Chapter 6

Man I wish I could take some of those pills Dr. Gasset gave me back to my place. I don’t think I’ve slept this well in ages. But I guess it’s time to go back to the real world. Slowly, I start to open my eyes, forcing them back shut as the bright lights in the room cause them to sting a bit.

I try again and am able to get them open, finding the room pretty fuzzy. I wipe the sleep from my eyes and take a look around. Dr. Gasset doesn’t seem to be here. All that’s in here are the bed, the curtains, one of Dr. Gasset’s desks, a few folders, some guy asleep next to me, a couple cabinets, a…wait, go back a second.

Slowly looking to my side, I see a sleeping form resting at the edge of my bed, breathing slowly and deeply as their face presses into the mattress. Well…this is a bit awkward. I reach over and lightly rest my hand on his shoulder, nudging him slightly. “Hey, dude. Wake up.”

After a moment, the guy appears to be coming to. With a groan, he slowly sits up and I feel my chest constrict. “Declan?”

He rubs the sleep out of his eyes and turns to face me. “Hey, you’re awake,” he groggily says, cracking his neck.

“Y-Yeah, I am. But…what’re you doing here?”

“I called him.” Looking to the door, I see Dr. Gasset walking in. “You told me to look through your contacts for someone who would come and get you. Your roommates were in class, so I called Declan instead.”

I look back at Declan. “But you’re supposed to be back in Virginia.”

“Well, I got a job on campus as a dance instructor for recreational classes. I start in a couple days.”

I have to clench my teeth in order to keep my mouth from opening up. So…Declan is staying on campus? “Since you’re feeling better,” Dr. Gasset says, “it’s probably best you went back home. You’re in the clear for your classes, but I would recommend you email your professors.”

Nodding my thanks, Dr. Gasset leaves the room. Cracking my neck, I’m suddenly made aware of my current dress state. Let’s see. Shirtless, wearing only some football pants and some socks. Yup. Basically my underwear. “Have you seen my practice jersey anywhere?” I ask Declan. “I was wearing it before I passed out.”

“Nope. The room was completely empty when I got here.”

“Probably in my locker then. C’mon.”

Sliding my legs over the edge of the bed, I stand up and stretch my arms out. “Hey, be careful,” Declan says, standing up with me. “Don’t need you passing out on me. I doubt Dr. Gasset and I could pick you up if that happens.”

“Ah, don’t worry. I’m feeling good right now. As long as I take it easy.” I lead Declan into the locker room and walk up to my locker. Sure enough, my practice jersey is in here, along with my regular clothes. “Do you mind if I take a couple minutes to shower?”

“Not at all. That’ll give me a chance to call my dad and tell him what’s going on.”

Declan turns away and digs for his phone while I quickly disrobe and wrap a towel around my waist. I don’t want to make Declan wait too long, so I take a brisk shower, just enough to get clean, and return to the locker room. Still a little wet, I shake my head out as I walk back in, specks of water flying from my hair.

Coming back in, I find Declan in the same position as I left him. Only now his phone is pressed against his ear. Not wanting to be nosy, I drown out his conversation and walk over to my locker. As I drop my towel to get my clothes on, I’m suddenly aware of my nudity. Glancing over my shoulder, I see Declan’s back is still to me.

Thankful for that, I manage to get my underwear and shirt on and immediately feel better. Why in the world should I feel nervous from being naked in a locker room? I’m naked in here nearly every day. Why would Declan in here make any difference?

Not wanting to waste any more time, I throw on my jeans and quickly stuff my practice gear in my bag and slam the locker shut. “Everything okay?” Declan asks from behind me.

Geez, did I really slam the locker that hard? “Yeah, just frustrated that I need to stay on the bench for the rest of the week,” I partially lie.

Declan nods in understanding. He slides his phone into his pocket and he and I leave the stadium. I must have been out for a while. The sun is starting to get a bit low in the sky. “Are you hungry?” Declan asks me.

“Starving. I haven’t eaten anything since last night at that stupid party.”

Declan makes an annoyed face. “The fact that your own parents ran you through the ringer like that really pisses me off. When was the last time you had a home cooked meal?”

I think about that. “Well my family’s personal chef made me something a couple days ago.”

Great. I said personal chef like it’s one of the most common things in the world. “I mean a meal cooked by one of your family members,” he says.

“I would say never. I’m an only child, so no siblings to cook things for or with. And my parents never even bothered to set foot in the kitchen. My dad is too busy to even think about being in a kitchen and my mom thinks being in a kitchen is somehow beneath her.”

