‘That’s not an answer.’ She pressed into the stretch, one hand braced on the ground next to his arm, the other holding his active leg. ‘Besides, it takes two to tango.’
‘If we must talk, can’t it be about something else?’
‘Such as?’ She peered down at him while she pushed on his leg.
‘How about your dancing?’ He sighed, closing his eyes for a moment as Jasmine pressed slowly.
‘What about it?’ She leant back and motioned for him to switch legs again.
‘Why are you teaching here? It’s clear you’ve got too much talent to be teaching toddlers.’
‘Why do you care?’ She didn’t want to get into it; her pain was not his concern.
He didn’t answer. Instead, he stared at her wordlessly until she felt as if she might burn up on the spot.
‘You don’t want to talk about a simple kiss, but you’re quite happy to talk about my personal trauma?’
He paused. ‘I think you should give dancing another shot.’
‘It’s not that easy.’ She sighed. Why did everyone think it was as simple as that? If it were, wouldn’t she have gone back by now?
‘I know you can do it.’
‘I want to talk about the kiss instead.’ She pursed her lips.
‘Why? You were the one who ran off like...like...’ He grappled for words. ‘I can’t talk about this while you’re...there.’
‘This is a perfectly legitimate cool-down activity.’ Maybe if she said it enough times she’d convince herself it was all for his benefit...and not because she felt compelled to be close to him.
‘I should have stopped it.’
‘It’s not a big deal.’
‘Yes, it is. I’m not looking for a relationship and I don’t have the time nor the interest to have anyone in my life.’ His voice was low, guarded. He was censoring himself, barricading his true feelings behind the commanding tone and blank stare. ‘It was a momentary lapse of judgement.’
Jasmine sat back, startled by the complete one-hundred-and-eighty-degree turn that had taken place. It was as if she was speaking to a different person.
‘I’m not looking for a relationship either.’ Hell, that’s the last thing I need.
‘Trust me,’ he said, standing up and dusting off his tights. His eyes raked over her, calculating and cold as he observed her reaction. ‘It’s for your own good.’
Heat spread from Jasmine’s neck to her face. She was sure her cheeks burned red as tomatoes.
It’s for your own good.
She’d heard that phrase many times in her failed relationship with Kyle Waterhouse. Her ex had been the possessive type, controlling. That had been his catchphrase. The one he’d tried on every time she rebelled against his commands. When she hadn’t been allowed to wear a short dress it had been for her own good. When he’d prevented her from going out with her friends it had been for her own good. When he’d embarrassed her in front of his family by telling her she shouldn’t be eating anything fattening it had been for her own good.
The statement hung thick and heavy over them, sucking the air from her lungs. She was about to lose it—about to let go of the rage that was a tight, flaming knot in her stomach.
She lowered Grant’s leg to the floor and rocked back onto her heels. She rose slowly.
‘What is “for my own good” is none of your concern. I take care of myself. So do us both a favour and don’t tell me what to do.’
Mustering her composure, she turned and walked to the door. Heart pounding, she grabbed her coat and bag and headed out of the building. It was incredible how four little words could fill her with a boiling pot of blinding, white-hot emotion.
Wincing as the night air slapped her in the face, she tried to feel satisfaction as the door slammed shut behind her, the bang resonating out into the empty parking lot. Logically she knew that he couldn’t understand the effect those words had on her, but hearing them made her want to run. Made her want to put as much distance between them as possible.
Lungs burning, she continued at pace towards Elise’s car. She fumbled in her bag, hands shaking as she looked frantically for the keys—praying that he wouldn’t come after her.
She’d deluded herself, tricked herself into reading something into his kiss...into the way he’d touched her hand in the café. Her insides tumbled as she realised what a fool she must look, expecting something from him that she shouldn’t. Lusting after him like some starstruck teen.
Idiot, idiot, idiot!
How could she have been so naive? Was she so desperate after Kyle that she thought the next guy to kiss her was something special? Elise was right—crazy cat lady status was cemented in her future.
Heat burned her cheeks. Her vision was blurred by the puffs of white smoke that billowed up as her hot breath connected with the chilly night air. Mercifully she located the car keys and hit the unlock button. Sliding inside the car, she turned the engine over and pressed her foot to the ground. The car’s tyres screeched as she raced from the car park.
He was just like the rest of them.
* * *
The EJ Ballet School’s big day had arrived. Its annual Winter Performance was a matinee showcase of all the routines due to appear in the upcoming competition season. It would be Jasmine’s first time back in a theatre since she left the Australian Ballet.
Her footsteps echoed, and even though she was indoors condensation billowed from her mouth as she hurried down the aisle to the first row of seats. The theatre’s heating system had just kicked in, and it would take a while for the chill to wear off. Memories flooded her, and the old thrill of adrenaline that came before a performance lit up her senses.
She could see the back of Elise’s head, her flaxen hair already slicked into a bun and affixed with a glittering headpiece.
Jasmine slumped down next to her. Shivering, she brought a takeaway cup to her lips. The coffee inside was strong and piping hot, exactly the way she liked it.
