Page 4 of 1 Last Shot

Fuck them.

2

ISABELLA

I almost didn’t get my parents out of my new apartment and settled in their hotel on time. I’m half-convinced the only reason Ididget my mom to leave was because I have an appointment for something dance oriented. If there’s one thing my parents will reorganize their entire lives for, it’s dancing.

Glancing down at my phone, then back up at the building in front of me, I realize I should’ve calculated for extra time. Because there’s no way I’m in the right spot.

2324 Pine St.Address matches.

It doesn'tlooklike a place for dance, but then again, I've only ever seen ballet schools. Maybe these smaller studios can get away with different locations.

Taking a deep breath to steel myself, I walk up the stairs and push open the front doors.

And immediately come to a stop.

I can't figure out what to focus on first: the two men rolling around on the mat that stretches over the entire floor, or the pair punching each other on the far side of the room. The view, the sounds of grunting coming from both pairs, and the smell of Vaseline and Bengay are overwhelming to my senses.

This is definitely not a dance studio.

I must have made a startled sound when I walked in, because by the time I've finished taking in the sights and sounds before me, the wrestling duo has split apart and focused their attention on me. The larger one—a dark-haired man with piercing blue eyes and a distinct don't-fuck-with-me aura—stands up and walks over to the edge of the mat.

"Hi, can I help you?" he asks in a deep voice.

"Uh, I doubt it," is my honest response. This guy looks like he wouldn't be able to tell the difference between ballet and tap. "I'm looking for a dance studio, but clearly, this is the wrong spot."

For reasons I'm sure I'll never understand, the Adonis in front of me smirks at a woman standing along the chairs that line the edge of the room. Or why she rolls her eyes in return.

"You're close to the right spot," he says when he turns back to me. "Unfortunately, some websites still have the wrong address listed for the studio. It's in the building at the other end of the block."

"Oh," I breathe. "That's weird. Okay, well, thanks."

I'm just about to turn around to get out of this alternate dimension, when another man walks into the room from the other side of the building.

A shirtless, sweat-drenched, heavily-tattooed man with a scowl on his face that looks like it might be etched into his skin.

I’m caught completely off guard by the flash of heat that runs through me at the sight of him.

I’ve been surrounded by graceful, beautiful men my whole life. Not to say I’ve been living under a rock and haven’t interacted with anyone who isn’t a dancer, but my experience with most men—a singular boyfriend included—has been with a very particular type of man.

One who’s the complete opposite of the man standing in front of me.

A man who immediately makes me want to know everything about him.

I must be staring because he notices me right away. His steps slow, and though he holds my gaze for a moment, it eventually drops and roves over my body.

It doesn't seem like it's in a sexual way, necessarily. He just looks curious, if curiosity came with a side of negativity. Because that scowl suddenly looks angrier than it did before he saw me.

I stare right back at the 6’2”, 200-pound alpha. His focus reads like he expects me to wither at his attention, or maybe even his commanding and terrifying appearance, but I’m so mesmerized by him that I couldn’t look away if I tried. I can only stare and hope my gaze doesn’t read as mesmerized as I feel.

He gives me a second once-over, his brow furrowing slightly, this time seeming to draw a second conclusion. And when he realizes that I'm far from intimidated, he straightens and starts to move across the room again. I watch in awe as he grabs one of the dummies from the side, straddles it, and starts to rain life-ending punches onto the padded face.

The weird crackle of energy between us evaporates when I hear a woman ask, "Did I hear someone asking about the dance studio?"

I turn in surprise to see a small blonde woman has walked out of the office, momentarily forgetting why I'm even here. But once her question registers, I answer, "Yeah, that's me. It had this as the address, but that's obviously wrong."

"Yeah, some websites still have the wrong one listed. I can walk you over there, though. I'm not taking class tonight, but I can at least show you around."

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