Declan sadly shakes his head. But he suddenly perks up a moment later. “Where’s the nearest grocery store?”

“Um…about two blocks away?”

“Perfect. Lead the way, Mr. Quarterback. I’m cooking for you tonight.”

My chest tightens and releases within a second. Declan cooking for me? Why does the thought of it make me so…excited? “Are you sure?” I ask. “You just moved in. I’m sure you’d want to spend a little time to yourself.”

“You’re more of a concern to me right now, Ash. I don’t want you doing home and passing out again without having had anything to eat. So you’re coming with me and I’m cooking you some damn dinner. Got it?”

The stern tone of voice tells me that Declan isn’t going to back down anytime soon. So I simply nod in acknowledgement and lead him in the direction of the grocery store.


“So you’ve never shopped on a budget before?” Declan asks as he stands at the stove in his apartment.

“Never. Hell, I’ve barely ever shopped before. If I ever needed something I would tell one of the workers at the house and they would go out and get it for me. Makes me feel like I’ve missed a lot of things in life.”

A delicious smell of cooking chicken and melting cheese fills my nose as I stand at the counter near Declan, trying to chop vegetables. If Declan weren’t keeping an eye on me, I probably would have chopped off a couple fingers. “Further away from your hand,” he says, not looking in my direction.

Looking down at the knife, I see it’s on the verge of slicing through my thumb. “Sorry,” I say. “I’ve never done anything like this before.”

“That’s fine. I just don’t want you to potentially hurt yourself, let alone get blood in the salad.”

“Well it would give it a nice flavor.”

He and I both laugh and return to what we were doing. This is actually…really nice. If I were back at my place, I’d probably just order a sandwich and a salad. But a home cooked meal really can’t be beat. “How’d you learn how to cook?” I ask Declan.

“My brothers and I picked it up after our mom died. She was always the one who cooked the meals, even when we volunteered to take over for her. But she enjoyed it so much that she did it every night. When she died, my brothers and I took it upon ourselves to try and fill her shoes. It was really hard at first, but we managed to get it done.”

He shuts off the burner that’s holding a pot with boiled pasta inside. Carefully lifting it, he carries it to the sink and strains the pasta out, giving it a shake before dispensing it into a bowl just as the oven timer goes off. “Perfect,” Declan says.

He approaches the stove and opens it up, a wonderful smell permeating into the kitchen as soon as the door opens. He pulls out the dish that’s holding two large chicken breasts smothered in pasta sauce and topped with a heft amount of cheese. “That smells so goddamn good,” I say, giving it a whiff.

“Only twelve bucks when you buy chicken the store is about to toss. If you could set some places up at the counter, I’ll serve these up.”

Setting the counter, Declan brings over two plates loaded with chicken parmesan and salad and sets them down. “I really appreciate you doing this,” I say, placing my napkin across my lap.”

“It’s no problem at all. I cook all the time at home for five people. So cooking for two is nothing huge.”

Slicing into the chicken, I take a large bite and am forced to restrain myself from moaning. This is so freaking good. I’ve eaten five star meals that were worse than this. The tanginess of the sauce mixing with the saltiness of the cheese on top of perfectly cooked and seasoned chicken? Heaven.

We spend much of the meal in silence, simply enjoying the meal. I’m finished well before Declan, who looks like he’s taking his time with it. “I’ll do the dishes,” I say, standing up and grabbing my plate.

“You don’t need to do that,” Declan says.

“It’s nothing. You cooked after all. It’s only fair.”

He smiles and goes back to eating while I take my plate to the sink. Looking around, I’m immediately confused. “Um…where’s the dishwasher?”

“The apartment doesn’t have one. All the dishes need to be hand-washed.”

I immediately regret my chivalrous gesture. Setting my dishes in the sink, I look around. Let’s see. You need soap, right? Soap is a good place to start. Looking underneath the sink, I don’t see anything that even remotely looks like soap. “Ash,” Declan says, a bit of amusement in his voice. “The soap is on the counter in the dispenser.”

Looking up, I see a small dispenser. My face reddening, I don’t look at Declan as he watches me fumble through this. “You need a sponge too,” he says. Cabinet to your left.”

Opening the cabinet in question, I spy a fresh sponge sitting in its packaging. Ripping it out, I take it to the sink and wet it, dispensing some soap onto it. Okay, so far so fine. Reaching for a metal spoon, I hold it under the faucet and turn it on full blast. But I don’t expect the geyser of water to come shooting at my face as it hits the spoon.

