Page 20 of Dare
Fora few moments, I forgot everything, my world narrowing to the sensation of hiswarm, hard body wrapped around mine. The man could make me forget my own name.And he only touched me. What would sex with him be like? A thrill coursesthrough me at the thought of him completely naked, his skin slick with sweat,muscles flexing as he takes me hard and fast.
Forthe past few years, it was like someone threw a switch and turned off my sexdrive. Other than an occasional stress relief session with my vibrator, Ididn’t even think about it. Five minutes with Dare and I feel like a wantonslut, ready to beg for it.
Itwasn’t until he almost brought his lips to my face that reality set in. I don’tknow if he just got carried away or maybe had his eyes closed as he kissed myneck, but I couldn’t stand the thought of his lips landing on that puckeredskin. The revulsion he was sure to feel, even if he hid it well. Thank goodnesshis friend showed up when he did.
Ican’t bear to go to my room where I might hear him, so I grab a blanket fromthe closet and lie on the couch, tucking a throw pillow under my cheek. I justwant to sleep and pretend this never happened. Apparently, the pleasure givenby a Greek God of a man knocks you out after years of only self-inducedorgasms, because I’m asleep in seconds.
Thebeeping of my cell alerting me I have a voicemail wakes me the next morning.Groggy, I sit up on the couch, shaking off a dream I can’t really recall, but Iknow included a lot of naked, muscled skin. Damn it, I can’t even escape Darein my dreams.
Lisa’svoice rings out when I play back my messages, asking if I could meet with herstudent, Ryan, this afternoon at one. It’s nearly eleven o’clock, so I shoother a quick text, letting her know I’ll be there, then jump in the shower. Myreflection in the bathroom mirror makes me pause. There’s a pink spot on myneck. A hickey. He gave me a damn hickey. I should be annoyed, but seeing itonly reminds me of his lips on my neck, the heat of his body, how amazing hesmelled.
Whathas happened to my life in the past few days? I’d normally spend the dayworking on a design project, reading, watching T.V., then maybe dancing alonein the evening. How did I end up rubbing makeup over a hickey before heading toteach at a dance school?
Trafficis light and I end up pulling in the lot of the studio in plenty of time. Lisagreets me as soon as I walk into the lobby. “Ayda, glad you could make it. Ryanis so excited to get a new routine.” She waves to a blond headed boy down thehall and he grins, practically running to meet us. Ryan is twelve years old,but small for his age, with a thin body clearly sculpted by years of dance.
“Ryan,this is Ms. Brooks,” she introduces us.
“Niceto meet you,” he says with a shy smile.
“It’snice to meet you, too.”
Lisalays a hand on Ryan’s shoulder. “You can use the purple room. It’s empty untilthree.” While her advanced classes take place in the main studio, Lisa has twoother rooms where she holds the smaller classes for the youngest children. Sheturns to me. “Come find me if you need me.”
Igive Ryan a reassuring smile. “I’m going to change, then I’ll meet you there.Why don’t you run through the warm up exercises?”
“Sure.”He heads down the hall, and Lisa looks at me.
“Thankyou for helping him. If you have any issues, I’ll be in the office.”
“We’llbe fine,” I assure her. I can feel the eyes on me when I walk back to thedressing room. A young, pretty woman is teaching a group of five and six yearolds in one room, while a teenage couple practice a routine on the main floor.I’m sure they’re curious who I am, since I’ve never been here when the schoolwas open.
Ichange quickly and join Ryan at the barre to warm up. “Have you heard the songyou’ll be performing to?” I ask him.
“Yeah,I love it. Lisa sent me the title last night, and I think I drove my dad crazyplaying it over and over.”
Hesmiles when I laugh. When our muscles are sufficiently warm and limber, we getstarted. I’m blown away by this young boy’s skill and determination. Lisa isright. He feels the music, bringing a passion to dance most boys his age aren’tcapable of. It isn’t until we hear his father’s voice nearly two hours later,that we fall to the floor, sweating and breathing hard.
“Sorryto interrupt,” his dad says, “but Ryan has a birthday party to get to thisafternoon.” He’s not what I’d expect a dance dad to look like. Big, bearded,and burly. He approaches me with a wide smile. “You must be Ms. Brooks. I’mKevin.” His eyes land for a moment on the scar on my face, but it doesn’tbother me. He isn’t staring, and it’s actually weirder sometimes when people goout of their waynotto look.
“Please,call me Ayda. You have a very talented young man here.”
“Yes,I do, although, he could smell a little better,” he teases, and Ryan tries towipe his sweaty head on his dad’s shirt.
Laughing,I tell Ryan, “You did a great job. Lisa will let you know when our nextpractice session will be.”
“Great!Bye Ms. Brooks!” he calls, and I hear him tell his dad as they’re leaving, “Youhave to see this routine. It’s awesome. I’m going to win.”
Lisacatches me on my way out. “Ryan’s excited. I guess the lesson went well?”
“He’sa quick study.”
“Yes,he is. Would you be willing to work with him once a week until the competition?”
Pausing,I consider her offer. To my own surprise, I had fun today. I expected to bepreoccupied by the stares and whispers surrounding me, not just because of myscar, but because of my name. Once upon a time I was an up and coming ballerina,destined for stardom, and a fall from that sort of height is news in itself,never mind the awful circumstances that caused it. I’m thrilled no onerecognized me.
“Sure.Just let me know what day.”
“I’lltext you,” she promises, and flashes a smile before heading to teach her nextclass.
