That’s the moment I realize that moving on from Colton won’t be possible until another guy is able to rouse the same kind of feelings inside me.
And that, my friends, is all sorts of depressing.
Chapter Three
Colton
Late spring of freshman year...
The soft strains of stringed instruments fill the theatre as I crack open one of the double doors and carefully slip inside the darkened space. A few people seated in the back turn and stare as I settle gingerly on a seat in the last row.
I’ve arrived in the middle of someone’s performance. The ballerina leaps across the stage before halting. With her arms stretched out in front of her, she strikes a pose before gradually folding in half and sweeping her arms across the floor. The spotlight dims as the music fades into nothingness. There’s a moment of hushed silence before applause breaks out in the packed auditorium.
Did I miss it?
Is the show over?
I’d planned on getting here earlier, but Coach kept us an extra thirty minutes. We might not be in season, but practice and lifting start up again in late winter and go through the summer. When you play Division I college sports, there’s no downtime. It’s more like a job. I wish I’d known that when I signed my NCAA paperwork senior year of high school. Some of these guys, like Beck, plan on turning pro after college. So, for them, they need to be constantly working out and improving their game.
After much thought, I decided not to continue playing football after graduation. The plan is to work for my father, which probably means attending business school. We’ll see. That’s yet to be determined. As much as I love the sport, I’ve gotten my brains beat to shit enough already. And my body? Some days, I feel like a seventy-year-old man rolling out of bed in the morning.
So, senior year will be it for me.
I plow a hand through my still-damp hair as the curtain drops into place. The showcase has been on my radar for months, just like it was last year. I can’t believe I missed her performance. I’m halfway to my feet and ready to sprint unnoticed from the auditorium when the heavy screen rises, and the violin section of the orchestra takes up their instruments.
My heart stutters as my gaze fastens on to her. Carefully, I lower myself back onto the seat again. The last girl had been wearing the full ballerina getup. You know—pink leotard, tights, puffy tutu, hair slicked back into a bun, and a small silver crown decorating her head. Kind of overkill, if you ask me.
Alyssa, on the other hand, is outfitted in a tight, long-sleeved shirt that bares her midriff and black booty shorts that match the top. Her hair is swept back into a ponytail, and she’s barefoot.
Her arms are stretched above her head, and her chin is tilted upward as if staring at something only she can see. Even from this distance, the expression on her face is one of serenity. Almost as if she’s alone, unaware of the hundreds of spectators watching her every gesture.
It’s only when the tempo of the violins change and other instruments join in, giving more depth to the music, does Alyssa break her pose. Her movements are graceful. Deep and sweeping. She soars across the space, using every square inch of the stage. My breath catches, becoming trapped in my chest as I lean forward. My gaze greedily follows every step. Every arc and bend. Every spin and dip. It doesn’t take long before she becomes one with the music, conveying a story to the audience. Her expressions change and contort. She is pure poetry in motion as she lights up the stage.
Everything about her is captivating. It doesn’t take long for the audience around me to fall away. And then it’s like she’s performing solely for my pleasure.
The first time I saw Alyssa dance was in high school. Jenna, my stepmother, dragged my father and me to a performance of The Nutcracker at Christmas. I hadn’t been happy about it, but I love Jenna. As far as stepmothers go, she’s a keeper. A hell of a lot better than my biological mother, who took off when I was five years old, and I haven’t seen her since. Even though I try not to dwell on Candace, the fact that she couldn’t be bothered to stick around to see how I turned out bothers me on a profound level.
How could it not?
Two years after that, Dad married Jenna, and she’s been a permanent fixture in my life ever since. So, if she wanted me to experience a little culture? Fine, I would do it. Once the lights dimmed and the curtain was raised, I’d popped an earbud in and settled back in my seat, fully prepared to waste the next two hours of my life. Instead, Alyssa had danced her way across the stage. I’d pulled out the earbud and sat spellbound, unable to look away.
I’d let Jenna make the outing an annual tradition and didn’t bitch one damn time about going. Maybe in real life, I couldn’t stare at Alyssa the way I wanted to, but in a darkened theater, I could spend a couple of hours feeding the intense need I had for her. The craving that was deep inside. The one I continued to deny myself on a daily basis.
The best part, the most reassuring part, was that she would never be the wiser.
Chapter Four
Colton
September of sophomore year...
“Dude, you know I hate this place.” Beck glares at the wide-open space that surrounds him. “The silence creeps me out.”
A librarian sitting behind a long stretch of counter in the middle of the second-floor scowls at us before raising a finger to her lips. “Shhh!”
Beck stiffens beside me as his mouth sinks at the corners. “That woman just shushed me.”
I glance at the older lady, who is now full-on glaring at us. “Yup, that’s her job.”
“Why the hell did you bring me here?” His grumbled words are barely decipherable. “Is it payback for something I did to you? If so, I’m sorry. All right? Whatever it is, I apologize. And I’ll never do it again.” There’s a beat of silence. “Can we leave now?”
I roll my eyes—what a damn baby. “Just give me a few minutes. I need to check out a couple of books for an econ project, then we can head out.”
“Sounds seriously boring.”
He’s not wrong. Most of the time, economics is dry and tedious. And micro-econ makes me want to hurtle myself off a cliff. It’s a necessary evil for the finance degree I’m working toward.
As we wind our way through a few of the stacks, looking for the business section, Beck grinds to a halt. I stop and raise a brow. I swear to God, if he’s about to bitch and complain again, I’m going to punch him in the face.
Then he can bitch and complain about that.
Instead, his gaze remains focused on something in the distance. He’s like a bird dog who has spotted, well...a bird. Normally, Beck is a laidback kind of dude. Nothing riles him up, and he’s not one to take life too seriously. I’m pretty sure his father, Archibald, attempted to beat the nonchalance right out of him, but it didn’t work. Beck is who he is, and that’s not going to change anytime soon.
“If you want to get out of here,” I mutter impatiently, “then let’s move.”
“You know what? Go on without me. Baker is over there with Reinholtz and Collins. I’m gonna see what they’re up to.”