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“Oh hell, don’t start in on that. I got enough of that in the Navy. You know, I made it all the way through basic training without anyone learning my secret.”
“Then how did it come out? Did you suddenly bust a jig on the deck of a ship?”
I normally don’t talk this much. Especially not to women. But here on the dance floor, it almost seems like we have our own little world to ourselves. I find I want to tell Emory what’s in my head.
“No, not exactly. My friend Jake, he thought it would be funny to be Facebook friends with my Grandma. She spilled the beans and then he put up a picture in the barracks from when I was 12, in my full glittery pants and shirt.”
Emory laughs, and it proves infectious. It suddenly occurs to me that I’ve just shared a positive memory of Jake without feeling the usual wave of depression. Weird, but that makes me feel guilty for some reason. Like I’m dishonoring his memory.
“Uh oh,” Emory says, her lips pursing in worry. “That was a sad look that just came over your face. What's wrong?”
“Nothing. Everything’s great. When did you decide that dancing was your thing?”
“Decide?” She laughs softly. “Oh, my parents signed me up for lessons as a kind of compulsory thing. I did it because I had to. Ballet. I hated every moment of it.”
“If you hated it, why did you make it your career?”
“You didn’t let me finish the story. One day, as a reward for our hard work, the instructor played some pop music and we did a ‘fun’ dance. That’s the first time I enjoyed myself at dance lessons.”
She shrugs and lets out a little sigh.
“My Dad was super disappointed, but my parents agreed to let me switch to more contemporary dance lessons. Along the way, I figured out I had a talent for choreography. It lets me feel both creative and in control, I guess.”
I tilt my head to the side.
“Why do you do that?”
“Do what?”
“Act like you feel guilty about liking what you do.”
Emory frowns. “Don’t you think it’s kind of frivolous? I mean, what you did, serving our country, isn’t that so much more important?”
I give a shrug. “I don’t know. I think there's a school of thought that says the whole reason I served my country was so that people can live their lives and be happy. Besides, art makes the world a little bit less painful.”
Emory smiles. “I like the way you put things.”
I stare into her sky blue eyes and find myself lost in them. Her lips are slightly parted, plump, inviting…
Without thinking, I lean in and press my lips against her own. She stiffens up for a moment, then melts into my arms.
9
EMORY
My heart pounds, pumping blood through my veins like liquid fire. He literally steals my breath away.
Cole is an amazing kisser. I didn’t realize how much I wanted him to do this until now.
But I’m not about to stop him from kissing me. No way.
We come up for air, our eyes meeting. Cole’s deep brown gaze draws me in. I’ve never felt so drawn to a man before. Not ever. I don’t feel like I have to make excuses for Cole, like I did with Julian.
“I, um…”
It’s the most articulate I can be at the moment. God, that kiss! It seems to have affected Cole as much as I. He seems speechless.
“Cole Drake!”
