In the Air (The City Book 1)

Toby, my ass! I was positive Natalia remembered my name, though it was cute that she acted like she hadn't. As I watched her walk out of rehearsal, I thought about why I came here: to steer my life in the direction I wanted and not the direction my father felt it should go.

Being a dancer was never an acceptable career in my household, but it was always the one thing I wanted to do. In my early years, I played baseball because my father insisted. I hated the sport and begged my mother to let me do something else. A few months after I turned eleven, she took me with her to see Alice in Wonderland at the Connecticut Ballet Theater. I remembered watching the strong men dance and how flawless it seemed when they lifted the women in the air. When I left the performance that night, I knew that I wanted to be like the men I had just seen. The next day, without my father's knowledge, my mother signed me up for ballet. Since my very first class, I never looked back.

Walking out of the room, I reached for my Ray Bans and felt the vibration in my pocket alert me of a missed call. Seeing that it was Aubrey and not my father, I exhaled a sigh of relief. Before dialing her number, I watched as the cars passed through the streets. I had to take a few relaxing breaths before talking to Aubrey, knowing the conversation was sure to spoil my mood.

"Hello?" she huffed into the phone.

"Hey. I saw I missed your call; just got out of rehearsal."

"I knew this was going to happen, Sam. You're already moving on and forgetting about me," she whined.

"Aubrey, I'll never forget you." I felt like that statement had left my lips at least a dozen times since I arrived yesterday.

"We've been together every day for most of our lives. Excuse me if I have to get used to this distance you've put between us."

My girlfriend, Aubrey, grew up down the road from me. We were inseparable. Our mothers had us around the same time and declared from day one that we would someday fall in love. We, of course, thought that was gross when we were nine, but once we became teenagers, their wishes came true.

"We're not even two hours away from each other, Aubrey. Look, I know the distance will be hard on our relationship, but if we want to be together, it has to be this way."

"I didn't know you made the rules for our relationship. What about what I want, Samson?" As Aubrey continued her tirade, I recalled the girl I fell in love with, the girl that wanted to be a photographer and travel the world. I missed that girl. It seemed the longer I stayed with this new version, the tighter the rope around my neck would become, until one day, I wouldn't be able to breathe at all.

As I rounded the corner, my gym bag hooked onto a shelf, spilling everything. "F*ck!" I exploded. "Damn it, Aubrey! You need to stop bitching at me every single time we have a conversation. I can't take it anymore!"

I bent down to pick up my belongings, trying to compose myself. Over the last year, our relationship had taken a turn for the worse. Before, we were best friends and got along easily. Now, we constantly argued over the smallest things. I debated ending it many times, but I couldn't stomach the thought of losing something we'd worked on most of our lives.

"First of all, Samson, you're an a*shole," Aubrey seethed. "Second of all, you brought this on yourself. You're the one that left home to become a ballerina."

Breathe in. Breathe out.

"Really? A ballerina? If you're going to talk to me like that, there's no use in continuing this conversation." As I stepped into the daylight, I looked at my new surroundings. My home. I refused to let Aubrey, or anyone else for that matter, ruin this for me.

"I keep hoping you'll realize how much it's killing me that you chose to go to New York, but I don't think you ever will. Your family misses you. I miss you!"

I held the phone away from my ear and turned the volume down. I knew she was full of shit. My mother may have missed me, but my father was happy I was out of the house. This way, he wouldn't have to see the son who was such a disappointment to him.

Before I left for New York, my father sat me down in his study and asked if I was sure this was the path I wanted to take.

"Dad," I told him, "my life isn't something you can control. This is what I want to do and there's no way you can change my mind."

My father studied my face, almost as if he were waiting for me to crack a smile and admit I was joking. When I didn't say anything, he continued on his rant.

"Sammy, I just can't stomach the idea of my son going off to spend his days dancing. You know it makes me sick, seeing you prance around in spandex. It's an embarrassment to the Callahans."

Since I refused to follow in his footsteps and go to medical school, he considered me a waste of space. I drove the memory of that conversation from my mind. I was beginning to wonder if Aubrey was oblivious to what was happening right before her eyes. If she was convinced that my dad missed me, what other nonsense did she believe?

"I do miss you, Aubrey. The girl I used to know, I really miss her." I felt my throat clench and became irritated that these conversations were happening every day. I was tired of arguing. More than anything, I wanted to be happy again.