‘Morning.’ Elise was sewing a string of sequins around the hem of a costume, her golden brows knitted together while her tongue stuck out from the side of her lips.
The past few days had been like wading through sludge and the way things had been left with Grant weighed on Jasmine. She shouldn’t care. It had only been a kiss. But as far as kisses went...it had been the motherload.
‘Do you want to talk about it?’ Elise said without looking up.
‘Talk about what?’
‘Why you’ve been moping around like a kid who’s lost her puppy.’ Elise continued to focus on her costume, pushing the needle through the fabric and pulling it out the other side. She threaded a sequin, then a bead, and drove the needle back down.
‘I have not.’
‘Don’t lie to me, Jazz.’ Elise paused to give her friend a withering stare. ‘I can’t take your denial before breakfast.’
Jasmine presented the coffee and bagel she’d picked up for Elise on her way in and let out a chuckle at the look of complete adoration that washed over her friend’s face. ‘No, I don’t want to talk about it.’
‘I think you should talk about it.’ Elise looked up after taking a long swig of her coffee. ‘Did you pitch the sex as therapy idea?’
‘I didn’t even get that far,’ Jasmine replied, frowning.
‘How come?’
‘Because he back-pedalled on the whole thing. Apparently the kiss was a mistake.’
‘He said that?’
‘Verbatim.’ Jasmine rolled her eyes. ‘Then he told me he was protecting me—that he was backing off for my own good.’
Elise winced. ‘I can imagine how that went down.’
‘It was just a kiss...we’re both adults...I don’t see why he’s got his knickers in a knot about it.’
�
�You were the one who bailed after you kissed.’ Trust Elise to flip it on her. ‘Do you think he freaked out because of that?’
‘No idea. He’s hot one minute...hotter than hot...and then freezing cold the next.’ Jasmine sipped on her coffee. ‘I can’t keep my head straight, watching him bounce back and forth.’
Both girls paused when the sound of the theatre door opening caught their attention. Missy, a long-time friend and fellow dance teacher, made her way to the girls at the front. Her skin held a sickly green tinge.
‘What the hell is wrong with you?’ Elise asked.
‘Stomach bug,’ Missy replied, and her bleary eyes showed how many times she’d got up in the middle of the night. ‘I’m OK. I just need a minute—’
Her eyes bulged and she shot up from her seat, racing towards the front exit where the toilets were. Elise and Jasmine looked at one another.
‘Crap.’ Elise dropped her head into her hands. ‘There’s no way she’s going to be able to pirouette without barfing on the stage. What a disaster!’
Missy was one of the quartet dancing in the teachers’ routine Jasmine had choreographed. They’d been working towards this performance for weeks, and with several of the scouts from the Australian Ballet School attending everything needed to run like clockwork.
They waited until Missy returned. She curled up into a ball next to Jasmine, her teeth chattering, her skin glowing with a clammy sheen.
‘We can do the dance with three people instead of four. I’ll re-choreograph the partnering in the middle.’
‘I’m fine,’ Missy protested weakly.
Students filed into the theatre, excited voices chattering, oblivious to the problems their teachers were dealing with.
‘We can’t change the choreography now.’ Elise shook her head, ignoring Missy’s feeble protest. ‘That’s way too much pressure.’
‘But no one else knows the steps.’
Jasmine massaged her temples. She knew exactly what was coming.
‘You do.’
The statement hung in the air, eclipsed by the sound of blood rushing in Jasmine’s ears. There was no way she could step in now. She hadn’t been on stage in so long and she wasn’t ready for her first time to be in front of an entire ballet school’s worth of family and friends.
No. No way in hell.
‘I can’t do it.’
‘I’m sorry, Jazz.’ Missy shot up from her seat again and raced through the exit.
‘Yes, you can,’ Elise implored her. ‘I know you can.’
‘I’m not a dancer anymore.’ Jasmine’s voice broke as the pressure overwhelmed her.
She jumped up and walked out of the theatre, through the foyer and into the chilly morning air. The sky was grey, storm clouds looming like a prediction of the future. Her stomach churned with guilt. She was letting Elise and the others down. But she couldn’t get back out there. Not yet. Not now. No amount of puppy-dog eyes from Elise would make her do it. What if she fell? What if she’d lost all of her talent and she looked like a fool beside Elise and the other teachers? She couldn’t risk that.
Damn it!
Elise had worked so hard at pulling the Winter Performance together and this wasn’t fair. She deserved a better friend than Jasmine—someone who could get past her own problems and step up. But she couldn’t do it. She was too broken.
‘What are you going to do?’
The voice startled Jasmine and she spun around. Grant.
‘What are you doing here?’ she asked.
He was perched on the handrail that led from the theatre door to the valet area. Thigh-hugging jeans and a leather jacket that looked soft as butter clung to his frame in all the right places. His jaw was freshly shaven and his thick blond hair was mussed into a peak.
He looked hot as sin.
‘I bought a ticket.’ He shrugged. ‘You know...supporting the community and all that.’
Jasmine couldn’t stop the corners of her mouth twitching into a smile. ‘Very big of you.’
‘So what are you going to do?’ He cocked his head to one side, waiting for her answer.
