CURTAIN CALL: Driven Dance Theater Romance Series Book 1 (Standalone)

by Brianna Stark

  “Better?” He smiles after spending a little time between my legs, and the skin of his brow glistens as he crawls up to be by my side. I gaze at him with a relaxed feeling that sings through my limbs and swirls in my cheeks. I don’t have any pain at the moment—none whatsoever.

  Almost.

  I lift my arms over my head and let out a dreamy exhale before reaching for his shorts. “How much time do we have left?” I pull him in closer as his mouth closes over mine.

  His mouth is sweet, like warm candy, as I roll his boxers over his hips and he steps out of them. I’m pretty coordinated too. He crawls in closer, reaching for something on his desk, and rips open the package. I’m limp with anticipation when he drives into me. There’s a tic in his jaw and a curl to his lip—and one of those delicious little sounds catches as he slides in.

  Deeper.

  And deeper…

  My eyes roll back into my head, my fingers sink into his rear, and I become lost inside his mouth, his touch, and his moans. We are almost there, we are almost as high as one can possibly go, even in this city filled with skyscrapers.

  He retreats his full length, and then with a moan slides back into me. A hot breath of air pushes out of my lips into his. Our damp kisses become endless as he takes us over the edge.

  He rolls my panties back over my hips and gently maneuvers my gimpy leg before I pull my tank overhead and reach my arms into a blazer. I watch him get dressed. I wish we didn’t have to go.

  When we arrive at the restaurant, my stepbrother Michael, in a button-down blue shirt and his hair combed in a side part, barely looks up from his iPad, while Karen and Abby both stand up in floral dresses and take turns giving me a big hug and batting their eyelashes at Kent. Not only is he brilliant and famous, but he is gorgeous too, which I will have to start viewing as a positive thing rather than a curse threatening my not-too-distant future.

  Kent orders a bottle of Burgundy, and we share sides of sautéed mushrooms, green beans, baked potato, and Caesar salad alongside our steaks. I place my napkin on my lap and take a sip of wine, happy that Kent doesn’t look too annoyed about answering every one of Karen and Abby’s questions. I’m also relieved that we are at a steakhouse with comfy booths and soothing lights instead of one of those hipster style lounges or tapas bars that Londyn and the dancers always go to. My dad keeps giving me friendly looks as we quietly eat, and Karen and Abby hound Kent. It’s like my dad wants me to think we have some kind of silent bond, which we did—like, twelve years ago.

  “So are you two dating?” Abby takes a sip of her milk, and I nearly choke on a green bean, giving Kent a look that says, you don’t have to answer that.

  “We’re serious.” Kent watches me as I reach for my wine, and my lips curve up at him. I’m still uncomfortable about being here and can’t wait till the dinner is over so I can get back to my life and having Kent all to myself, while they get back to figure skating and junior league in Santa Barbara.

  “Is that why you hired Branwen, because you had the hots for her?” Abby crumples her freckled nose, and I almost choke on my wine.

  “Abby,” Karen warns, wiping her lips with a white cloth napkin.

  Kent laughs. He lowers his fork and steak knife. “I hired Branwen because she is the most talented dancer I’ve ever worked with, and I assume all of you have seen her perform and know there isn’t a talent out there that draws the eye like she does.”

  My heart beats faster until my dad gives me one of those knowing looks again, and Karen smiles tightly as she straightens her napkin back on her lap. “We’ve always supported Branwen.” She tilts her head so her brown, shoulder-length hair lifts off of one shoulder. Karen has not been to any of my past shows, even when they were only an hour away from Los Angeles in Santa Barbara. She always had an excuse.

  Kent flashes my dad a look and clears his throat. “Then you know exactly why I jumped at the chance to hire her, and why I fell in love with her. It wasn’t planned, but sometimes professional relationships evolve into more no matter how hard you try not to let it.”

  “And he did try.” I smile back at him, and Karen’s eyes grow wide.

  “Are you going to ask her to marry you?” Abby grins ear to ear. “Would that make us related?” She beams, and Karen presses her hand on Abby’s thigh, giving her another look of warning.

