“Sorry.” I hear the rapid apology after feeling the clumsy person walking right into me and setting events in motion which end with me falling through the door and down on my hands and knees. Only this time I’m in the room with Isaac.
“Via?” he calls, a frown forming on his brow. His eyes move beyond me and latch onto something.
“Sorry again,” a low, rumbling voice offers. I glance backwards over my shoulder and look into the most vibrant topaz eyes I’ve ever seen.
“That’s okay,” I whisper and blink rapidly. He smiles crookedly in return, and I’m back to blinking.
“I’ve got her,” Isaac injects, and I reluctantly pull my gaze from my beautiful assailant to the beautiful bastard that’s been filling my thoughts, and my heart, since I was a teenager.
“Sorry, man, didn’t realise she was yours.”
“She is.”
“I’m not.”
We both answer at the same time, and the beautiful assailant grins down at me, popping a couple of dimples in the process, making me run right past ogling and straight into swooning territory.
“For God’s sake,” Isaac curses under his breath, and I can’t help but giggle, even though I’m still looking into the eyes of this stranger.
Isaac captures me under the arm and drags me upward. The door swings shut behind us, and Mr Mysterious winks at me before walking away.
“What the fuck was that?”
I look up to Isaac and yep—hot guy knocking me over or not—he’s still the only one who can make my clit throb. Beautiful Bastard.
“What was what?” I snap.
“You and the pretty boy?” he growls.
“What was with you telling him I’m yours?”
Isaac pulls me to the only chair in the room and sits me in it.
“Stop fucking manhandling me!” I shout.
With a white-knuckled fist on either arm of my seat, he leans down until our noses are no more than an inch apart. “You are mine. I’ve told you that, not gonna keep saying it, Via.”
“Fuck you,” I try to spit out but instead the words are breathy.
He smirks and slides his nose along mine and then kisses me softly under the hinge of my jaw. “That can be arranged. Is here good for you, baby?”
My cheeks flush, but not from embarrassment. I’ve had sex in riskier places than the dance studio. I just want to slap myself for the reaction my body so willingly gives to Isaac So-Fuckable James.
“You’re conveniently forgetting about Shelly again.” This time my words are spat at him and I internally high-five myself.
“We broke up.” His voice is level, and I stare at him for a moment, trying to work out if he has any emotional response to the split.
“You broke up?” I question suspiciously. Isaac backs up and stands once again at his full height. Biting down on his lip, I know he’s mulling something over, but the vision sets my body off again. “Was it because of Toby?” I mutter, worried for the answer this time.
His jaw works as his eyes pin me to the spot. A scary expression crosses his face as a hard line fixes his jaw in place.
“No. We’ve sorted out our shit. There never was a Shelly and me, not really,” he says, confusing me more.
“Why don’t you explain ‘shit’ to me? I think I’m owed that much at least, Isaac.” My head drops, and I glance down at my bare feet, which were ready to dance and let everything go. My mind wanders to our family, to Aunt Libby dying, Uncle Dane suffering, my parents, and my cousins. We’re all in pain, and I want so badly to run into his arms, to let him rescue me.
For so many years I’ve been strong, I’ve relied on me—not my parents, not my friends, not Isaac—just me. I’ve had fun. I’ve fucked a lot. I’ve danced and enjoyed my life. But everything has been to display a life of plenty when, in fact, I’ve been shrouding the pain. I’ve disguised my real face, concealed my genuine emotions, and hidden my true pain. I know he can see past all that camouflage. The worst part is, although he sees it, he still won’t give me what I need. Before he even replies, I can see his mind working, pulling an excuse together—one more way to put me off, to hide his reality. Twisted truths, and latent lies, that’s all we share now.
“Via, I…”
“Don’t bother telling me no. If you can’t tell me the truth, then don’t say anything.” I stop for a second and wait. Blindly hoping he’ll respond, that he won’t stay quiet. For once, I just want him to open up, to trust me enough, to love me enough, so there are no walls between us. Instead, all I’m gifted with is his silence, and it tells me everything I need to know without saying a word.
I stand and move away from him not knowing if he’ll try to stop me. I’m hoping like hell he’ll call me back, but at the same time, I’m terrified that if he says my name, I’ll go to him. When I reach the door and realise he’s not stopping me, pain battles with relief, and it’s hard to know which is easier to manage. I open the door refusing to look back. Then, with a grind of my teeth and a breath drawn in on a pause, unsure why I’m opening myself up further, I tell Isaac something I should have admitted to him
