She Laughs in Pink (Sheridan Hall #1)

by Jessica Calla

  I beam, proud she can tell I’m a dancer just from looking at me. The excitement must be plastered over my face. I extend my hand. “Juliet Anderson. Nice to meet you.”

  “Nice to meet you, too, Juliet.” Her words flow like the music playing for the class but her grip is strong. I love how ballerinas, real ballerinas, are living anomalies—strong yet soft, feminine yet resilient, musical yet calculated.

  Chase interrupts my stare-fest. “Juliet is a freshman with me at NJU, and she’s looking for a dance studio in the area. Can we pick up a schedule? See if we can work something out?”

  “Of course!” She doesn’t let go of my hands. “Are you en pointe?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” I have the urge to curtsy but refrain.

  “Look for Advanced Ballet on the schedule. We’re finishing up inside. When the girls leave, feel free to check out the dance space.”

  I manage a nod and a “thank you” as Miss Stephanie rejoins her class. I stand nose-to-the-glass watching, jealous I’m not inside. Finally, the class ends and the sweaty, tired girls file out.

  They smile at me but seem more interested in my tall, dark, handsome companion. Understandable. Chase politely nods as they look him up and down. Talk about a piece of art. I admire the long V of his body and the way his jeans hang on his hips. When I move closer to stand next to him, the dancers’ scoping becomes a bit more subtle.

  When the last dancer clears the room, I prance into the studio, giddy, and head for the barre. It runs along the far end of the room under a line of windows that overlook the city street. Chase’s apartment is eye level with the studio. I love the idea of barre work with a view outside, as if I’m dancing for the world. The mirrors stretch ceiling to floor opposite the barre, and an upright piano and sound system occupies the stage right corner. Heaven.

  I walk the length of the barre, running my hand along its wood. I can’t stop myself from doing a quick little plié. Then a relever. I kick off my sandals, and, barefoot, I lift my leg and rest my ankle on the barre pointing my toes. Ahh, my hamstring thanks me for the stretch as I lean into my leg.

  I’m not dressed to dance and my short skirt rides up. Chase leans against the barre, watching me. “Sorry. I can’t help myself,” I say, trying to pull down my skirt but maintain the stretch.

  He grins. “Trust me. I don’t mind. Dance for me, gorgeous.” He backs away toward the mirrors, leaving me the floor. I spin to face him and smirk. If he thinks I’ll chicken out now that I have an audience, he’s in for a shock.

  “I’ll dance for you.”

  He crosses his arms over his chest, slowly trailing his eyes over me as I take center stage. Even though Ben resists me, at least Chase’s interest confirms that I’m not repulsive to the entire male gender.

  After a quick stretch with the other leg, I try to ignore Chase and “mark” the routine before dancing it full out. I’m not warm, and I don’t want to pull my neglected muscles. I catch Chase’s eye as he pulls out a sketchpad and a pencil. I assume he’s sketching me, and his attention turns my dance into a performance.

  When Chase’s pencil slows, so do I. I spin my way back to the barre and look outside as I catch my breath as Chase joins me. “You dance beautifully.”

  I shrug. “Thanks. It’s what I do.”

  He smiles and points across the street to his apartment. “So I kind of own the gallery under my home. Well, half of it.”

  It’s not what I expected to hear.

  He continues. “My parents were artists. They met sketching in a park one day. After years of trying to sell their stuff but never finding the right forum, they decided to open a gallery. My grandmother raised my mom in that apartment, too. The storefront used to be a bike shop. When it closed, my grandmother bought the building and gave my parents the space for their gallery.”

  “That’s generous of her.” For the second time, I’m impressed by his grandmother’s devotion to her family.

  “They went into the art business with a partner—my dad’s brother—and the gallery opened when my mom was pregnant with me. My earliest memories are of being there with them while they worked.”

  Chase’s eyes glaze over as he looks at the gallery across the street. “In their view, art meant something different to everyone. It was more about the artist than the work, like all artists have their own paths and shouldn’t be judged. When they opened the gallery, they displayed everything available, even if they didn’t particularly like the piece, as long as they liked the artist. People from all over the country would ask them to display their work. They rarely said no.”