"Whatever, Samson. I'm the same girl I've always been, but now I have grown-up goals. Not that you know anything about that. Goodbye."

In the past, Aubrey had been supportive of my dancing. She came to all of my performances, taking pictures of every dance. When our junior year arrived, though, the pressure of getting accepted into Yale became more important than anything else. Aubrey threw her camera away, along with her carefree attitude. I understood why I was put on the back burner, I just didn't think I'd stay there. Everything changed the moment she received her acceptance letter. When it was clear that the girl I loved all my life had disappeared, I went after what I wanted. It was upsetting to move away from her, from everything I'd ever known, but my dreams didn't line up with hers.

I'd practically lived in the city most of my life, traveling back and forth to visit my dance teacher, but now that I was able to call it home, the surroundings seemed different. It looked brighter, cleaner even. I shook off Aubrey's call and allowed myself to forget the drama for the rest of the evening.

I had plans to meet up with one of my best friends, Wren, later that night at the housewarming party of our buddy, Jay. The three of us had gone to high school together, but Wren was a year older and had lived in the city for a year now, attending NYU as a literature major. His parents bought him a condo in Brooklyn, and when I told him I would be moving to the city, he urged me to move into his complex. I tossed around the idea until I was informed by Juilliard that I had to live in the dorms my freshman year. Judging from the experience I had meeting my roommate earlier this morning, I already knew it was going to be awkward living with him in a room the size of a closet.

I crossed over 67th street and headed to the Apple store. Since guys don't typically have housewarming parties, I didn't know what to get. Jay practically had everything already. His parents catered to his every need, and now his only goal was to throw the best parties in the city. As I browsed the newest iMacs, a sales associate stopped and asked if I needed help.

"Can you point me in the direction of housewarming gifts?"

The sales guy gave me a confused look. "I guess ... portable speakers would be good?"

"Sure, portable speakers. That works." I was in a hurry to get out of the busy store and to the party on time. "Show me the way." I signaled him to move. After almost head-butting a few people to get them out of my way, we finally came upon the speakers. I picked up the first box I saw and walked to the registers. The line was insanely long and I remembered why I liked having a personal shopper back home. After I made my purchase, I quickly walked back to the dorms to change. My roommate, Myers, wasn't around, and I was glad there wouldn't be an awkward invitation thrown out on my part.

Getting into Jay's building was like trying to get into Fort Knox. The overweight security guard sat at his desk, scrolling through the list of approved visitors.

"Samson Callahan, for the hundredth time," I seethed.

"Sorry, son, I don't see your name on here; therefore, you aren't allowed upstairs."

I felt like jumping over the fat bastard's makeshift desk and pummeling him, but decided violence wasn't the answer. As I reached for my phone to call Jay, I turned and saw Hadley Shepard walking in. In high school, Hadley was the proverbial town bicycle. Any guy was free to hop on for a spin and pop a few wheelies along the way. I was probably the only guy at St. Luke's that never took a joyride. Would it still be called a joyride if her lady bits were a common place for men to park?

"Well, if it isn't Samson Callahan. No surprise you're late." Her high-pitched voice rang through my ears as she walked toward me. I'd never been close to Hadley, but she and Jay had an on again/off again relationship since high school. She came to New York to pursue her dream of becoming a Broadway star. Hadley was the farthest thing from prudish, so I was sure if she opened her legs for the right casting director, she'd be on a stage in no time.

"Hadley, wow, I'm surprised to see you're not horizontal by this time of night."

She sneered, which made her face look like an angry Chihuahua. "Very funny, Sam. Is that girlfriend of yours still buying your claims of heterosexuality?"

Hadley stomped off in Mr.Fatty’s direction and gave him her name. As he stood up from his chair and waddled across the foyer to retrieve the elevator, I was tempted to grab his stupid list and add my name. Just as I was about to, the elevator opened and out walked Jay with his arm slung over some blonde I didn't recognize. I guess he and Hadley were "off" right now. Hadley swiftly brushed past Jay into the elevator, ignoring him and the blonde.

"There you are, Sam. Where the f*ck have you been? Wren is upstairs already." Jay had a grin plastered on his face, which could only mean one thing: he was about to get laid.

"Standing here for the past fifteen minutes. You could have remembered to put me on your list, a*shole."

