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"Step, step, leap," Giselle was back in teacher mode and I was her little student.
After a few minutes of our post sex glow, she had stood up and redressed, telling me we had to get to work. She was still frazzled and I could tell she had no regrets about what we had just done, but she was slowly creeping back into Miss Priss.
Not that I was fighting it. Not this time.
Now that I knew another fun way to open her up, I looked forward to trying again. Sex between us was definitely not a one time thing. We both knew it.
I’m sure the stress of what was going on with Brisé was getting to her. The anxiety she felt for Sam was also adding to it. More than I did, she probably needed that escape and I was going to make myself available for the next time she needed it as well.
In the meantime, I was a good little boy—leaping and stepping. We weren't paying attention to the clock and I had told her to go until she found a stopping point. Might have been a mistake because she was hardcore about ballet and I didn't see her finding a stopping point without a time limit.
"Mr. Black," she clapped to get my attention and I turned from my classical step and gave it to her. "You are ready to combine a plier, etendre, relever, glisser, and sauter. We will then add an elancer and tourner."
I put my hands on my hips and snarled a bit to show my confusion. "Do what?"
Her lips tried quirking into a smile but she suppressed it quickly. "You will bend, stretch, rise, glide, and then jump. Once you do that, we will add a dart and a turn."
"Why the fuck didn't you just say that? Why does it have to be complicated?"
This time her smile couldn't be suppressed and she put her hands on her own hips. "At the risk of sounding redundant, I apologize."
"Fuck yeah, you do," I scoffed playfully.
"They are rather simple terms, though," she played back and I fucking ate it up.
"Hac to tight right 42 power load Z reverse," I crossed my arms and raised one eyebrow, having just called out a football play that Cam may call in a huddle.
"What?"
"Psh, you should know," I whipped my hips around and snapped my fingers. "They are rather simple terms."
From behind me, I heard her laugh louder than I had before and it made me smile as she said, "Touché."
For the rest of the night, I did everything she told me to do and I did it to the best of my ability. I didn't quite understand why the hell everyone thought some of this would help my game but I agreed to this for Coach and now I just wanted to be around Giselle.
When she finally called it a night, it was close to 10:30 and I was exhausted. I had been practicing every day, on top of dancing with Giselle. I had barely been home since Sunday and knowing I had to get up early again Friday and do it all over again was wearing on me.
Since seeing my brother outside of Brisé on Monday, I hadn't seen him at home. He didn’t leave a note and he wasn't answering his phone. I would have been worried if I hadn't seen Marcus and Devon. When I asked, they had told me he was fine.
I wanted to talk to him but tonight wasn't the night. So I made peace with going back to the complex and sleeping there. At least I would already be where I needed to be first thing in the morning.
The tension that had mounted in the past five minutes must have been evident because Giselle stared at me with concern on her face. I followed her from the studio into the reception area before she finally asked me what was going on.
"Are you ok?"
"Just mentally making the decision to head out to the complex to sleep tonight," I shrugged. "It’s a further drive but I’m not really wanting to go home."
"Problems at home?" I could hear the curiosity oozing from that question. We hadn't really discussed the parameters of our personal lives before we fucked on that dance floor and now she was curious if I just cheated on someone I had at home. She wanted to know what kind of guy I was and I guess I couldn't blame her.
I was a good guy with a bad rap. One google search didn't really give readers the full picture of my story. Most of the issues I had were blamed on failed relationships and disgruntled women, but that was just the mask behind the real shit.
Only Coach and a few select teammates knew the real shit and I was supposed to keep it that way. So I couldn’t tell her all the shit with my brother or his friends, or my shitty upbringing.
It is like Coach always said, if I was a quarterback, my shit would be swept under a rug. If I was at the top of my game, I could get away with more. But as it stood, I was replaceable and until I showed the owners I wasn't, no one needed to know my shit.
"My brother and his friends are staying there while they’re in town," I started.