  I remember Justine’s passion for art. She’d only been fourteen when she’d died, but she had been so talented. “People don’t realize that having a talent and a love for a creative art is a special gift.”

  Chase puts his hand over mine on the barre. “All my life, I’ve lived in that apartment with my grandmother.” He looks toward his living room window. “As a growing, horny boy, I loved checking out the ballerinas.”

  I laugh. “I bet.”

  “Miss Stephanie hated the drama I caused with her dancers. She thought I was a perv for constantly staring in the window and for dating her girls, but I couldn’t help it. You’re all so perfect.” Chase glances sideways at me, his eyes linger, sparkling. “I’ve loved ballerinas forever, and now you walk into my life…I don’t know what to do with that, Juliet Anderson.”

  I gulp and turn away from his sweet words, watching the people on the street below. When I hear his voice again, I find his eyes.

  “When I turned eighteen, I inherited my parents’ half of the gallery. Of course, I have no idea how to run a business, so my grandmother runs the day-to-day with an assistant.”

  “Where’s your uncle?”

  “California. I’ve only met him a couple of times. He and my grandmother aren’t chummy.”

  “Why not?”

  He shrugs. “She’s always bad-mouthed him. Says he’s a drifter, can’t settle down, that sort of thing.”

  “Now he’s going to be your partner?”

  “I guess so. I love art but know nothing about business. Gram is getting older. She deserves a retirement—from me, from the gallery. Still, I’d hate to have to be an adult.”

  “You can try. See how it works out. Maybe it’s not as difficult as you think. At least it’s an art gallery, not like—”

  “—an accounting firm?” He smiles.

  “Yeah, that would totally blow.”

  Chase leans over the barre, resting his elbows on it as he looks outside. I study his profile as the sun shines through the window. He turns, catching me, but I don’t turn away. I can’t. The people outside rush by, up and down the street, hundreds of them. But it’s this one boy, hanging over a barre, sharing his history, who ended up here with me, in this moment, by pure fate. I wonder what it would be like to kiss him. Something about the way he looks at me tells me he wouldn’t mind if I found out.

  The door slides open and I jump. Miss Stephanie kicks us out to start her next class. We thank her as Chase drags me away from the studio with a schedule in my hand.

  Outside, I jump up and down, and then throw myself at him without warning. He catches me mid-air, our bodies clinging to each other. Despite the heat, I don’t care to move. I let him swing me as I jabber. “I love it here. I love the studio. I love the window that overlooks your gallery. This isn’t too far, right? You’ll show me how to get here from the train?”

  “Easy, Juliet. Yes, of course.” He puts me down, and I pace in circles.

  Chase puts his hands on my shoulders to stop me and tilts his chin to look me in the eye with his purple-blue ones. He’s Serious Chase again, and I force myself to be still. “You and me, Juliet. We’re artists. We create. It’s in our core, our hearts. Our lives aren’t complete when we aren’t dancing, aren’t painting.”

  Did I really just meet this man yesterday? It’s like I’ve known him forever.

  “You were so down this morning.
You had a hard time last night.” He points to the studio door. “This is what gets us through. This is our happy place.”

  I hug him again, breathing him in until he pulls back and looks me in the eyes again. I look at his lips and bite my own, fighting the urge to kiss him. When he reaches out to touch my cheek, I remember.

  I don’t want Chase. I want Ben. Ben. Ben. I say the name over and over. Ben is why I’m here at NJU. Ben. Yet it’s Chase standing here with me in this new, exciting place, whose lips are so close to mine. I take a deep breath and shut my eyes. I have to remember who I am, why I’m here.

  When I open my eyes, I’m back. Juliet Anderson. Evander, Pennsylvania. I smile at Chase. “I’m so glad we ended up in Sheridan together, Train Boy.”

  He lets go of me. “Me too, gorgeous. And it’s Sexy Train Man.”

  Chapter Six

  Chase

  On the ride back to campus, Juliet dozes off with her head resting on my shoulder. I bury my nose in her hair and inhale the floral scent. I never want to wake her.

