Page 139 of Attached At Heart
By the time Blake turned back around, I was experimenting with the feel of the floor beneath my bare feet, wondering what it would feel like to dance on. The sound of my old ballet instructor, Ms. Sylvia, rang in my ears, yelling at me to “feel the floor!” as I spun across it. I dragged my toes over the soft, elastic material, testing it out before settling in first position.
My feet had never completely healed from the damage that had been done to them at my mom’s insistence. And I think that resentment caused such a resistance to ever acknowledge the dancer in me. Therewereparts of ballet that I missed; there was connectivity, there was expression, and that all felt so integral to being human, being alive.
I learned that in Amsterdam. And I felt it right now, too.
When Blake and I had been at that club, I thought my desire to dance, to move, had been caused by the atmosphere, something to do with the ambience, the music, the lights.
But here I was, standing in the middle of a dark room with only a streetlamp for light and only the sound of the rain as my backdrop melody, and I still felt that urge.
It had nothing to do with where I was or what was going on around me.
And everything to do with the man watching me with heat in his gaze.
Blake was my muse.
And I didn’t just feel the need to dance; I felt the need to dance for him.
I transitioned from a tendu into an arabesque, catching how Blake’s gaze darkened out of the corner of my eye. Vaguely, I remembered that I was half-naked, with only my bra, underwear, and his alumni T-shirt covering my body.
It was all I could feel against my skin—this half-soaked shirt, the one I wore to sleep night after night because it made me feel more attached to the man who gave it to me all those years ago.
I’d been frustrated with Blake for never telling me the truth about his feelings for so many years, but why hadn’tIknown?Ishould have realized the strength of my attachment for him, should have come to know it for what it was.
That was on me.
I played a part in this, too.
And like him, I’d do my best to make up for it. I didn’t want to take another day for granted.
I was still reeling from his confessions, still absorbing them and fully realizing them. I felt them move through me asImoved, balancing my foot up on the top rope of the boxing ring as I faced my best friend, my husband. Even in the darkness, I caught the way Blake tracked my movements. Then, he started toward me, climbing into the ring and sinking into the chair in the opposite corner, draping one arm over the rope in a slight mimic of what I’d done.
“I told you not to move,” he said without a single ounce of irritation. He didn’t care.
“Had to,” I breathed as I leaned forward in a stretch. Blake’s eyes traced my body, and my eyes remained glued to his gaze, wanting to see his reactions. I only took my attention off him for a moment, spinning to stretch the other leg, giving him a nice view of my backside.
When I checked over my shoulder, I found Blake staring at me hungrily.
“I know.” He sounded starved. My lips curved. He caught it, his brow raising at my expression. “You like having an audience, don’t you, Lane?”
“I like havingyouas my audience,” I corrected.
“Only me.” It was a soft promise. “I’m the only one allowed to see you like this.” His eyes flicked around the building before returning to me. “The power outage made sure of that. No security cameras. No lights. Doors are locked. Just you and me, baby.”
“I like that.” The way he was looking at me made me shiver. He was half-covered in shadows, and I wasn’t used to seeing a side of Blake that could be a little bit dark, but I liked it. God, I liked it so much. “I think if I had you to watch me, maybe I never would have quit ballet.”
“I could watch you forever, Lane.” He ran his hand over his jawline, like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. “You’re so fucking beautiful.”
“I think you just have a thing for this T-shirt,” I teased before leaning down to stretch the other side of my body.
“I definitely have a thing foryouin that T-shirt,” he said. “But I think the T-shirt itself would look even better on the floor.”
I glanced back at him. “You think so, huh?”
“Yeah.” His eyes flared as I lowered my leg and faced him, toying with the hem of the shirt and pretending to debate, even though I knew what I was going to do. “I think so.”
I lifted the shirt over my head with a single swoop of my arms, tossing it to the side, over the boxing ring ropes, and Blake’s pupils widened. His breathing quickened, his chest visibly rising and falling as he leaned forward to rest on his knees, watching me with an intensity that made my heart pound in my chest like I was preparing for a performance at Carnegie Hall and not nearly naked in a boxing ring on a tiny side street in Boston.
Blake lowered his voice and ordered, “Dance for me.”