Declan laughs as I struggle to shut off the tap. Managing to do so, I wipe the water from my face and find Declan holding his sides as he roars with laughter. “Oh God…I can’t breathe…”

“Suffocate then. I really hope my phone didn’t get wet.”

Declan quickly calms down and stands up, walking around the counter to where I’m standing. “How’s about this?” he says. “I’ll wash, you dry. Good?”

“Okay. As long as that devil spoon stays away from me.”

He chuckles a bit and grabs his plate, quickly getting to work on scrubbing the dishes clean. He hands me dish after dish and I dry them with a rag. “Something tells me you’ve never washed a dish in your life,” Declan says as he hands me a glass.

“Can’t say I have. My family always had someone to do them for us. Not that we ever really had meals together. Dad always chose to eat in his office while Mom was always away with her friends or too wasted to even bother.”

“Jesus. If one of my brothers didn’t come to dinner without a reason, my dad would rip them a new one. To him, dinner was always a time for everyone to come together after a long day and talk.”

I dry a couple utensils and place them with the other dishes. “Yeah, well, my parents typically speak at me rather than to me. I was always expected to listen to them without question and without any form of talking back. Always ‘yes, sir’ or ‘yes, Mom.’”

Declan sadly shakes his head, but doesn’t say anything as he goes back to washing a pan. We finish the rest of the dishes in silence while I chastise myself. Way to bring the mood down, Ash. I dry the last fork and place it in its proper drawer. “I should probably get going,” I say. “I have class in the morning.”

I notice Declan’s shoulders sag a bit, but he quickly pulls himself back up. “Yeah, and I should probably go over my lesson material. My first class is in two days.”

“You’ll do great. I know you will.”

He and I head for the front door, where my bag is sitting. As I’m about to pick it up, I stop myself and turn back to face Declan, who is looking at me with a quirked eyebrow. “Look, I didn’t really get the chance to say this before, but I really owe you for doing this for me.”

“Oh, it’s nothing. It’s just a simple meal and-“

“No,” I say, cutting him off. “I mean back at the stadium. You stayed with me while I was asleep and you stayed with me even after I woke up. You even made dinner for me when you could have just left me behind.”

“I would never do that,” he says, taking a step toward me.

“And you cemented that fact for me. So…thank you. Not many people I know would be willing to go so far to help me. And I’m glad you’re here, Declan. It’ll be nice knowing I have a really good friend on campus with me.”

He gives me a warm smile that causes a bowling ball to fill my stomach. And yet, I find myself smiling back at him. He takes another step forward and reaches his arms around my neck, pulling me down into a tight embrace. “If you ever need anything, don’t hesitate to give me a call or text me,” he says next to my ear.

I give him a tight squeeze, thankful to have him here. Letting go, I grab my bag and throw it over my shoulder. We exchange a wave before I let myself out of the apartment, closing the door behind me. As soon as I hear the latch shut, I let out the breath I’ve been holding for what feels like the better part of a minute.

I run a hand over my face and make my way for the stairs. The heaviness in my stomach is still sitting there. I’ve never had this sort of reaction before. So why is it Declan brings it out of me? And why do I like it when he does?


I really hope this meeting isn’t a bad one. But when your academic advisor calls you to arrange a meeting quickly, you really start to worry. So I’m sitting in a slightly uncomfortable plastic chair while I’m waiting for him to come out.

A door opens down the hallway and I see my advisor, Mr. Fisher, a man teetering on the edge of 60 and a possible late mid-life crisis, step out. He walks down the hall and approaches me. “Ash, come with me please,” he says in his usual matter of fact voice.

Grabbing my bag, I follow him to his office, a room with very little personality and everything exactly where it needs to be. I take a seat across his desk and he hops onto his desktop. “Is this serious?” I ask.

“One second, please.” He taps away at his keyboard and a moment later, he turns the monitor around to face me. “This is your transcript, Ash. Can you tell me if anything is out of place?”

Isn’t that your job to tell me that? Looking at the transcript, I look at my credit hours and GPA. Everything seems fine to me. I have enough credit hours before my last semester and my GPA is in a good standing. “I’m not sure I see the problem, sir,” I say, looking back at him. “Am I going to graduate on time?”

“You’re on track to graduate, Ash. But I was taking a look at your transcript and noticed something was missing.”

He taps his keyboard a few more times and the page on the monitor changes. Looking again, I see a small blank on my transcript. “What is that?” I ask, a touch worried.

