Page 109 of Crossed
I walk faster, something tugging in the middle of my chest like I’m attached to where she is by a rope, and when I get to the door the music is pouring from, I see her.
And I’m immediately transfixed, the same way I was the first time I saw her. I’m moving before I can stop myself, my hand twisting the doorknob and slipping into the room, expecting her to sense my presence immediately and stop what she’s doing to either get angry again or be happy that I’m here. I’m not sure which. With her, it’s always a toss- up.
But she’s so into whatever she’s doing that she doesn’t miss a beat. Her eyes are closed and her body is flying around the pole, a single chair perched not too far away.
Desire chokes me like red smoke.
It’s a small studio. The back is lined with mirrors, and a little wooden stool is off to the side with a Bluetooth speaker, a bottle of water, and Amaya’s phone.
I lean my shoulder against the wall, and I watch her.
She must be dancing for another two minutes before her eyes finally open, and she sees me in the reflection, her body jerking to a sudden stop. Slowly, she slips down the pole, her feet touching the ground.
Her chest is moving up and down with her heavy breaths, her mouth slightly parted and skin glistening with a thin layer of perspiration, and when our eyes lock in the mirror, I smirk.
Chapter43
Amaya
IFELT HIM BEFORE I KNEW HE WAS HERE. THAT sounds silly, but it’s the truth. There was a shift in the energy during my dance, and I gave in to the feeling, a heaviness taking over and making my movements more sensual, less rushed. I just didn’t know it washimuntil I opened my eyes.
When I’m dancing, I’m in an altered state; my mind turns off and my body takes over, and I find blissful relief from the chaos that’s constantly going on in the world. I’m just…me. And today, I needed the escape.
It doesn’t surprise me that Cade’s here. That he followed me.
That’s what he does, and I’ve gone far beyond the scope of pretending that I don’t enjoy his attention. We’re toxic for each other; therapists would tell me to scream as loud as I can and run in the opposite direction. But I’ve never been one for doing what I’m told.
The only thing I’ve ever truly been lacking in is courage. Courage to stand up against the bullies of the town. To not let other people control my life. To dive headfirst into something that could be the greatest thing I’ve ever known, even though it’s fucking terrifying to think of losing it once it’s mine.
I’ve spentyearsworking tirelessly to keep everything structured and rigid. Unbendable and routine. Both for Quinten’s sake and also for mine. When you don’t have deviations from your day, you never meet the unexpected. Every interaction I had was controlled, kept at arm’s length. I thought that keeping my heart locked up tight and Quinten and I in a tiny little bubble would protect anyone else from doing what our mother did.
You can’t get hurt if you don’t let anyone in.
I thought that’s what made me strong.
But somehow, Cade worked his way through the shield, and maybe that’s what true strength really is. Allowing yourself the chance to be hurt and finding your faith through the fear.
So when I open my eyes and see Cade leaning up against the wall like he’s exactly where he’s meant to be, I give in.
Fully. Freely. Without restraint.
I’mtiredof resisting. Tired of worrying about what everyone else thinks and whether Quinten and I will ever fit into the mold.
Tiredof caring at all, if I’m completely honest.
The music fades away, one song ending and leaving a few beats of strained silence as we’re both locked in each other’s gazes, and then a new one starts. Slower. Softer. Sultrier.
The bass pulses through me like a living thing and propels me forward toward Cade.
He’s staring at me, because he’salwaysstaring at me, and I hold his gaze, knowing he likes it when I do.
My hips sway from side to side as I move to him, and when I’m a few steps away, his hand reaches out and flicks the lock on the door, turning to face me straight on.
I stop when I’m in front of him, looking up into his eyes. A slow smile creeps on my face. “Hi.”
He straightens off the wall, and my stomach flips in anticipation when he starts to remove his gloves, one finger at a time.
His gaze eats me up, trailing from my exposed collarbone down the length of my sports bra and over my exposed stomach to my shorts and naked legs, then back up again. “Hello, petite pécheresse.”
