wanted him to touch me made me doubt my decision-making abilities. Not since junior high had I been so hormonally compelled to make such a terrible decision.
That is what Dominic Russo was. A terrible fucking decision.
“Hey, do you want to split an order of cheese sticks?” Austen asked suddenly.
“You know what? I gave up cheese recently.” Very recently. “And it was really nice meeting you. But I’ve got to get going,” I told him.
He turned an adorable shade of pink. “I guess I really made a mess of this, didn’t I?”
I slid off the stool, shoving Dominic out of the way with my ass. Take that, jerk.
“You just need time,” I told Austen. And maybe some therapy. But didn’t we all? “Don’t feel bad about taking it.”
“It was really nice to meet you, Ally,” he said, rising. “Thanks for listening.”
I laid my hand on his arm and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “I think you’ll be just fine, Austen.”
From behind, I felt a force field of disapproval slam into me.
I slid into my coat and turned to face him.
“Have a nice night, boss.” To any innocent third party, the words sounded normal. But I pumped every ounce of venom I could muster into the look I shot him. We stared at each other for a long, hard moment.
“Aren’t you staying for dinner?” he asked.
I blinked. That was a stupid, weird question.
“I’m not hungry,” I said and pushed past him. “Delaney, it was nice meeting you,” I called on my way to the door.
The bitter wind felt good compared to the fires of hell I’d left behind me.
It was still early, and I didn’t want to head home to my cold, empty house to eat leftovers under the covers. I could go back to the office. If I finished up Shayla’s changes to the graphics and sent them to her, I wouldn’t have to come in early tomorrow. That meant more time with Dad.
There was just one thing I needed to do first. Decision made, I hunched my shoulders and headed into the wind.
The studio was closed for the night. Not many people in Midtown were interested in taking dance classes after eight on a weeknight. But I had a key and permission to use the space whenever I felt like it.
And tonight, I felt like it.
I changed into my dance clothes in the locker room, tied my hair back, and cranked my Fuck Off playlist on the speakers. I shut off all the lights except for the strands around the mirrors.
And I let go of it all.
Gretchen Wilson’s “Her Strut” was all I needed to warm up. I paced toward the mirror, loosening up my shoulders with a shimmy. My hips had already found the beat and were working on making it their bitch.
I moved and spun and writhed around the studio’s floor, pausing only to turn on the LED disco light.
A relentless beat from Nine Inch Nails washed over me, followed by Blondie. I was sweating now. My muscles were warm. My kicks higher. Backbends smoother. But that icy rage had yet to thaw in my chest.
Kid Rock’s “So Hott” came blasting through the speakers, and I forgot about everything else but how it felt to move to music.
It had started with ballet class in elementary school. Even as a kid, it had been too rigid, too confining for me. I added tap. And then I’d fallen hard for Patrick Swayze in Dirty Dancing. I’d practiced MTV video routines in the living room while my father graded papers at the kitchen table. In high school, I’d made the trip into the city twice a week for a hip-hop dance class. There’d been dance classes in college. I’d even given ballroom a spin.
I’d learned the basics, the counts, the steps. And then I mashed them together in one celebration of movement.
Somewhere along the way, I’d started teaching. Dance made me feel like I was honoring my body, my life. It colored how I moved through this world.
I felt a tingle at the base of my spine. It worked its way up between my shoulder blades. If someone was watching me from outside, I couldn’t see them through the windows. And it didn’t fucking matter anyway.
I danced for myself.
The beat changed, and I melted down to the floor in a slow, muscle stretching split. I crawled forward toward the mirrors, rocking and writhing on my hands and knees before climbing to my feet and kicking my leg into the air