  “That would make us related,” Kent says. “That’s why I’ve reserved you front-row, VIP tickets to Push The Limit. I’ll book the flights too, if you’re free?”

  Abby squeals. She’s twelve, Kent Morgan is her new infatuation, and the tickets for the show are nearly sold out. “It would be a celebrity wedding.” She bounces out of her chair. “What would they call you two? BraKen, or KenBra? You need to have a celebrity couple name.”

  Everyone laughs, because Kenbra? Need I say more?

  “Braken it is.” Kent arches a brow and looks at me with a sexy smile. I shake my head as my cheeks warm.

  “Or how about Brat?” Michael, my stepbrother, pipes into the conversation for the first time this evening after looking up from the drawing and crayons spread out next to his half-empty plate.

  Wouldn’t that be suited? I roll my eyes, and Kent laughs.

  “Get it?” Michael’s mischievous grin stretches from ear to ear. “You’re the Bra part,” he says to me, “and just add the t from Kent’s name on the end. It spells B-r-a-t!”

  “Yes, honey, I think we all got that.” Karen smiles, and Michael looks very proud of himself before stabbing his steak with a fork. The steak looks so big and daunting in front of his little freckled head and small fingers.

  There’s a quiet moment after the joking around, which was actually humorous even if the topic of marriage with my director who I only recently had been seeing, and told me he loved me today, was awkwardly brought up. But, kids will be kids, and Kent had already created a fantasy of us as a married couple living in the burbs without the pressures of the limelight, but it was just that: a fantasy.

  My dad keeps looking at me, and I am not sure how to read the expression on his face, because he isn’t smiling like Karen and Abby are. Frankly, neither was I until Abby said Kenbra. And I know what Christopher O’Hara is thinking. I wonder if it’s about all of the rumors in the tabloids and if he knows about Drivenless, which I have promised myself I will check out, so I’m up to speed. But I really do have social media trauma from my past, and I’ve avoided anything to do with it like the plague since the YouTube episode.

  But my dad had no business meddling in my love life. He hasn’t been a part of my life since my mom died, when he stopped being there for me right when I needed him the most. The three of us had been so close, right through her chemo until the day she passed, and then he couldn’t look at me anymore. Maybe I reminded him of her, and I know he was in pain, but it’s no excuse. I lost my mom when I was a child, and I lost my dad the same day. He started to work at all hours, not coming home until late in the night. I was scared of the dark and would cry myself to sleep. It was the most painful time of my life and I had no one, because he chose to pull away from me and, only months later, start a new life with Karen—a life in which I wasn’t welcome.

  Things have never been the same between us.

  “Does anyone want dessert?” Kent looks at Abby, and I adjust in my seat.

  “Maybe we should call it a night. I’m tired and should ice my knee.”

  “Are your knees bothering you again?” My dad asks, and I freeze as Kent’s gaze flares to mine. Why the hell did my dad have to ask that? How did he even know I had bad knees? I can’t remember ever telling him. Perhaps I had briefly mentioned it in passing, but at the time he probably didn’t care.

  “I just had a bit of a fall today. I’ll be fine.” I place my napkin on the table. Since I know how much Kent worries about me, I shoot him a forced smile, while Karen and Abby demand his focus.

  “It was nice to meet you.” Kent stands up and reaches his arm around me. Ouch. My knee is swell
ing, and putting weight on it isn’t pretty. I flinch with each hobble onto the ball of my foot as we leave, and Kent pays on the way out.

  Man, that was painful. I frown in the back seat of the driver’s black car “You deserve a medal. Thank you.”

  “I enjoyed it.” Kent studies me. “But I might have underestimated how bad your fall was. I’m going to give Scott a call and see if he’s free.”

  I look out the window as Kent pulls out his phone. Rain starts to tap on the roof of the car. Kent talks into the phone as I hold my breath, feeling doomed, and dwell on the things that Kent said about my performance abilities earlier. If he meant what he said, and if I were as talented as he made out, then why was this happening to me? Why did God have to take the only thing I had left, just like my mother had been stolen from me?