‘About what?’
‘If I read the situation correctly your routine is one dancer short.’ He paused. ‘I saw her coming out of the ladies’ room...I don’t think I’ve ever seen a person who was literally green before.’
Jasmine let out a rush of air. They were screwed. ‘I don’t know what we’re going to do, but it’s not something you need to worry about. The show must go on, as they say.’
‘So you’re not going to step up?’
His question sucked the breath from her. It was one thing to hear it from Elise, but it was another thing entirely for Grant to get involved. Especially since he’d made it clear the little intimacy they’d shared was something he didn’t wish to repeat.
‘It’s not a matter of stepping up.’ Jasmine folded her arms across her chest. ‘I’m not a dancer anymore.’
‘Yes, you are. I’ve seen you in that studio.’
‘You don’t know what it’s like, Grant.’
‘You crave it. You feel incomplete without it.’ He stood and stepped towards her. ‘Does that sound about right?’
She bit down on her lip. OK, so maybe he did know what she was feeling. That didn’t change the situation.
‘Don’t you think I would have done it by now if it were that easy?’ She tightened her arms, partly to warm her and partly to quell the tiny flicker of hope in her chest.
She wasn’t ready. Her body wasn’t ready, nor her mind... Hell, she didn’t even have her ballet shoes with her.
‘Nothing worth having is easy.’
‘What motivation poster did you steal that from?’ Sarcasm dripped from her voice. It was a natural defence, and right now pushing him away was easier than dealing with any of it.
She couldn’t take him and his confusing hot/cold actions. She couldn’t take this pressure, the competing desire and fear that somersaulted in her stomach. It was too much, too soon.
He caught her shoulders between his hands. His jaw was clenched, his eyes burning into hers. ‘If you don’t do it now you might not ever have the guts to perform again.’
‘You don’t know that.’ She looked away. The cold was seeping through her clothes and into her bones. ‘Why do you even care?’
‘Because I’ve been there. I’ve stood on that edge, wondering whether to play it safe or take the plunge.’
‘And?’ She held her breath, frozen by the intensity that radiated from him and rooted her to the ground.
‘It’s worth it. It’s worth the fear and the sacrifices you’ve already made to be who you need to be. You need to try again.’
Were they still talking about her dancing? Memories swirled up and shimmered before her. She’d been happy once...before she’d gambled everything on a career that had crashed and burned. What did she have to show for those years of hard work?
‘I can’t.’
‘I thought about giving up football, you know.’ He scuffed the ground with the edge of one heavy black boot. ‘I dragged my team’s name through the mud when I went off the rails. I remember going to training the morning after a huge blow-up and hovering at the entrance to the ground. I wasn’t sure I could face them all. I wasn’t sure I could risk them rejecting me.’
‘This is different.’ She tried to keep the surge of empathy out of her voice—this wasn’t the same situation. ‘I’m not hesitating because I’m worried I can’t do it. I know I can’t.’
‘Yes,’ he said roughly, ‘you can.’
‘Please don’t pretend you know me.’ Her voice shook, the weight of her decision crushing down on her chest. ‘Or what I’m capable of.’
‘For God’s sake, Jasmine!’ He threw his hands up in the air. ‘Don�
�t you know how brilliant you are? You’re so talented. And you’re ready to throw it all away because why? Because you’re scared? That’s not good enough.’
She wanted to slap him and kiss him and be held by him. Emotion rose up within her, choking the words before they could reach her lips.
‘You’re better than that,’ he whispered. ‘Don’t let your fear get the better of you.’
‘Says the man who’s afraid of a kiss.’
She tipped her nose up at him, forcing away the desire to lean in and kiss him. She wanted so badly for someone to comfort her. She wanted him to comfort her. But he’d already put that barrier firmly in place.
‘Says the girl who ran away.’
SEVEN
A sense of déjà vu washed over Jasmine as the dancers prepared for the show. She rolled her good foot around in circles, testing its flexibility, before switching to her injured ankle. It creaked under the movement but no pain materialised.
Perhaps with a little stretching she would be OK to dance the teachers’ piece, especially since none of them danced en pointe anymore. A tiny bud of hope flickered like a flame struggling to stay alight in a draft.
What if she did dance again? Would she be able to dance outside the EJ Ballet School? Dancing en pointe was out of the question because her ankle was far too fragile; it was the reason her career was over. But she could move on to something else, try something new. Grant’s words swirled in her head: If you don’t do it now you might not ever have the guts to perform again.
Her palms were slick as she balled them into fists.
Could she do it? Could she step back out there and risk humiliation in front of all those people?
The first strains of the opening scene set the dancers into motion, their graceful forms taking the music and interpreting it into lyrical movement. Elise appeared beside her and patted her arm.
What if this was her last chance? The finality of such a concept made her blood run cold. What if she never danced again? She wouldn’t know herself anymore. Fear lodged in her throat, its cold grip restricting her air.
You need to try again. This was the edge he’d talked about—the one where she could jump off and deal with the consequences. Or she could turn away and risk never finding her way back.
Only the Brave Try Ballet Page 8