"F*ck, my bad." Jay's palm hit his forehead. "I had Patsy create the list and she must have forgotten you." What the hell is the use in having a party planner if they forget a simple task like that? Jay turned to the security guard. "Tom, let Samson up to my place. He's cool." He walked to the doors, turning back before exiting. "Samson, I'll be right back. This beauty right here wants to take a joyride in my Porsche."

There's that term again.

The doors to the penthouse opened and there stood a waiter, with a glass of the best whiskey on the planet. This was exactly what I'd needed all day. My hand wrapped around the cool glass and my throat began to ache for the slow burn of the liquor. I walked into Jay's place and noticed a few of the guys from St. Luke's hanging out in the kitchen, probably reliving our high school days. If there was one thing I didn't want to do, it was dwell on the past. I was over trying to keep up the facade of what the preppy kid with lots of money was supposed to act like. I wanted to focus on dance, not on how much my car was worth or how many girls I'd slept with. I steered clear of the kitchen and headed into the living room.

Jay's condo looked like a picture from those house magazines my mother always read. White furniture went perfectly with the dark wood floors that lined the entire loft. A stone wall stood opposite the floor-to-ceiling window that overlooked Manhattan. I had a feeling Jay's mother designed the space. I saw Wren sitting on the stark white couch, talking to another one of our friends.

"Dude, where the hell have you been?" Wren stood up and slapped me on the back. I hadn't seen him in six months and I barely recognized him. No longer preppy, he had on a flannel button up, dark jeans that looked as if they had been painted on, and his hairstyle had changed dramatically. The once short spikes had been replaced with closely shaved sides and a messy, grown out top. Then I noticed the tattoos. My best friend was now a hipster.

"Wren? Is that you, or did you kill off my normal-looking friend and replace him?"

"Funny, Samson. I'm glad your humor stayed intact through all of those ballet classes."

When Wren first moved to New Canaan, Jay and I were freshmen in high school. I remembered the first day of school, Wren walked into the cafeteria and straight to our table. "Can I sit here?" he'd asked. We all stopped talking and looked up at the voice none of us recognized. Wren had moved from South Africa that summer. Since that first day of freshmen year, Wren, Jay, and I had always been best friends.

"When did all of this happen?" I pointed to the black drawing peeking out from Wren's shirt. I wasn't entirely surprised by his new appearance. He was the rebellious one in the group. Every time his parents pushed him to do something he didn't want to do, he pushed back harder and refused. I respected him for always sticking to his guns.

"I started with this one." Wren pointed to the inside of his wrist to a solid black triangle. "Then I got this," he pointed to his other arm and showed a black ink drawing of his favorite writer, Kurt Vonnegut. "After these two, I became addicted and I couldn't stop." Almost everything, including Wren's knuckles, was covered in art.

"Whatever makes you happy, dude." I patted him on the back and stood up to grab another drink from the bar.

As the night went on, my buzz grew stronger. Jay finally got his ass back to his own party and he, Wren, and I took some much-needed shots. The blur of the day's events faded, and I was well on my way to feeling numb.

"Wren, who you banging these days?" Jay asked loudly over the music. He was never the kind of guy that held his tongue, and it had gotten the three of us in a ton of trouble throughout high school.

"Really, Jay? Stop worrying about Wren's sex life. You should be more concerned with getting yourself checked out for STDs. These random girls you f*ck are bound to have something," I retorted.

"Remember that one time," Wren began but stopped mid-sentence, laughing hysterically, "Jay's mom had to call him out of school because he found out he had gotten chlamydia? That shit was disgusting."

"You're both douchebags. I knew I shouldn't have told either one of you." Jay grabbed the whiskey glass from my hands and drained the last of it before handing it back to me.

"If it weren't for us, the entire school would have found out about your little excursion with that stripper." I remembered how hard it was for Wren and me to keep Jay's condition under wraps. Every time someone would ask where he was, we laughed and tried to convince them Jay had caught some kind of bug. What we didn't say was that it was the love bug that nipped Jay.

"You're a dickhead." Jay pushed against Wren's chest, causing him to fall back against the table. "So are you," he slurred while trying to shove me. I dodged him just in time. "Dude, didn't you mention something about leaving by midnight?" Jay studied his watch. "You're gonna be a f*cking wreck in the morning."

I looked down at my watch and saw that it was almost one. "F*ck! Why did you have to pull out the Patron? This is all your fault." I shoved the empty glass back into Jay's unsuspecting hands and heard it shatter on the ground as I walked to the front door. "See you later, a*sholes," I called out.