“You’re missing a wellness course.” Excuse me? “All students are required to take some before they graduate.”

“But I’m on the football team. Shouldn’t that count?”

“That satisfies one of the courses, but you need a second one in order to graduate. And unfortunately, we can’t make exceptions to the rule simply because you’re a football player. I’ve run this by your coach and he agrees with me.”

I sigh to myself and fall into my chair. “Okay, I’ll sign up for one. What are my options?”

He turns his monitor to face him and he works away while I wait in anticipation. A few minutes later, he turns the monitor back to me. “Seeing as we’re a couple weeks into the semester, you don’t have very many options. But I’ve put together a list of available classes that fit your schedule.”

I join him in looking at the monitor. “Have you thought about something like yoga?” he asks me. “It’s a relaxing course that helps with flexibility and balance.”

I grab my ankle and hoist it up, bending forward and placing it behind my neck. Mr. Fisher looks at me with a shocked expression on his face. “I’m already pretty flexible,” I say. “My dad had me take lots of yoga classes when I was younger to help with football.”

I bring my foot back down and Mr. Fisher shakes his head a bit. “Okay, so no to yoga. What about something more aggressive? We have some kickboxing and martial arts courses. They can help you let off some steam.”

“Too dangerous. I wouldn’t want to risk hurting myself in the class if I’m still playing football.”

“Understandable. Well, how about your take a look at everything and make a decision?”

Nodding, I continue to look over the list. Nothing really stands out to me. They all either sound too boring or like something that could end up with me getting hurt. Looking down the list, I find myself getting closer to the bottom. But just before I reach it, I see something grab my eye.

Intro to Dance? It’s on my off day from classes, so that’s a plus. But what really grabs me is the name as the instructor. Roth, D. That’s Declan’s class. Looking at the class list, I see there’s only two more places left. “That one,” I say without thinking.

Mr. Fisher looks at where I’m pointing. “Interesting. I didn’t expect you’d choose that. But I’m not going to stop you. I think dance could be a good counter-balance to football. I’ll sign you up for it.”

He turns back to his computer and I know that means that our meeting is over. Slipping my bag on, I quietly start to leave the office. “Your coach also told me about what happened yesterday,” Mr. Fisher says. Looking back at him, I see he’s still looking at his computer. “As my advisor, it’s my job to tell you this: your father is a prick and your mother is a piece of work.”

Any other person would likely have gotten upset at that. But I nod in agreement, knowing full well they both are. “Be sure to rest and get your assignments finished,” he finishes.

Nodding again, I take my bag and leave the office. As I leave, the realization of what I’ve just done hits me. What the hell am I thinking? I don’t know the first thing about dance! All of a sudden, a mental image of Declan pops into my head, casting all my worries aside.

Letting out a breath, I allow myself to relax. It’s just a class. Nothing to worry about. And nothing Dad needs to know about. Now, what are you supposed to wear to a dance class?


Cracking my knuckles and neck, I hop a few times in order to try and motivate myself. You can do this, Declan. It’s only a class. A class full of about twenty students that are my age and have very little to no experience and may judge me on how well I’m able to- Jesus Christ, shut up before you give yourself a hernia.

You’ve taught classes so many times before, Declan. This one will be no different. Readying myself, I grab the handle to the dance studio and step in. Immediately, every eye in the room goes to me and I cross the wooden floor. “Good morning, everyone!” I call out.

I get no response. Just a few confused looks. “I said good morning!” I say again, with a bit more emphasis.

About half the class mumbles a greeting. We’ll need to work on that. Setting my bag down, I open it up and pull out the folder I was given for the class list. “Um…who are you?” a female student asks.

“My name is Declan Roth. And starting today, I will be your dance instructor.” The class glances at one another before looking back at me. “Is that a problem?”

“Dude, you look like you’re our age,” a male student says. “You’re probably better off with the rest of us.”

I give the student a once up and down. Seems fairly fit. But based on his outfit, I would say he’s very new to dance. “First off,” I say, stepping up to the student, who I meet at eye level, “do NOT call me dude. You will address me as Mr. Roth unless I tell you otherwise.”

The guy gets a steely look in his eye. “Or what? Dude?”

Oh he’s testing me. Like hell I’m going to let that fly. Holding up the folder, I return his gaze. “I have the power to fail you if I see fit. So do you want to test that? Dude?”

