Chapter 8 : Alyssa

One week later...

I cross one leg over the other and fold my upper body to my thighs, stretching my arms until they can sweep across the floor. Gradually I inhale, filling my lungs with oxygen and expanding my chest to capacity. I hold it for a couple of seconds before forcing every molecule from my body. Repeating the process, I focus on my breathing. I can almost feel the break down of lactic acid that has built up in my muscles during the intense sixty-minute practice. After a few more deep breaths, I sit up and shift my legs before crossing the left in front of the right and bending forward to deepen the stretch. Once my calves and thighs have been stretched, I straighten my legs in front of me and fold at the waist before widening my legs and moving through a second series of stretches.

Francois Dupre, our guest instructor, is a French import. His pedigree is impressive. Classically trained, danced as the lead with the French Ballet, travelled the world. Most of the female dancers have a massive crush on him. A few of the male dancers do as well. I can't blame them. He's dreamy with black wavy hair and intelligent cocoa-colored eyes. His body is long, lean, and muscular from years of training.

As if he hasn't already commanded everyone's attention, he claps his hands. "Excellent work," he says in heavily accented English. "We meet again on Friday."

A few sighs escape as three girls pop gracefully to their feet before rushing toward him. Once he's flanked on all sides, tittering laughter rings throughout the spacious room.

I glance at Zoe, who is finishing up her stretches next to me, and roll my eyes. "What a bunch of whores," I mutter under my breath.

The corners of her lips tremble before she grins and spears a glance toward the growing swarm outfitted in Lycra. "Apparently they haven't figured it out that Monsieur Dupre has no interest in someone with lady parts."

I snort and shrug. "Perhaps they're hoping to persuade him differently?"

"It won't work." She closes the distance between us before admitting, "I already tried."

"You did not!" I gasp.

"Of course, I did." Her gaze slices to him as she lifts a shoulder. "I mean, come on. Just look at the man." Her voice goes a little dreamy. "Can you even imagine what he looks like beneath his clothes?"

An image of Colton pops into my head. As delicious as Monsieur Dupre is, I only have eyes for one man. And it's not our dance instructor. "He turned you down?"

"Yup. He said his boyfriend would have a problem with it," she admits with a laugh. "I told him that I'd be more than happy to be the star of that little show."

"Shut up!" I swat her arm as my eyes pop wide. "You didn't!"

"Please, girl. You know me better than that." She grins and shoots another glance in our teachers' direction. "Do you have any idea how hot that would be?"

Ummm...maybe?

"Anyway," she continues blithely, "it was a no-go."

I rise to my feet and lift my arms above my head before bending to the left, holding the pose, and then repeating it on the other side until my muscles feel limber.

After she's done stretching, Zoe slips off her beat up shoes before stuffing them inside her dance bag. I do the same, grabbing a bottle of water and raising it to my lips. Once the container has been drained, I stuff it in the bag and pull on an oversized T-shirt. Black leggings come next before shoving my feet into a pair of boots and stuffing my arms into my jacket. "Ready to go?"

She nods as we wave to our instructor, who is still surrounded by a handful of students, and exit the studio. Even though I'm tired from a full hour of dancing, I feel amazing. My muscles are fatigued and pliable.

No matter what happens in my life, dance is the one thing I can count on. I can always lose myself in the choreography. When my parents went through a rough patch and were at each other's throats, dance is what got me through the hard times. If I couldn't escape to the studio, I was able to shove earbuds in, crank up the music, and lose myself in the movement while locked in my bedroom.

What would I do if I couldn't dance?

Who would I be without it?

I don't have an answer to that. It's an integral part of who I am.

Even though I'm nowhere near good enough to dance professionally, my dream is to one day open up my own studio. During high school, I started teaching ballet and jazz classes. It's something I enjoy. I've been lucky to find a studio here in town where I can pick up a few classes to teach on the weekends.

Am I under any illusion that it will make me rich?

Nope. But I don't care.

Dance makes me happy.

Dance makes the world happy.

As we walk through the crowded corridor, Zoe chatters about the annual showcase. Each performer choreographs a three-minute routine to highlight their talent. Wesley has a fierce program with dancers from around, not only the country, but the world. Guest instructors are brought in from the most elite programs. A number of dancers end up performing in companies, on Broadway, or dancing backup. I feel fortunate to be here, studying alongside and learning from such a talented group of people.

"Hey, you want to grab lunch?" she asks. "After such a grueling practice, I'm starving."

I pull on my fingerless gloves. "Sure. I could eat." Truth be told, I can always eat. It's a continuous battle.

What can I say?

I'm part Italian and have a serious love affair with pasta. I'm sure that it will be my downfall.

As we push through the glass doors into the bright January sunshine, my phone chimes with an incoming message. I slip the cell from the pocket of my white puffer jacket and glance at the screen.

My heartbeat quickens as Colton's name pops up.

Six months.

It seems almost unbelievable that we've been together for half of a year.

Last week, unable to hold all these feelings inside, I'd dropped the I love you bomb after sex. I couldn't help myself. It had needed to be said and I wanted Colton to know how much he means to me.

Yeah, it had been disappointing when he didn't return the sentiment, but it's fine. I know he cares. He shows me in a hundred different ways each and every day. Little things that make my heart beat into overdrive. Like opening the car door for me, stroking his fingers gently through my hair, clasping my hand when we walk across campus, or showing up at my dorm in the morning with a steaming cup of coffee.

Even though we've been together for half a year, we're still taking baby steps. At some point in the not-so-distant future, I'm hoping Colton will come to the realization that what we have is special and he loves me. I know enough about football to realize that it's all about the long game with Colton. I'm nothing if not patient and persistent.

My finger swipes across the screen and my gaze skims over the message as Zoe and I jog down the cement stairs until we're in front of the William Dutton fine arts building. It takes a moment for the words to sink in. As they do, my footsteps falter and I grind to a halt. My gaze stays glued to the text bubble as all of the oxygen evaporates from my lungs, leaving me to feel as if the wind has been knocked from me.

"Alyssa?" With her brows pinched together, Zoe swings around before hoisting the strap of her bag onto her slender shoulder. "Are you coming?"

People knock into me in their haste to flee the building. A few grumble and tell me to get out of the way. When I remain silent, Zoe's fingers lock around my wrist before dragging me off the pathway and out of the rush of student traffic.

She waves a hand in front of my face to capture my attention as concern floods her voice. "Alyssa?"

I blink and refocus on the words-willing them to morph into something else-before giving my head a little shake.

Is this a joke?

"Are you all right?" Zoe's voice softens as she carefully searches my face.

Even though I'm falling apart on the inside, I force myself to remain calm. "Ummm, sorry to bale," I mumble, unable to rip my gaze away from the screen. "But there's something I need to take care of. Go on without me, okay?"

Her lips sink further into a frown as she shifts her weight. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah." I glance up as my head continues to spin. "Sorry to flake on you like this."

"I don't know what's going on, but if you need me to come with you, I will."

I shake my head. "Thanks, but no."

"All right," she says, sounding dubious, "if you're sure."

"I am."

"I'll see you on Friday?"

"Yup." Barely am I aware of Zoe walking away and leaving me alone. Instead of reading over the message again, I stab the call button and hold the phone to my ear. A pit the size of Texas settles in my belly as it goes straight to voicemail.

What the fuck?

Is Colton really doing this to me?

After six months together, it seems almost unfathomable. Anger crashes over me as I stab the red end button and hit redial. When it goes straight to voicemail for a second time, I realize that he has no intention of picking up my call.

He's really doing this.

He lit a match, threw it over his shoulder, and burn our relationship to the ground.