Chapter One
Emily
“Holy mother of muscles. We should’ve come here a long time ago, Em,” says Jessa as the two of us walk into the gym. “This place is hottie central.”
I laugh at Jessa’s awestruck expression. Mostly, though, I’m still lost in my own bittersweet thoughts. This upcoming ballet season is going to be my last one as a professional dancer, and it’s nearly all I can think about these days.
One more year of dancing. Seven more ballets to rehearse and perform.
My heart hurts at how little is left.
I let Jessa check us in with week-long guest passes—usually we work out at a gym closer to the ballet studio, but it’s temporarily closed for renovations—and then follow her to the locker room. I’m warming up on an elliptical next to her when I realize I’m only responding to her light chatter with the occasional hmm and uh-huh.
Shit. I really need to cut it out. Jessa is my best friend; we’ve danced together in the same ballet company for years. She deserves more of my attention than this.
“Sorry, girl,” I say, glancing over at her as I tap the button on my elliptical to increase the resistance. I give her a sheepish smile. “I was just…um…”
“Ogling the eye candy?” she cuts in.
I snort a laugh. “Yep, that totally sounds like me, checking out a bunch of sweaty dudes.”
“Oh, come on, Em,” Jessa says. “It’s not like you’re picking out a guy to settle down with. Enjoy the view! There’s perks to being at a new gym.”
I roll my eyes, ignoring the wistful twinge in my heart that I’ll never admit to. I’ve given up a lot for a career I love, and I wouldn’t change a thing…but of course there’s a part of me that wishes I could have it all.
A professional dancer has a limited shelf life—at thirty years old, this is a fact I’m well aware of—and I’ll be damned if I have to give up any of the short time I have left to live my dream. The last thing I have time for right now is a man, and since Jessa takes dance just as seriously as I do, I know she understands that.
Still, like she said, I guess there’s no harm in looking…and, okay, while the gym is full of all sorts of shapes, sizes, and ages, there’s no denying that a lot of those shapes and sizes are male, incredibly attractive, and definitely make for good scenery.
“Atta girl,” says Jessa, catching me surveying the gym’s occupants. “See? Not so hard after all.”
A woman a few machines down from us shoots Jessa a dirty look, mumbling something under her breath about things coming easy for some people. I don’t think Jessa hears her, but I roll my eyes. If she thinks that just because Jessa and I aren’t breathing hard yet, it “came easy,” then she’s never seen a ballerina’s mangled feet without our pretty pointe shoes on, or considered the endless hours of practice we have to put in to keep our careers on track.
Of course, that woman’s mumbled comment was probably only directed to Jessa, not me. Unlike Jessa and her long, lean dancer’s body, no one looks at me and thinks ballerina—not with hips like these and my short stature.
I’m way past caring what people think of me, though. I got over that a hell of a long time ago. That’s what happens when you go for years being told you’ll never make it. When I was first aspiring to become a professional dancer, I heard criticism over and over again—that I was too short, too curvy, that I should just give up.
Thank God I didn’t listen to the naysayers.
Jessa and I stay on the machines for another twenty minutes before exchanging a glance and agreeing that it’s time to move on to something else. Jessa stabs a button on her machine to slow down the speed, and I do the same. My muscles are nice and warm and ready for a real workout. As I grab my water bottle and rehydrate, Jessa starts murmuring naughty comments about the hot men working out around us.
Meanwhile, I’m wholly focused again on the main reason we’re here.
“Uh oh,” Jessa says as we step off the ellipticals. “I know that look, Em.”
I raise an eyebrow at her as I wipe down my machine. “What look?”
“The look that says you’re about to go for a much harder workout than we agreed to.”
I grin, not bothering to deny it. Everyone