After a minute, the fight leaves him and he takes a step back. I nod and step back as well, looking at everyone. “Does anyone else have anything they would like to bring up?” Many of them shake their heads. “Good. I don’t care if any of you don’t like me. You don’t have to like me, but you will respect me. If you respect me, I will give you the same level of respect in return. Understood?”

I’m given a few nods and a couple quiet ‘yes, Mr. Roth’s.’ Better than nothing. Opening up the folder, I go down the class list, calling out student and taking attendance. Looks like just about everyone is here. Just as I’m about to reach the last name on the list, the door to the studio suddenly opens. “Sorry I’m late!”

Looking over, I nearly drop the folder as I see Ash sauntering in, wearing a loose tank top and shorts, under which are a pair of very tight leggings that I have to force myself to pull away from. “That’s…alright,” I say, trying to keep the shock out of my voice. “Go ahead and join the rest of the class.”

He nods and sets his bag down, walking over to the other students, who look just as surprised as I feel. Looking back at the class list, I see there’s no mistake. Ash Williams. Marking him as present, I set my folder down and address the class. “Seeing as I’ve taken over for your previous instructor, I need to understand what it was he was teaching you all.”

“Basically he was just repeating the same lesson,” a female student (I think her name is Leslie) says. “Holding onto the bar in front of the mirror and bending the knees over and over.”

I have to force myself not to groan. That’s a lesson that three year olds get. And while these guys don’t have much experience, they deserve more than that. “Do any of you have a class to get to immediately after this lesson?” I ask.

No one pipes up. “Next class I have is at 5:00,” someone says.

A few other students say their times. And I notice none of their classes are until a few hours after this one finishes. “Then I have a proposition for all of you. No one has this studio reserved after this lesson. Now while I can’t force you to stay behind after the class finishes, I’m going to give you all the option of learning more from me beyond that point.”

A quiet murmur fills the studio. “Why would you do that?” someone asks.

“Because I love teaching people how to dance. And you’re all adults. You all deserve to learn more than simple routines and moves by the end of the semester. It’s not a requirement, however. I will only be grading you guys on what you do in class. So if anybody is up for it, just let me know.”

The class stays silent, but I break the tension by clapping my hands together. “Okay! Everyone, stretch yourselves for a few minutes then we’ll get started.”

So for the next hour and a half, I run the group through some basic moves. Nothing major, but enough to get them some footing. Like I expected, many of them have difficulty with it. But all of them have never done any sort of class on dancing before, so I’m not torn up about it.

The alarm goes off on my phone and I clap my hands together. “That’s it for today! Please make sure you stretch when you get home! You’ll hate yourselves tomorrow if you don’t! Remember, if anyone wants to stay behind to learn more, feel free! Otherwise you’re free to go and I’ll see you next week!”

I see most of the class is relieved with the news that we’re done for today. I did put them through a gauntlet of sorts today, so I can see where they’re coming from. I walk over to my phone as the class filters out of the studio. A small part of me is disappointed that none of them are choosing to stay and learn a bit more, but that’s fine. It’s their decision.

That is until I learn one person is still in the studio. “So what am I going to learn, Mr. Roth?” Ash asks.

The sudden voice surprises me and I fumble my phone, juggling it for a few seconds before managing to catch it without letting it hit the floor. “Jesus, you’re like a freaking ninja or something,” I say, putting a hand to my chest.

“I’ve been standing here for the last minute or two. You’re the one with tunnel vision.”

“Touché.” Setting my phone down, I give Ash my full attention. “Don’t you have practice or something?”

“Coach always gives the players the day off after a game. So that’s why I can take this class.”

I raise an eyebrow in skepticism. “You chose to take my class?”

“Well, yeah. See, I need one more physical fitness course in order to graduate. Football only qualifies for one of my two courses. And it was either this or some high intensity course where I could potentially hurt myself and ruin my chances with football.”

I hum to myself. I’m not complaining that Ash is in my class. But I don’t completely buy his story of him not taking some martial arts course. He’s a football quarterback. He runs the risk of getting hurt every time he’s on the field. He would actually have less of a chance getting hurt in one of those other courses.

He raises his arm behind his head, stretching out his shoulder and flexing his large bicep and tricep. I have to force my mouth shut to keep myself from drooling. “So what’s next on the agenda, Mr. Roth?” he asks again.

Well, I did say my extra help would be for everyone. “Um…stretch a bit more,” I tell him. “We’ll get started then.”