"Don't worry, Twinkletoes," Jay shouted after me, "your fancy ass knows how to nurse a hangover." I hated the nicknames he felt he had to give me. Ever since he found out I wasn't playing baseball anymore and started taking ballet lessons instead, he'd come up with an assortment of nicknames, his favorite being Twinkletoes. Wren, being Wren, never followed along with the nicknames.

As I stumbled onto the elevator, my pocket began to vibrate. The only person who would call me this late was Aubrey.

"Here we go again. I shouldn't even answer your f*cking calls," I said while looking at the display on my phone. Why am I talking to myself in an elevator? I had way too much to drink tonight. I pushed the button to answer and put it to my ear.

"Hi, Baby," I mumbled, "I was just getting ready to call you."

"Don't lie to me, Sam. Where have you been all night? I was expecting your call hours ago." Does she ever stop with her incessant whining?

"Aubrey? What did you say? I can't understand you. My phone's breaking up ... hello?" I pressed the end button, turned it off, and shoved it back into my pocket. I didn't want to deal with her shit yet; I had a great buzz going and she was bound to ruin my high.

The cab dropped me off in front of the dorms and I saw Natalia standing near the building with the same friend from earlier. When I saw her this morning, I needed a reason to meet her. The only one I could come up with was pretending to think she was a part of Big Brothers, Big Sisters. When she told me she went to Juilliard, I was excited. Without thinking, I'd replied with harsh words. It wasn't as if I doubted she could go here. I was more elated to know I'd be attending the same school as the beautiful girl whose face was filled with so much passion. I'd forgotten what that looked like until I saw it on her face.

Having been drinking for most of the night, I knew that if Natalia said the wrong thing, I would probably go off on her. As I tried to get up to my room without a confrontation, I heard the familiar name being called my way.

"You've got to be kidding me. My name is not Toby!" I swung myself in the direction of the girls so that they could see that I wasn't in the mood for their antics.

"Chill out, dude. It was a joke." The girl that was talking had some serious fashion issues. It looked like she had walked into the closet of a prostitute, closed her eyes, and grabbed the first thing her hand touched. Ignoring her, I glared at Natalia.

"We meet again, Dorothy."

She glared at me. "That's not my–"

"I could have sworn you said you were from Kansas." I replied as I stumbled and fell into Natalia. She put her arms out just in time to keep us both from ending up on the ground.

"Illinois, not Kansas. You are aware that those are two different states, right?" Natalia asked condescendingly.

"I may be drunk, but I've never been stupid." I started chuckling at my cleverness. I really needed to lie down before I passed out right here on this dirty sidewalk. "It was nice talking to you, Kansas. Girl-Who-Doesn't-Know-How-To-Dress, we'll meet again." I climbed the stairs slowly, hoping I would remember which room I lived in.

Stepping into my dorm room made me miss my spacious bedroom back home. The plus side to this place was that my father couldn't barge in whenever he felt the need. My roommate wasn't there, so I undressed freely and lay across the bed. I dialed Aubrey's number and with each ring, I knew she was looking at her screen, debating whether or not she wanted to answer.

"What do you want, Samson?" She sighed loudly into the phone, trying her hardest to disguise her pain. Hurting Aubrey was never my intention. My heart had been playing a game of tug of war. One minute, happiness was winning, spreading through my body, knowing I was lucky enough to have her in my life. The next minute, I was treading the mud and rocks, working hard to keep my footing and not fall off the cliff.

"Do you remember when we used to go to my tree house late at night? We would get in so much trouble being out past dark. Our parents would come running out to the yard, yelling for us. They always knew we were up there, hiding from the world." A smile crept on my lips as I stretched my legs out on the mattress.

"You wouldn't ever let me go when I needed to. You'd always convince me that we needed to spend five more minutes together, even though we had just spent the entire day with each other." Aubrey's voice lightened up and I knew she was smiling. "You always made those last five minutes worth all of the groundings."

"You definitely made it worthwhile, too," I said. For a moment, all I wanted to do was pack my bags and go home to be with her, but this side of Aubrey wouldn't last long. Silence filled the air and I knew she was waiting for me to speak again. "I wish you were here, lying next to me." My arm brushed the empty space of the bed and I longed for her warm body to fill it.

"I wish you were home," Aubrey said quietly.

