Page 112 of One Last Encore

"You’re something else, you know that?" he said softly, brushing his thumb over the back of her hand.

Her lips curved into a small smile. “So are you, Beck."

The instructor, still looking mildly traumatized, clapped his hands together. "Class is dismissed! Great job, everyone!"

Movement in the corner of his eye caught his attention. A girl was weaving through the dispersing crowd, heading straight for them, grinning like she had just been handed front-row seats to the juiciest drama of the century.

It was Sylvia. Beck had seen her with Ingrid around campus enough times to recognize her. He'd heard Ingrid mention her often. But they had never officially met.

Beck barely had time to brace himself before she reached them, practically vibrating with excitement.

"You guys killed that," Sylvia said. "It was like you were sharing a brain during that performance."

"More like I was borrowing his," Ingrid quipped, giving Beck a teasing nudge.

Sylvia pulled her in a hug. "You were incredible," she said, pulling back just enough to examine Ingrid’s face. "Can’t say the same about my flutist, though."

Ingrid grimaced, shaking her head. "Yeah… she played with more spit than air."

Sylvia snorted. "I thought I was gonna slip on the floor."

"But you didn’t, because you’re truly that amazing," Ingrid shot back, laughing. "By the way, this is Beck."

"I’m Sylvia. Nice to finally meet you. I’ve heard a lot about you."

“Nice to meet you,” Beck said with a crooked smile. “Hopefully all good things?”

Sylvia let out a laugh, light and teasing. "It was touch and go at the start. I personally vouched for you, though. Told her to give you a chance. She was this close to chucking you out of the studio window."

Beck arched a brow at Ingrid, who just shrugged, entirely unbothered.

"I guess I owe you big time, then," he said, tugging Ingrid closer. He pressed a kiss to the top of her head. "I’m the luckiest guy on earth that she even gives me the time of day."

Sylvia clutched her chest. "God, you two are disgusting. Ilovelove." Then, just as quickly, her grin faded into something softer. "Makes me miss Jessica. I need to get home and see my woman immediately."

"Not yet! We have to celebrate!" Ingrid protested. "The semester’s almost done, and everyone’s meeting at Deacon’s for drinks. See if Jess can come too."

Sylvia pretended to consider it, then sighed dramatically. "Fiiine, I’ll text her."

Before long, Sylvia and Ingrid were tossing on jeans, boots, and jackets over their leotards, laughing the whole time like they’d been doing this routine for years. Linked at the arm, they turned to Beck, who watched them with mild amusement.

"Let’s go, Pretty Boy," Ingrid teased, flashing him a grin that sent a warm ripple through his chest. Beck followed without hesitation like a labrador with a crush and no self-respect. “She calls, I go,” he muttered under his breath, equal parts smitten and doomed.

Deacon’s was exactly what you’d expect from a dive bar: dimly lit, vaguely sticky, and full of people who looked like they had backstories.

They slid onto a set of wobbly stools, and Beck ordered martinis for the girls and a whiskey for himself.

As he scanned the room, his eyes landed on a pair lingering near the bar. Weston, Ingrid’s co-lead in Swan Lake, looked every bit the smug, self-important bastard Beck had pegged himfor. The guy radiated condescension, like he got off on over-enunciating French ballet terms and ghosting women.

Next to him stood the dark-haired dancer who’d once called Ingrid a pigeon during rehearsal. Beck didn’t know her name. Didn’t want to. His jaw tightened so hard it might’ve cracked. The audacity. Ingrid was ten times the dancer either of them could dream of being on their most caffeinated, overachieving day.

He exhaled through his nose, sharp and slow, forcing the tension out of his shoulders. Not the time. Not the place. Don’t throw a barstool.

"Oh, great," Sylvia muttered, catching his stare. "It’s Lord Wet Blanket and Lady Bitter von Jealous."

Ingrid groaned. "Sylvia…"

"No, I stand by this," Sylvia said, taking a sip of her martini.

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