He nods and sits on the floor, spreading his legs apart until they’re completely split and lowering his chest to the floor. He just did that like it’s the simplest thing and he doesn’t even look like he’s trying hard. Not wanting to be outdone, I drop into a split myself. “Have you always been flexible?” I ask.

“Lots of yoga and flexibility training when I was younger,” he says, “courtesy of my dad. He thought that if my joints were more flexible, I’d be less susceptible to injury and capable of throwing farther and running faster.”

“I’m impressed. Most guys would be screaming in pain if they even tried that.” He grins and jumps back to his feet. “And you have no formal dance training?”


“Well I specialize in ballet and contemporary dance. So I think we’ll stick to that.” He nods. “With contemporary dance, there really isn’t a specific move set or patterns to it. It focuses on the movement of the body and freedom of expression through movement.”

“Which means?”

“You do whatever feels right. Dancing isn’t all about moving and looking good. It’s about expression and emotion, feeling and letting your body express what you feel. I’m sure you’ve seen at least one of those reality TV dancing shows, right?” He nods. “So you already know wheat contemporary dance looks like. I’m just going to try something and you follow, okay?”

I take a few steps away from him and turn to face him. “Now when I run at you, lift me.”


His face goes blank and I run. He quickly gets ready as I jump at him, his hand immediately grabbing my waist and lifting me high into the air. Spreading my legs, I arch my back as I look down at him. “Drop!”

He releases me and I fall toward the ground, twisting my body as I fall. I feel his arm circle my waist as he catches me and I hook an arm around his neck, pulling us both down to the floor with me landing on top of him. Coming back to reality, I see the situation I’ve put myself in.

Chest to chest with this man, my sweat-soaked skin flush with his as I feel his hot breath hitting me. His face is way too close to mine. Feeling heat rising in my groin, I push myself off of him and quickly stand up, smoothing down my shirt. “That was…really good,” I say, doing my best not to stammer.

He stands up as well and I see he looks to be at a loss for words, his face expressionless and his body stiff. “I…I just remembered I need to get some stuff for class finished,” he says. “I’ll see you soon.”

He turns and quickly walks for the door, grabbing his bag on his way out and leaving me standing alone in the studio. I run my hands through my hair and silently chastise myself, unsure of how to handle this. What happened just now cannot happen again, no matter how much I’m crushing on Ash.

Walking over to my phone, I go to my music-streaming app and find my saved playlist. I’m way too frustrated to leave right now.


Sweat pouring down my face and neck, I rush into my house and slam the door behind me. Kyle and Lance jump off the couch from the sudden noise and turn to face me. “Jesus, Williams,” Kyle says. “Way to give a guy a heart attack.”

“My bad,” I wheeze out. “Just needed a run from class.”

“Sounds more like a sprint,” Lance says. “You okay?”

“Yeah, just…need a shower. I’ll be back down in a bit.”

Not giving them a chance to ask anything else, I rush for the stairs and make a beeline for my bedroom, closing and locking the door behind me. Stripping off my tank top, I fall onto my bed and stare up at the ceiling. What the hell just happened in that studio?

The dancing was one thing, but that moment was Declan was something else. The sensation of feeling like I’m about to throw up, the way my chest felt like it was about to explode, the tingling in my hand and feet, it was all completely foreign to me.

But at the same time, I didn’t feel anything bad about it. And I think a part of me…may have enjoyed feeling Declan on top of me like that, him sitting on my waist, chest pressed up against mine, face so close, and- I look down at my pants and find a noticeable growth in the crotch.

Getting hard thinking about a guy?! Reaching for the waist of my pants, I quickly pull them off and turn the water on and jump in, my body tightening from how cold it is. Thankfully, the growing stops as my junk tries to hide from the cold water. Turning up the water temperature, I lean against the shower wall and let myself breathe.

I feel my heart beating in my chest, way too fast for my liking. Pressing my forehead to the wall, I close my eyes and try to focus on something else. But all I can think about is Declan. The handsome face, tight body, stunning personality, and nice smile. As much as I want to push away the thoughts, they just keep coming back in full force, rearing their ugly heads. And my other head has come back as well.

Wiping my face, I try to go through the motions of my shower. But as I do, I think back to the dance Declan was showing me. It felt so…natural. And even though it was short, I enjoyed that kind of movement, along with the lessons from Declan’s class. Actually, I really enjoyed it, every moment of it.

Stepping out of the shower, I dry myself off and return to my bed. I fish my phone out of my bag and immediately look up videos of contemporary dance. Maybe there’s something I can learn before next week’s class.



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