Page 25 of Teach Me to Fly

“If I think of more, I’ll let you know.”

“Okay,” he says, before turning and walking back into the house.

Detanglingmy curls takes nearly an hour. They’re always the most tangled after a day of dancing but once detangled I always think I look my prettiest. Each tug of the brush causes my fresh cuts to sting when I bend my wrist, but I power through and when I’m finally done, I feel a little more human.

I throw on an oversized T-shirt and poke my head out of my bedroom to see if I can hear Reign. When I hear the water from the shower beating down in the bathroom across the hall, I tiptoe out of my room all the way to the kitchen and grab myself a glass of water for the night.

What I don’t expect is for the bathroom door to swing open on my way back, and for Reign to step out into the hall with his bare, damp, chest and a towel loosely hanging off his waist, steam rolling behind him like a movie scene.

I freeze, like a deer caught in headlights, my jaw dropping open as I stare at him. My face grows so hot, and I’m positive I’ll combust any second. Water droplets trail down the ridges of his abs, and my entire body short-circuits.

I realize he can clearly see me checking him out, and myeyes snap up to his, but what I see sends my heart into a panic. His eyes are dragging a path down my body—devouring me—and that’s when I remember that I’m only dressed in an oversized T-shirt.

Without a word I bolt back to my room, water from my glass sloshing all over the floor, and slam the door behind me, pressing my back against it as I take calming breaths, my heart beating out of my chest. My glass of water is now only a quartered filled when prior to my big escape it was filled almost to the rim.

Great.

I place the glass on my nightstand and crawl into bed, but minutes later, my phone dings and I slowly reach for it on my nightstand only to find a text lighting up the screen.

Reign of Terror:

For the record, I didn’t mind you looking.

Chapter 8

Reign

My first night at the guesthouse with Angelique was... revealing. Not in the way you'd think—though, to be fair, Angelique in that oversized T-shirt came damn close. I always figured she was the type to wear matching pyjama sets. Button-down silk with little piping details and probably monogrammed. Maybe because she’s best friends with Lando, and that man wouldn't be caught dead in anything less than coordinated sleepwear, but that’s not what I saw last night.

She crossed the hallway barefoot; curls still damp and frizzing slightly from her shower, the hem of her T-shirt grazing the tops of her thighs like it didn’t know it was flirting with indecency. The fabric clung to her just enough to make me wonder what it would look like tangled in my hands. Her skin was flushed from the heat, her eyes wide when she saw me bare-chested, water still dripping down my skin, towel hanging low.

The look in her eyes—like she didn’t know whether to run or step closer—lit something in me I thought I’d buried years ago. It satisfied a darker part of me, the part thatwants her to remember what it feels like to want me. The part that wonders if she ever stopped.

I lay awake most of the night replaying it, imagining that look again, trying to talk myself out of wanting to provoke it; out of craving it. Wondering if I should start walking through the halls shirtless just to see if I can break her composure again and see if the idea of me still lives under her skin the way she still lives under mine.

It’s not about feelings. I don’t do those, not anymore. But deep down, I know that’s a lie, because before she left for New York, Angelique and I weren’t just friends. For that one, impossible summer, we were something else. Something secret and urgent and entirely too real. I wasn’t supposed to fall for her, but I did, or at least I was about to. And just when it felt like I’d finally found something solid to hold on to again, she was gone.

She’d reached out after she left, and at first it was constant, like she needed to keep a tether between us. But then it faded, turning into every few days, then once a week, then once a month, until eventually it stopped. But that wasn’t on her, that was on me, because I never answered. Not once.

I knew that if I heard her voice again, I’d tell her everything I wasn’t supposed to feel. That I missed her, and that I wanted her to come back. I was afraid she’d never look at me the same way again if she stayed out there long enough. But I knew if I said any of that, she would have come back for me, and I couldn’t let that happen.

She had a real shot at everything she’d worked for, and I didn’t want to be the thing that made her hesitate. I didn’t want her to resent me for it one day. So, I made the choice for both of us, and I let her go. I let her believe I didn’t care, and now, somehow, she’s back. Not the girl I remember,though, she’s harder around the edges now, more timid, and a lot quieter.

She left the house early this morning, probably thinking she could avoid the tension, or avoid me. But we both know she can’t. Not here and not at Imperium. Not when the past still lingers in the space between us, and not when I still ache with every step she takes away from me.

Layla paces the studio,correcting the arms and posture of other dancers before she claps her hands and announces she wants everyone to partner up. Wendy latches onto my arm immediately, her claws digging in like she owns a piece of me, and Angelique gravitates to Lando.

No surprise there.

“Let’s have our leads partnered together for this one,” Layla calls, gesturing toward me and Angelique.

Wendy releases my arm with a huff, storming toward Lando like she’s ready to rip Angelique’s hair out on the way.

As Angelique steps toward me, I lean in and murmur, “Early morning today?”

“I didn’t sleep all that well,” she replies, and I catch the slight tremor in her voice.

“Are you cold?” I ask, frowning as I notice her hands are shaking too.

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