Savage Royals (Boys of Oak Park Prep #1) - Callie Rose Page 0,25

out in goosebumps as I sat in the hall for several long minutes. I dug my slippers out of my gym bag, bending and flexing them to calm myself down.

A little while later, I heard the door open down the hall, and I craned my neck to peer cautiously around the corner. The girl—a senior whose name I was pretty sure was Ashley—walked out, adjusting her clothes and hair.

I pulled my head back quickly, and my eyes fell shut with relief as she walked away in the other direction. A few seconds later, the door opened again. I held my breath, waiting for Finn to follow her.

Then someone kicked lightly at my shoes, and I startled, craning my head to look up. Finn was standing over me, his light brown eyes narrowed.

“If you’re smart, you’ll keep your mouth shut about what you just saw. Not that I want to give you too much credit.”

I blinked and nodded. I was probably six inches shorter than him when I was standing up, and having him loom over me while I sat on the ground made me feel tiny and vulnerable. It also brought back uncomfortable memories of what I’d just witnessed, making my body flush again.

“I wasn’t planning on saying anything about it,” I said quietly. “Why aren’t you in gym with everyone else?”

Finn laughed and pushed his fingers through golden blond hair. “Are you kidding me? I work my ass off at football practice. Have you seen me on that field? Coach pushes me in practice, and I push myself during games. I don’t need fucking gym class too.”

“Right,” I muttered. I actually hadn’t been to a football game yet. I wasn’t exactly bursting with school pride, and sports had never been my thing.

We stared at each other in silence for a long moment—long enough for my neck to start getting uncomfortable, bent at an odd angle. Finally, Finn nodded, stepping back. “All right. Just remember, if you open your big mouth, we can make you wish you hadn’t.”

Irritation sizzled under my skin. My big mouth? I haven’t reported any of the shit you and your asshole friends have pulled, you dick.

Finn must’ve picked up a hint of what I was thinking from my expression, because his lips tilted up in a grin that would’ve been sexy if I hadn’t wanted to slap it off his face.

“Then again, maybe I should give you credit. You’re not stupid, are you, Idaho?”

He left the word trash off the end of the sentence, but I heard it anyway. I pulled my gaze away from his eyes, focusing on his knees as I shook my head.

“Nope. I’m not.”

“Good.”

He huffed a sound that was almost a laugh and then sauntered off down the hall and out of sight. As soon as he was gone, I scrambled to my feet, hefting my bag over my shoulder and darting around the corner. I yanked open the door to the studio and stepped inside.

Part of me didn’t want to be in here at all, could still smell sex in the air and hated the thought of it. But there was half a period left, and I’d be damned if I let a manwhore like Finn take this away from me.

I flipped on the lights, and that helped. It made the space seem more like the dance studios I knew, the bright overheads reflecting off the polished light wood floor.

Quickly, I tugged off my tennis shoes and laced up my ballet slippers. Then I pulled the sweatshirt over my head, gathered my hair up into a loose bun, and approached the mirrors. With every step I took, the strange, unsettled feeling in my stomach faded. The sight of myself in the black leotard and pale slippers was comforting, familiar.

My body had softened some in the months since I’d been able to practice regularly—I hadn’t put on weight, but I’d lost muscle tone—and I knew it would be a long slog to get back to where I’d been before the fall.

After my legs healed, I’d done as much physical therapy as I could afford. My dad had even worked extra shifts at the plant to help pay for them, and even though I knew it was motivated purely by guilt, I took it. I would’ve done anything to get better.

But after I’d cleared physical therapy and dealt with the worst of the stiffness and weakness, his interest had faded back to zero. He’d had no desire to help me dance again,