Page 45 of The Breaking Pointe
“You’re really generous for sharing it.Are you sure it’s fine?”I ask, feeling like any second he’ll change his mind.
“It’s fine, sweetheart. I brought it out for you. I’d never end up drinking it on my own time. I love my beer.” He takes another gulp from his can.
I do get it. You’re unreasonably cultured, hot, and you call me sweetheart.
“So, y’know, I feel like I should apologize for imposing. It doesn’t seem like the storm is gonna get any better,” I shamefully say, looking out the window.
“I can get you a ride? Am I making you uncomfortable?” he asks with a boat load of fear filling his tone.
“I’m extremely comfortable. That’s why I feel bad,” I say in amusement.
“Feel bad? That’s what I want. You don’t have to stay here; I wouldn’t force you. Just know that there is a guest room.” He waves a hand as he speaks. “I don’t do pressure. I hate being pressured.”
“It’s awful,” I say.“That’s all dancing has been for me,
recently.It makes memiss Chicagoso bad.”
I reach for my glass, staring at the darkness of it before I sip it. That one sip is the turning point. I’m officially wine- drunk in Colton Kennedy’s condo.
“Wereyouraisedthere?”heasks,turningtofaceme slightly as he rests his back on the glass of the window.
“Yeah.Born and raised.”I nod then give a small smile. “And you’re from here? ‘Cause you sound like it,” I query.
“Staten Island,” he admits. “Is it that bad?” He chuckles. “No.You just don’t sound out the letter R and it sounds aggressive.”Ismilemore,pokinghisbarebicep.He
chucklesmore,acceptingthatperception.
I sigh, relaxing again.“Sometimes I wonder if staying here was a mistake, you know? I made a lot of bad decisions in a short amount of time.”
Letting my arms fall back into my lap, I glance at him, catching him staring again.
He leaves a bit of silence between us for a few moments. Maybe trying to find the words—then he does.
“I am a firm believer in the idea that everything happens for a reason in life.You have to trust that instinct or decision. Trust the process,” he says gently.
I nod sheepishly. “Yeah—yeah I guess you’re pretty right about that. But what about you? You seem to travel often.” Hisfacetightensbriefly.“Eh,sortof.Iwenttoacouple of different countries before I graduated college.Now I just
travel when I can or if I feel like it.But I love it here.”
“A lot of people love New York. But why do you love it?” I raise my brows, sipping more wine.
“Being in Brooklyn, specifically, is what I love the most becausethepeoplearesodiverseandwelcoming,”he
professes. “It’s also very homey to boot. Something about it to me is scary to leave forever.”
His voice steers in a more passionate direction.
I tilt my head slightly.“It seems like you found your niche here, too.”
“I think so,” he agrees.“Then sometimes I wonder if I’m telling myself that as a façade.”He looks at his beer. “Don’t get me wrong.I adore all the other places, but there’s something about home that’s different. Staten has homes. You can’t find the beauty in the city the same way you can in a full house—with family.” He finally looks at me again, with a more restrained gaze. “I sometimes wish I had that life. With a regular house.”
“Metoo,”Iwhisper.
He licks his lips, looking down again.I scoot forward, readying myself to say something, but opportunely, he does as well— shooting my wineglass right onto his perfect, white t-shirt.
“I’m so sorry, Colton—oh my God,” I panic, gripping the stem of the glass.
Any second now I’m due for an earful. His nice, possibly expensive shirt, has now been dyed, I’ve wasted wine, and I’m overstaying my welcome for sure now.