  By the time we arrive at NJU, we’re too late for lunch, so we head straight to the Student Center for coffee and junk food instead of going to the bookstore. Back on campus, Juliet becomes her playful, somewhat arrogant self and teases me about Tina. “I know girls like her. All, ‘Chase, we have art together,’ and ‘Chase let’s sit next to each other and talk about pencils.’” I try to act annoyed but can’t help smirking at her ridiculous impression. “Then suddenly it’s, ‘Chase I love you and want to have your babies.’”

  I cringe at the word “babies,” then bend down and pull a handful of grass to throw at her. She squeals and runs away. Of course I chase after her. Her body twists out of my grasp, and I can’t catch her until she stops dead in her tracks.

  Her face glosses over and she stares past me. I turn and see the object of her attention. Ben and Megan walk out of the Student Center, holding ice cream cones and smiling.

  I’d almost forgotten about him.

  Juliet’s entire mood changes as she points to Ben and Megan. “I can’t believe that’s really happening.” Just like that, I lose her. “You’ll help me?”

  She’s his girl. We’re only getting to know each other, while she’s been in love with him for years. I’m nothing more to her than the boy down the hall who took her to the city to try to cheer her up. She followed Ben to college from Pennsylvania. My gut twists, and I force out the answer she wants. “That’s what friends do.”

  She directs her sexy, devious smile toward me then yells to Ben. He says something to Megan, and the two of them join us. After we greet each other, Ben turns his attention to Juliet. “I’ve been texting you all day.”

  “You have?” She reaches into my backpack for her phone.

  He leans closer as she scrolls through texts and I hear him whisper, “I’m sorry about last night.” He eyes me, and I assume he’s grateful, not jealous. Or at least I hope so, considering the size of his arms. “Anyway, I ran into Megan, and we had lunch together.”

  Juliet’s toothy smile is way too big to be real. “Great.”

  “I wouldn’t call it lunch.” Megan says. “It was more like drinks and crackers and chips. Hot lunch looked disgusting.” She and Ben laugh. The way Juliet gives them the death stare makes me want to strangle someone.

  “I’m going to head back. You guys coming?” I take off with long strides in the direction of Sheridan, leaving them behind.

  Inside, the television blares over the pounding of the treadmill, competing with the classic rock blasting from down the hall. Maggie keeps one hand over her free ear as she talks on the phone outside of room three.

  I unlock room six without a glance behind me.

  Within seconds, Ben joins me and Juliet peeks in. “Thanks for today,” she says.

  I wave, she disappears, and Ben and I collapse onto our beds.

  He groans. “I’m so fucking beat. Practice was killer. I need sleep.”

  I grunt a response and try to sleep too, but when I shut my eyes, I only see Juliet. Restless, I grab my shower stuff and open the door to the noisy hallway.

  “Chase?” Ben calls after me.

  I turn. “Thanks for taking care of Juliet today. I hope she wasn’t too dramatic. I appreciate the favor.”

  When something crashes behind me, I cringe. I know she’s there before I see her.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I see her step over a pile of books that she must have just dropped.

  “What was that?” Ben asks.

  I lift my eyebrows as Juliet pushes past me into our room and marches toward him. “You asked him to babysit me?” If looks could kill, Ben would be a goner.

  Ben’s eyes pop. “Jules! I knew you were upset last night, and you were alone today.”

  Juliet pokes him in his chest. “I don’t need your charity, Ben Riley. Who do you think you are?”

  It’s nice to see Juliet hold her own, but I can’t let Ben take the heat. I step behind her and touch her shoulder. “Easy, Juliet. I didn’t hang out with you today because of Ben. I wanted to.”

  She yanks her shoulder away and glares at me. “Don’t you dare.” Her eyes burn into mine, but I’m not scared. Weirdly, I’m kind of happy she cares. She looks from Ben to me like she doesn’t know who to kill first.

  “Juliet, you’re being dramatic.” I cross my arms over my chest and look to Ben, who nods.

  She mimics my pose and squints, tilting her chin as she studies us. “Dramatic?” Her voice deepens as she draws out the word.

  Neither of us are dumb enough to respond. She spins and grabs the doorknob. “Well, how’s this for dramatic? I hate you both!” She slams the door so hard behind her that the books lined up on the windowsill over Ben’s bed fly off, just barely missing his head.