I thought back to being in the tree house with Aubrey. We'd lie next to each other on our backs and discuss our future together. She'd tell me all about her dream wedding and I'd listen, noting all the things she wanted. I was determined to make her dreams come true. But then she changed. I changed. We changed. Now, the only thing I wanted was to feel whole again, with or without her.

"You're never going be okay with me living here, are you?" I asked her. I already knew the answer. If it had nothing to do with Aubrey, she'd never accept it.

"It's not that, Samson. I just wish you could have found a school closer to me." Just as I thought.

"Juilliard has always been my dream. You knew that."

"Right. Looks like all your dreams came true then." Aubrey's words cut deep, making me feel like I'd done something wrong. I needed to change the subject.

"I went to Jay's tonight and hung out with him and Wren. It was good seeing those guys."

"Good for you. You don't have to tell me that you're wasted because I'm well aware of that fact. Did any girls give you their phone numbers?"

I rolled my eyes. "I'm not wasted," I lied. "No girls gave me their phone numbers. I wouldn't have taken them even if they had tried." I turned over in bed, waiting for Aubrey to reply. When she didn't say anything, I continued, "Tell me about your day. How were classes?"

As I adjusted my position in bed, my thoughts drifted to Natalia. As uptight as she seemed, I couldn't help but think of her long, lean legs as she did a pirouette. I found myself thinking of her face. Doll-like features cradled by long blonde hair. It wasn't just her looks that immediately drew me in. She was beautiful, though. Her blonde hair pulled back, accentuating her brown eyes and pale skin. It was mostly Natalia's feistiness that grabbed my attention. She put me in my place, and that was a huge turn-on. F*ck. I was getting hard thinking about someone else while my girlfriend was still on the line.

"Samson? Did you hear what I just said?"

Steering my mind back to reality, I forced out thoughts of Natalia. "I think I'm gonna get some sleep, Doll, I mean, Baby." I corrected my slip-up as quickly as I could.

"You've never called me Doll. Must be a nickname for one of your other girlfriends. Have a nice night, Samson." Aubrey hung up on me. Again.

I had no clue why Natalia appeared in my thoughts, but I did know there was something special about her. I didn't want to sleep, knowing the walls would only spin if I did. I jumped out of bed and quickly changed into a pair of mesh gym shorts. I knew the only way to untie these knots in my gut was to dance.





When I saw Samson earlier tonight, that irritated feeling I'd gotten from him in class returned, and was compounded when he called me Dorothy. Calling me by the wrong name. He really needs to get his own material. I realized he was drunk, which makes everyone more loose-tongued, but at that moment his dick meter was registering off the charts.

I decided to blow off some steam and head down to the studio. Dancing was my favorite way to relieve tension. When I lost my dad, I spent almost every night in the studio. My mother was a complete wreck, and since she wasn't able to control losing her husband, she worked harder to control me. To avoid her as much as I could, I became accustomed to practicing late at night.

Kingsley had gone out and said not to expect her until morning. The only reason anyone usually went out past 1 A.M. was for a booty call. Throwing on a pair of black leggings and my favorite Rolling Stones T-shirt, I grabbed my gym bag and headed to the elevator.

When I entered the studio, I switched on the back lighting, keeping the harsh, overhead lights off. The large window in the back of the room caught my eye and I was curious to see the view. New York City all lit up was breathtaking. Even at 3 A.M., the traffic was still insane. It truly was 'the city that never sleeps.' For the next few minutes, I watched all of the cars drive through the streets and I found myself lost in the stillness of the room.

I heard a door open and quickly hid behind a nearby curtain in the back of the room, afraid of getting caught by a teacher. I peeked out, curious to see who had come in.

"Oh my god. Samson?" I whispered to myself, not wanting to give away my presence.

He threw his bag down to the floor and walked to the stereo. A beautiful song began playing, chasing the silence from the room. Samson sat on the ground and began to stretch. His towering frame cast a shadow across the wooden floor. He was good-looking. That was undeniable. Well-defined muscles accented every part of his body. The sleeves of his grey T-shirt were tight around his biceps. I imagined him lifting me effortlessly from the ground, holding me in the air. I immediately pushed out the pleasant thoughts that were starting to brew in my mind. As good-looking as he was, his ego was hideous.