  “Dr. Scott has asked you to meet him at his office tomorrow afternoon. He wants to do an MRI to make sure everything is okay.”

  I nod and exhale a breath of relief. At least Kent and I have a bit more time left together before the bad news changes everything and I find a way to convince him I am okay to go on with the show. I need this performance now more than ever.

  Kent lifts me into his arms, I clasp my hands around his neck at the penthouse, and we resume where we left off, or rather start up all over again.

  “What did Christopher mean by your knees bothering you again?”

  Our mouths part, but instead of answering I lift my lips to his. He lowers his mouth to mine, and I pull him closer before pausing. Maybe I should tell him. But it isn’t the right time—it’s a bit of a boner killer, as Sterling would say.

  “Kenbra?” I arch a brow, and Kent smirks before he claims my mouth again, hopefully forgetting about his last question.

  “Brat.” He pulls away for air, taunting me. My lips curve up before I tilt my chin up and his mouth falls back down over mine.

  I am just going to pretend that everything will be okay. That my knees aren’t destroyed and that he will love me when he realizes the thing that he fell in love with me for is coming to an end. I drown myself in our taste and touch until the present moment is all that matters.

  Turning me around, his hands slide up my sides to unclasp my bra. Air rushes against my exposed skin. He kneels behind me, tucks his chin over my shoulder, and whispers in my ear. “Maybe we should start planning that wedding, or Abby will be disappointed.” His hot breath quivers over me as his fingers trace my breasts, and then travel slowly down my belly.

  “Hypothetically speaking.” I swallow as his lips graze my neck.

  “No, not hypothetically speaking.” His voice his husky yet firm as it resonates in the heart of me. He places his hands on my shoulders and I turn around, where he lifts my chin to meet his gaze, and I catch every line of his abs and broad chest on the way. “This isn’t a fantasy, Branwen. I want to be with you. Is that what you want too?” His eyes scan mine.

  “More than anything.” I reach my hands around his neck to pull his mouth to mine and lift myself over top of him.

  24

  My breath gets faster. My chest expands.

  I can make it. I can make it. Hahahhaha. No, I can’t make it. Yes, yes, I must make it. My lungs are ready to explode.

  Fall, fall, fall.

  Lift.

  Lift.

  Lift.

  Higher, higher, higher.

  I close my eyes.

  T-r-u-s-t.

  I am lifting. Floating.

  The first set of hands catch my back. More hands come. Hands are all over me.

  Floating.

  My feet peel off of the ground.

  Flying.

  Soaring.

  I slide through the center of the huddle of damp bodies and am pushed out the other end as though transformed. Lightheaded, I move to the sidelines and place my hands on the barre to catch my breath.

  The music rolls on and on and on.

  Patrick Moss is relentless.

  Strings screech and bass beats thud with all those little sounds that I love.

  The dance continues without me.

  —Without me—

  The dance continues.

  Without

  ME

  The dance

  Continues.

  I press my hands to the barre and let my head hang down, as I suck back the tears that warm the backs of my eyes and the pain spreading down my legs. Only two more weeks—I can do this. I can last two more weeks. Can’t I? Then what? My fingers tug at my pulled-back hair. Don’t think about it, Branwen. Just focus on the show. Take it one day at a time.

  With three days off after the fall, the swelling has gone down. Since it was just a bang, though, I should be better. But I know it wasn’t just a bang, and that Dr. Scott is going to get me in for that MRI today, not that I need any further investigation. I have the X-rays and know the damage. I know the pain.

  Kent approaches me after rehearsal, looks at his watch, and reminds me it’s time we leave for my doctor’s appointment. My airways start to close, and my heart palpitates. I know I have to tell him exactly how bad my knees are. But first I need to make it through the show, in case he tries to stop me. I swallow down the tension and swipe a finger across my damp brow.

