Page 29 of 1 Last Shot

She shoos me into the studio. Which is fine with me, because I feel the embarrassment coating my skin like oil.

I'm not used to having a job. And not because my parents have always paid for things, but because I've only ever been in schools and programs where I received a stipend to pay for my living expenses. I'm not used to actually working for a paycheck.

Which, at twenty-three years old, feels like an incredibly spoiled thing to say. Even though most of my peers in the company were the same way.

So Tanya pointing out that I don't even know how to set up my own direct deposit is yet another reminder that I haven't been living in the same world as everyone else. That I'm incompetent with basic things, and that I've only ever been good at one: dance.

Dance is… easy. It's the easiest thing I've ever done in my life. Not the performances, or the physical act of dancing—that’s the hardest thing I've ever done—butbeinga dancer feels as easy and as natural as slipping on my pointe shoes. Doing everything in my power to move me even an inch closer to my goal of getting accepted to the New York City Ballet was obvious, and an easy choice. I never once felt like I was meant to do anything but dance.

So the fact that I don't know who to call for maintenance when my hot water doesn't work, and have no idea what my own social security number is in order to set up my job's financial onboarding…

Just emphasizes that the only thing I'm good at is dancing.

What am I even doing here? Why would I ever think I could do something thatisn'tballet? I should've just taken Mrs. Martin up on her offer of teaching at the school.

I force those thoughts from my head as I walk into my classroom. Students are already chatting and warming up, and getting ready for class. Itshouldmake me feel better that a good number of women came to my class to learn fromme, but with everything that's happened today, and all the annoying thoughts that have come with it, they're hardly helpful.

I don't even notice Kane walk into the room. It takes me getting halfway through the warmup to realize the enormous presence in the back is someone I know.

I haven’t seen him since the laundromat “incident” a few days ago. Not that I’ve been chasing him down to try to talk about what happened, I just don't know if he's avoiding me, or if we just have opposite schedules—ever since I knocked on his door at 6 a.m. and discovered he was just getting home, I don't assume anything about his schedule. But I definitely didn’t expect him to show up to my class again after how horrified he looked the other day at the laundromat. I thought for sure that was the end of his yoga practice, and that I’d only see him randomly in the building.

Seeing him again now makes a buzz of static energy run through me.

I have no idea what to do with Kane, so I put him out of my mind and focus on class. It only takes me a few minutes to settle into what I’m starting to feel is my teaching rhythm, and before long I’m completely in the zone.

Sixty minutes later, I end class with, “Namaste.”

I hang out on the bench as everyone packs up and gets ready to leave. When there are only a few people lingering, I walk over to my bag to gather my own things.

It isn't until I've pulled my sweatshirt on, slung my yoga mat over my shoulder, and slid my phone in my pocket that I realize I'm missing my car keys.

I dig through my bag, unworried at the first pass, but my anxiety climbing by the second. By the third, I'm frantically ripping my bag apart, throwing water bottles and clothes and anything else in my bag all over the bench.

"Problem, princess?”

Tossing the wallet in my hand back into my bag, I straighten and plant my hands on my hips, a sulking expression etched on my face. “Of course not. Everything’s just peachy."

A frown appears on Kane's face. He doesn't say anything, doesn't push me again to answer, but his hard stare is enough to tell me he's expecting something.

And for whatever reason, Kane standing there, patiently asking what's wrong—even though he's never given any indication that he would care—is enough to make the wall I've built around myself today crumble at my feet. My shoulders drop with a defeated breath.

"It's just been a bad day," I mumble. "It seems like everything is going wrong. And the cherry on top is that I can't find my keys. I have no idea what to do now." I shrug helplessly. "Guess I really am a princess."

And then, to my utter dismay, I start to tear up.

There's no way for Kanenotto see it, so I don't bother to hide the way I wipe a single escaped tear from my cheek. I simply turn back to my bag and blindly start to rummage through it again.

"I don't know anyone who hasn't lost their keys at some point in their life,” he murmurs.

Sniffing in answer, I chance a peek at him.Is he trying to make me feel better right now?

There's a pause, and I half expect him to realize his too-soft answer and immediately rush out of here. Instead, he says, "Come on, I'll give you a ride on my way home.”

“Why, so you can make me come on your lap again?”

It bursts out of me. I didn’t even know that was a thought, let alone that I was going to say it out loud. Feeling my cheeks warm, I slowly lift my gaze to meet Kane’s.

He’s…amused. The corner of his lip is twitching with a smile, and his eyes are lit up with a twinkle.

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