  Ben and I stare at the closed door. A moment later, he points to it and looks at me. “That was pretty dramatic,” he says. “Damn.”

  “You’ll fix her?” I ask. I don’t want her mad at me. Not after our awesome field trip earlier.

  He nods. “That’s what I do.”

  Juliet

  Wednesday morning, I dress for class in jeans and a tight tee shirt, trying to look hot enough for the boys’ attention but dull enough for the girls’. If I look too good, the girls will ignore me. If I look too dull, the boys will. If there’s one thing I need today, it’s attention that I get on my own, not because Ben charmed his roommate into playing with me for the day. Jerks. I anticipate spending the day ignoring their calls and texts, which start bright and early.

  Through the little half-window near the ceiling of my basement dorm room, I watch the bottom halves of Chase and Tina walk away. Gross. Chase texted me this morning and left me a voicemail too. I ignored both but admit that no matter his motivation, our day yesterday was amazing, and what he said was true—I need to dance.

  I pull out the schedule from Miss Stephanie’s, open my laptop, then email her for details. Next, I search for the campus map and find where I need to be for my first class—History 101, Harper Building. As I pack my bag, which has nothing in it but my phone, my laptop, and a pen since I haven’t yet been to the bookstore, I hear a ruckus in the hallway. Keys jingle, and my doorknob turns.

  What the hell? My heart beats fast and my palms start to sweat. Someone’s breaking in! I don’t know what to do. I grab my pen and hold it over my head. If someone tries anything, I’ll stab his eye out. But why would he use a key?

  The door flies open, and a guy of Indian descent walks in carrying a suitcase. Two other Indian guys follow Suitcase Man, dragging crates and bins. They march in like they own the place and start setting up the other side.

  Who do these people think they are? Do they not see me here? “Excuse me! Can I help you?”

  The ruckus in the hall grows as the men move in and out. Thankfully, Rocco’s giant frame appears in my doorway, blocking them. “What’s going on?” He steps into my room. “Who are these guys?”

  “I don’t kno
w.” I shrug and put the pen down. “They’re awfully rude though.” One of the Indian guys hangs clothes in the empty closet while another makes the bed.

  “Hey,” Rocco barks, as a crowd gathers in the hallway. Winston and Rodrigo poke their heads in. Ben, wet and wrapped in a towel, must have stepped right out of the shower. Even though I hate him right now, I take a second to appreciate his broad chest and clean-shaven face. Even Poppy joins the fun, giggling at the Indian brigade hauling stuff into my room.

  Suitcase Man approaches me. “Are you Juliet Anderson?”

  Rocco steps in front of him. “Who wants to know?”

  Ben climbs over a designer suitcase. “You okay, Jules?”

  “I was just getting ready to leave, and these guys had a key. Scared the shit out of me.”

  Ben and Rocco cross their arms over their chests, which is a sight since they are both so huge and imposing and Ben’s nearly naked. Suitcase Man extends his arm between them to me. He holds an envelope with my name on it. “From Pooja.”

  I take it from him and my bodyguards relax. “Who’s Pooja?”

  “Your roommate. You are truly blessed.” Suitcase Man bows politely, smiles at the baffled bodybuilder and the toweled boy in front of me, and continues his mission. Pooja’s minions ignore us as they set up her side of the room.

  Poppy peeks in from the hallway. “Well? Are you going to read it?”

  Ben, Rocco, Poppy, Winston, and Rodrigo eye me. Megan joins us, blushing furiously when she sees Ben in his towel. “What’s going on?” she asks.

  “Jules got a note from the mystery roommate.” I’m glad Ben’s eyes are on me and the note and not Megan.

  “What does it say?”

  “She didn’t open it yet.”

  “Open it, Kiki!” Rodrigo and the others have been wondering about my roommate, too, apparently.

  I look around at these new people in my world as color begins to fill the other side of the room. The men smooth Pooja’s beautifully embroidered comforter, red with gold threads, over the bed and hang a lovely tapestry on the wall. They lay throw pillows of all colors on the bed. One man sets up a series of statues over colorful placemats on the empty dresser, while another pulls little figurines out of a box.