  “You’re way too busy with the show. I’ll be fine.” I cross my arms over my chest. His gaze is caring and his posture is relaxed, and I want to melt into him. But if I do, I’ll turn into an instant train wreck. I hold my breath, feeling like a complete piece of shit, and he nods curtly. Before he leaves, he looks back at me one more time with hesitation, and my shoulders rise. Then Cameron appears, scratching his head and scrolling through his phone, and he ploughs into show-related questions. They head out the door deep in conversation as I let out a heavy gasp of relief, collapsing against the barre. My stomach twists. I don’t know how much longer I can do this.

  “Good afternoon, Branwen.” Dr. Scott wheels out his chair in his long white coat. “Today we’re performing an MRI to see if we can pinpoint the areas of concern. Someone will show you where to change, and we should have the results to you in a few days.” He stands up, and I follow him. He places his hand on the door and looks down at me with hesitation. “Um.” He scratches his brow. “I have to ask before the procedure. Is there any chance you could be pregnant?”

  His lips iron into a straight line, and I swallow hard.

  “I’m not sure.” I tilt my head up at him, totally embarrassed. Because he isn’t just any doctor. He is Driven’s doctor.

  “Okay, then.” He nods. “We will get you a test to make sure, as we can’t go ahead if you are.”

  He walks through the door, and I sit down in my seat and nervously fidget my fingers while staring at the door, until his assistant finally walks in.

  She smiles sympathetically. “This will be very straightforward. You pee into the cup, leave it on the shelf in the washroom, and we’ll meet back here with the results in a few minutes.”

  I frown, taking the cup in my shaky fingers. I can see how this is going to go down. I’ll go back to the studio and have to tell Kent, My knees are too shot to perform, and by the way, you’re my baby daddy!

  I lift my skirt with a grumble and pee into that tiny damn cup. It is so minuscule, unlike my stream. It makes no damn sense.

  Once I am all done and the little cup holding my future is tucked away, I return to the office to wait. This might be an uncomfortable situation, but there’s no denying that it is my own reckless fault. I knew better than this. I’m not the kind of girl who has unprotected sex; who is in this day and age? Yet I am not afraid. I’m antsy and jittery with anticipation, but maybe deep down, I secretly wanted this. That’s the only explanation for my bad judgment, and Kent wasn’t pushing for protection either. If he really didn’t want this to happen, he would have made sure he rolled on a damn condom. Now I am really glad he didn’t come here with me.

  Dr. Scott walks in and his white coat swishes around his calves. I was sort of wishing for the frie
ndly girl, but I suppose she doesn’t have the authority to hand out results. I cross my arms over my chest and bite down on my lip in anticipation.

  Dr. Scott wheels himself toward his computer screen and wiggles the mouse before rubbing the back of his neck. “Your results are in.” He sighs.

  25

  I fiddle my fingers in my lap. Moisture collects under my arms as I study his posture and tone of voice, which are impossible to read. He stares at the computer screen.

  Dr. Scott releases his grip on the mouse and wheels around to face me. He clasps his hands over his lap.

  “The results are negative. We can go ahead with the MRI.” He stands up.

  The sinking in my gut is unexpected. Did I want to be knocked up? There was a time that was my worst fear, but now that my future looks like a dark hole, my career is all but over, and I’m madly in love, maybe this is something I do want. His assistant walks in with a polite smile and leads me to the change area where the folded-up cloaks are piled, closing the curtain behind me.

  Robert pounds out the final notes of class as we turn toward Miss Katherine and dip into a short curtsy. The room lifts in applause. Anticipation is in the air.

  Soon, we will move our nest into the theater. The enchanting hall will become our home for the next two weeks. Inside the walls our deepest hopes and our greatest fears will be forever held. In taking the stage we know we must battle our demons and conquer our egos so our innermost selves will be illuminated. The theater will witness our dreams. Our sweat and our tears will be forever infused into its red curtains and wings, into the gold-lacquered walls, within its instruments, its ancient wallpaper and paint, our story ever echoing in its void along with all the other stories that came before it. We who dance will one day become old, and before that injured, but the dance will live on in spirit; the dance will be passed down from generation to generation, to the dancers who come behind us. They will bring their unique life, their updated and recycled views, to the steps written. It will join the other masterpieces in the repertoire, and even if Driven falls, another company will inherit it.