Page 5 of 1 Last Shot

My eyebrows shoot to my hairline. "You go there.Andyou do this?"

She lets out a chuckle. "Punching things isn't really my thing. I'm only here because my boyfriend and sister train here."

With perfect timing, a man who can only be described as a Viking walks out of the office. He stops next to the petite blonde and wraps an arm around her shoulders. "Hey," he greets me with a smile. "I'm Jax. I'm the boyfriend."

"And I'm Hailey," chirps the blonde.

Out of the corner of my eye, I think I see the tattooed guy pause in his movements. It takes me a moment to remember to respond to the two in front of me. "Nice to meet you both. I'm Isabella."

"That's such a pretty name," Hailey says with an endearing sigh. "And so perfect for a ballet dancer." She smiles knowingly. "That's your main dance style, right?"

That's enough to finally bring a smile to my face. "I guess it's pretty obvious, huh?"

"It's okay, there are worse things to be obvious about," Hailey says with a laugh. "Come on, I'll walk you over to the studio."

I nod in silent thanks before taking another second to glance around what my brain is finally identifying as an MMA gym. My arrival has apparently disturbed the entire room, because every person in here has stopped their workout to stare at me. I feel slightly guilty about it, until my eyes lock with the tattooed guy’s again.

We both freeze at the caught glance. I've stared enough at his body so instead, I mentally catalog his face—short, almost buzzed brown hair, a perpetual frown, and brown eyes that seem to say everything and nothing all at once. I'm experiencing the distinct sensation that he's catching and analyzing every thought, and every minuscule reaction, that's showing on my face right now.

I can't help the shiver that runs through me at being so…nakedin front of someone. It makes me the first to break our eye contact, and I turn reluctantly toward Hailey.

She doesn't reveal whether or not she noticed my stare-down. She just gives me another warm smile and beckons me to follow her.

The gym door has barely slammed behind us when she asks, "So why the change from ballet?"

It takes me a second to answer her blunt question. Memories of agonizing pain, the flash of ambulance lights, the feeling of hopeless despair from a dream unrealized… in a flash they assault my brain. And though they only last for a second—I've gotten really good at tamping down on those feelings when they arise—they still leave me slightly breathless and battered.

Hailey's harmlessly curious glance encourages me to clear my throat and answer her, though. I even go with a half-truth.

"I just needed a change of pace. I've been doing ballet for so long; I got burned out."

Hailey nods with understanding. "That makes sense. How long have you been dancing?"

"Since I could walk," I answer without any hesitation.

"Wow. You must be really good. Do you dance in the Philadelphia company? Or are you new to Philly?"

"New to Philly. I just moved here from New York a few days ago."

At that, I see out of the corner of my eye Hailey's head turn and her eyes go wide. I know exactly what she's about to say, so I purposefully don't meet her gaze, choosing instead to keep my focus ahead at the sidewalk.

"Did you dance in the New York City Ballet?"

I debate lying, but after a moment, I nod stiffly.

"Holy shit," she breathes. "So you'rereallygood then."

I can't bring myself to react or say anything more. Even thinking about it this much is hard, but something about Hailey screamscaring but not pushy, making it easier to expose some of myself.

Sure enough, Hailey seems to notice my stiff spine and the hard line of my lips, because she doesn't press for more information. She simply faces forward again. "It's right up here before the intersection."

I expect her to be silent as we walk the rest of the way, but instead, she says, "Jane is amazing with people that are new to hip-hop. You'll love her class. Just don't talk while she's teaching."

I think back to the glare of the company director in New York, and the vicious scoldings that would follow any chatter, mumbling, "Trust me, there's no chance of that happening."

When we reach the door to the dance studio, Hailey pushes it open and immediately calls out a hello. I step in behind her and see a woman wearing baggy pants and a crop top, talking to a group of young people who are hanging on her every word.

"Hey, Jane," Hailey calls. "I found a straggler at the gym again."

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