When he began dancing, I noticed the same carefree attitude that showed during his solo return. It's like the ego he tried so hard to portray melted away, and what was left was his true self. Seeing him dance, without any inhibitions, had my body yearning to be close to his. The hauntingly beautiful song continued to play and his moves became more forceful. As he leapt into the air, his Triple Saut de Basque was dead on. Coming down on his left knee, he glanced to the back of the room. I quickly pulled back, trying to hide from view. As I waited, hoping Samson hadn't discovered me, I thought about the dancing I'd just seen. He made ballet look easy.

Other than the music overhead, I didn't hear anything else. I peeked back out from behind the curtain, jumping back when I saw his eyes staring dead into mine.

"Natalia? What are you doing here?" He walked toward me with a puzzled look on his face. Without giving me a chance to answer, he continued, "You weren't spying on me, were you?"

As he reached me, I noticed that he didn't seem as drunk as he had thirty minutes ago. His blue eyes were bloodshot, but other than that, he seemed completely sober.

"I wasn't spying on you, I–"

He cut me off before I could finish. "Don't even worry about it, doll. I'm used to people trying to get a behind-the-scenes look at my routines." His index finger pointed to the curtain I stood next to. "You really have no reason to hide from me."

A behind-the-scenes look at his routines? Was this guy serious?

"I wasn't hiding! If you had let me finish, you would have heard that I was here before you!" I realized I was raising my voice, but his accusations were ludicrous.

"Then why were you hiding behind a curtain?" he asked. "You know what? It doesn't even matter." He started to walk away, but stopped when he heard my voice.

"What if I was spying on your routine? Can't take a little criticism?" I had a good feeling my question would get under his skin. A person who was shallower than a puddle with an ego the size of the Pacific Ocean was bound to become perturbed when their deepest fear was found out.

Samson turned around with a scowl. I heard his heavy breathing over the soft music.

"Critiqued? By you? Listen, sweetheart, you may be good, but you're not up to my level." Samson jerked his body around and began walking to the front of the room.

"Oh yeah? Want to wager on that?" I yelled.

"I don't make bets anymore. I always win," he countered. A smile formed on his lips, but his eyes turned villainous. "Just to make it fair, why don't you show me what you auditioned with to get here?"

It just so happened that the piece I auditioned with had the power to derail him. "Okay," I said simply.

The same song from earlier was playing on loop. It was such a delicate piece, but the tension in the room was depleting any sort of beauty it held. I walked to the stereo, turning off his song and replacing it with my own – "Falling," sung by a favorite musician of mine, Jeffrey James. As the music began, I glided across the floor, knowing his eyes were studying me. I was aware he would analyze my every move, so I had to do my best. As I prepared myself for my grand jeté, I looked over at Samson and winked, hoping it would piss him off. Landing perfectly, I melted into my next step. I knew that if he and I were to have actually taken bets, he would've been walking away without his cocky, self-absorbed attitude. When I finished with a triple pirouette on pointe, I looked to the ceiling, the knowing smile remaining on my face.

I gazed at Samson, who was now leaning against the back wall, his ankles crossed. The smug look that I was now well acquainted with spread across his face.

"So, that's how they train ballet dancers in Iowa?" he asked.

"Excuse me?" The happiness I held from my performance dissolved and was immediately replaced with anger. The unimpressed look he wore reminded me of my mother. My temper grew thinking of how dissatisfied my dancing had made her, and now Samson was acting the same. "What the hell is your problem? Why don't you take a look around and realize that people aren't bending down to kiss your feet." My cheeks began to flush and I knew that in no time, I'd have red splotches all over my face and chest. "And by the way, I'm from Illinois!"

"I just thought you'd want a few pointers from your partner, but it looks like you're the one that can't handle criticism." Samson sauntered over to me with a devious look in his eyes. "Practice with me." When he grabbed my waist, I tried pushing against his chest to release his death grip.

"Let go of me, Samson!" My anger erupted. When I was finally able to untangle his hands and push him away, I briskly walked to the back of the room to grab my things.

"Where do you think you're going?"

I heard his footsteps tailing me and knew that if I didn't get away from him and calm down, I might slap the pretty off his face.

"We may as well practice together since we're both here. No point in wasting time."

Apparently he wasn't picking up on how bothered I was. I turned to face Samson. He said the words with superiority, but the look on his face hinted at an apology. "What is your problem? Were you raised by wild animals or something?"

"I'm not good at apologies, so I'll just say that I'm sorry you can't take a joke." His grin grew wider with each second that passed.

