make me want to be here. The chill is doing nothing to tone down the humiliation of our arrival. On the way here, Emile, who had one too many drinks at the first afterparty, decided to suck a dark hickey into the side of my neck before we arrived. That was before he pushed my face into his lap. He took forever to come, and then made a show of zipping up his fly when the valet opened the door for us. I wanted to shrink away and never come out, but I was afraid refusing to leave the car would only draw more attention.

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