"There's something seriously wrong with you." I shook my head, laughing at the thick tension remaining between us.

"Can we just forget about all the drama and practice? I promise I'll keep my mouth shut the entire time," Samson said in a mocking tone.

I huffed and squinted my eyes in thought. "Fine, but only on one condition."

"What's that, doll?" He stepped forward, entering my personal space.

"You quit calling me doll. My name is Natalia. Stop with the nicknames or my foot might accidentally trip you while we're practicing, and oops, there goes your ankle!" As I walked past him, I bumped his shoulder, and made my way over to the stereo. "Let's get this over with." I jerked my neck, commanding him to join me in the center of the room.

The song I chose was by a band called Half Moon Run. It was a slow, passionate song, but if I was being honest with myself, I was curious to see how well he could move. I may have hated the overconfidence that seemed to flow through his veins, but his talent canceled out the bitter feelings.

As the words, "If you breathe in, I breathe in," played, Samson's gaze penetrated into mine. We stood close to each other; the only sound in the room was the music. Between the sensuality of the song and the way he looked at me, the moment was flawless.

The mood shifted in the space between us. When he reached out to take my hand, I exhaled slowly, feeling my skin tingle from his touch. The earlier tension faded and all that was left was passion. He brought his body to mine and wrapped his arms around my waist. His lips hovered near my ear and I waited with anticipation, hoping he wouldn't ruin the serene moment.

"You smell so good," he quietly whispered.

As I comprehended his words, the barricade I built came crashing down. My body began to move along with his as we slowly circled the room.

"I'm gonna do a presage lift. Are you okay with that?"

I knew he was just trying to be respectful and test my talents against his own, but I somehow felt he doubted my abilities. "Yes, I can do a presage lift," I said with certainty.

"Just making sure, doll," he said as he readied himself behind me.

My arms reached up as I stood on pointe. As soon as Samson's hand touched my waist, a familiar tremble passed through my body. His other arm wrapped around my thigh, and without much effort, he lifted me above his head. As he held me high, I felt as if I was floating.

Samson dropped his right arm too early, and within seconds, my body was falling to the ground. Just as my butt hit the hard floor, Samson grabbed hold of my forearms. It was too late. My ass was already screaming in pain.

"F*ck! Are you okay?" Samson kneeled down, his face full of concern.

"Ouch," I whined, "I think you broke my ass." I wanted to cry from the pain, but whimpering was the only response I could muster.

Samson dropped to his knees, his hands on each of my shoulders. "We should probably get some ice on that."

I frowned, knowing that within thirty minutes, my butt would be completely black and blue.

"You would want to ice my behind," I rolled away from Samson so he couldn't see me pout. "You did that on purpose!"

"I would never drop you on purpose, Natalia."

His tone was serious and I knew that my accusation upset him, but I was in pain and couldn't help but lash out. I turned to look at Samson and saw the worry on his face. I knew he felt awful for dropping me. I'm sure he also hated that he'd made a mistake.

"I believe you, but my ass is still aching," I said as I looked at him. I started to laugh, trying to trick my brain from thinking about the pain.

"Seriously, are you alright? Are you going to live or do I need to carry you to the ER?" He bent over my body, trying to look me in the eye.

"Shut up. I'll be fine." I slowly stood up, hoping the pain would subside. He followed, making sure I was able to stand on my own. His hand found my elbow, and the contact made me completely forget about the pain.

"Should we try that again?" Samson asked.

I stepped away from his hold, my eyes wide with surprise. "Are you nuts? I'm not going to risk getting hurt again just so you can prove a point. Absolutely not." The pain began to intensify, so I sat back down, putting most of my weight on my right cheek. Samson joined, facing me.

The lyrics, "trust is quicksand, claiming everything I have. All to give me life," played as his eyes focused on mine. Samson slowly licked his lips and moved his body closer.

"Samson, I –"

His lips met mine, but I wasn't as repulsed as I thought I would be. I was surprised at how alive it made me feel. For the few seconds our lips touched, desire built within me.

Samson pulled away. Confusion fell on his face as he stood up. "It's getting late." He grabbed his gym bag from the floor and walked to the door. He looked back at me with a satisfied look on his face, his hand on the doorknob. "Get some ice on that backside, doll."

The door slammed and I was left on the cold floor, alone, with an aching ass. See what happens when you let your guard down, Natalia?