Hitting to Win (Over the Fence #2) (15 page)

A
muscle screams
out in agony, causing me to stop with a jolt, grab my calf and wince in pain and frustration. I'd just been about to nail that turn.

I've been in the studio for hours, the sun setting long ago, everyone out doing what college students did at 11 o'clock on a Thursday night.

Me, though? I was practicing my audition solo. And had been for the past six hours.

I had to fly to New York in a month to perform in front of a panel of esteemed judges, one that included the current Queen Bee of Ballet, Natalie Pinroe. Just thinking about her sitting there judging my turnout made me squirm with nerves.

I roll out the cramp with my fingers and press repeat on the song once more, flying through the routine with more speed and less precision.

As the song winds down, the door creaks open, causing me to jump. It's so late that I know no one else is in the building, and sometimes I get spooked when I’m here alone.

But immediately I see him, and my heart flips right over in my chest. My blondey, walking with his strapping stride towards me. This reaction whenever I see him, I know it will never go away. My knees go all mushy, like I can’t stand straight, and my hands start to sweat, but my back and neck are all goosebumps. It’s like he reprograms my nerves and electric jolts them all at the same time.

"What are you doing here?" I'm smiling so wide that my cheeks hurt, and I can't help but wrap my arms around Miles's waist as he walks up to me. Looking up at him, that bashful, sweet smile gracing his handsome face, I don't even remember that I'm sweating like a pig. He holds me close, the pink leotard and gauzy skirt I have one clashing wildly with his black sweatpants and winter coat.

We mix, our dark and light sides.

"I wanted to see my girl. I missed you. And if I got a private, VIP dance out of it, that would be okay too." He raises one eyebrow in a suggestive manner, and I have to burrow into his chest to hide my bemused expression.

"You're so romantic, if not pervy at the same time. I just need to nail this choreography. I have to know this solo like the back of my hand before my audition in two weeks. I'm so nervous I could cry. And I never get nervous." Laying my cheek on the strong, bulging chest in front of me, the clean, soapy scent of Miles makes me feel a little bit calmer.

"Nail it, huh? I can help you with that." I hit him when I look up to see that eyebrow still raised. "Seriously, you're going to do great. You're the best god damn dancer I've ever seen. And that's besides me, obviously, but..."

I laugh and go to hit him again, except this time Miles catches my hand, bringing it up to his mouth to kiss. And my heart dips so low into my belly that I swear I don't think it’s beating anymore. I still can't believe sometimes that he's finally mine, that he's finally with me, choosing to love me. Even though, we haven't said that yet.

He lets go of me, walking to the far wall without mirrors and shrugging out of his heavy winter coat and shoes. I smile confusedly. There is nothing more I want to do than have him take me home, get into bed and lay in his arms. But I have to practice, I need to burn the midnight oil, literally.

"Enough practice for tonight. And don't whine at me. I think I'm an expert on when enough practice is enough, and you, princess, reached that moment hours ago. You need to loosen up."

He trots to where my iPod is plugged in, scrolling through it until his face lights up. He clicks the screen, and the room is filled with some years-old pop ballad.

Miles saunters to me and starts body-rolling, a crazy, goofy expression marking his face. I crack up into a fit of giggles at this six-foot-seven blonde god flailing his limbs in the middle of the studio. Suddenly, I'm being pulled, and Miles takes us into ballroom stance, flinging me around, doing crazy steps. I am laughing so hysterically that I end up giving myself the hiccups.

Miles pulls away, running back over to the stereo as I try to hold my breath and stop the embarrassing gurgling noises that keep coming from my throat.

A slow, sexy jazz beat fills the room, and the singer starts to croon just as Miles comes to stand in front of me. I hiccup again, my heart beating at a hundred miles an hour as he invades my space, his big, rough hands coming to hold my face on both sides.

As the beat in the song crescendos, Miles ducks his head, his blonde curls brushing my forehead as he lowers his lips to mine. His lips move in time with the song, soft and slow sweeping kisses that reach to every depth of my soul. He's stoking the fire slowly building within me, taking his time to caress my skin, kiss each corner of my lips.

He takes his hands off my face, his lips never leaving mine, and moves them to my hips. Then, slowly, he starts moving my body, shimmying it slowly back and forth.

And I realize, in our hazy reverie of sensual kisses, that we're dancing.

Our bodies are pressed so close together, Miles has made sure of this, that any time the other moves to the beat, we feel the most minuscule of movements down to our cores. Miles breaks the kiss, pushing his forehead into mine rather forcefully, as if this is too much for him to handle. He leads us in a sexy, slow tango. Not like the dramatic one we performed in competition, but smaller, more broken down version. It’s affecting both of us, our breathing hitched, the air in the room too hot. I can feel his steamy breath on my neck, and I get chills. It’s the single hottest experience of my life.

We aren't just dancing, we are making love.

Miles moves us around the room, spinning, grinding and stepping until my head feels light and my breathing is labored. At the dark end of the room, furthest from the door, he twirls us until I'm trapped between the wall and his body.

"What are you doing?" The question is rhetorical. I know what he's going to do almost immediately before he unties the pink sheath at my waist. It floats to the floor, a puff of bubble-gum fabric in the air.

"You drive me nuts, you know that?" Blonde curls hang in his face, his eyes a wild mixture of lust and greed. He wants my body, my soul, and I'm here, willing to give both up.

He slips the straps of my bodysuit down my shoulders, the light pink material pulling tight across my breasts. "Miles, someone will see..."

He growls in frustration. "It’s almost midnight. No one is in the building." He stomps over to the lighting panel, plunging us into darkness and locking the door before storming back to me. He slams me gently back against the wall. "Is that okay, worry wart?"

I don't have the chance to answer before he's pulling my breasts free of the tight pink material, exposing me from the waist up. His rough hands come around my waist and hoist me into the air, so that I'm sitting on the ballet barre drilled into the wall. My slick arousal is painfully obvious as a wet spot shows between my open legs.

"God, baby, you're so hot." He moves in between my legs, kissing my neck as he grinds oh so good on the exact spot I need.

"Miles..." my arms circle his back, pulling him in closer.

"Just kiss me anytime you need to scream."

He captures my mouth, and the world kaleidoscopes into vivid greens, bright reds, and orgasmic whites.

I
lay on the floor
, Miles's chest supporting my head, the only thing left on my body are the pink pointe shoes wound around my ankles.

"I think you killed me." My curly blonde giant looks down at me, his face a mixture of sated bliss and exhaustion. He's gloriously naked, our sweaty bodies draped across each other on the cool wood studio floor.

"I'll take that as a compliment." I smile coyly at him, the inner-minx in me coming out after one of the most mind-blowing orgasms of my life.

"Wow, someone's getting awfully cocky in this relationship. What, now you get all arrogant on me after you lock me down?" He tickles me, teasing my skin and heating my core back up.

My stomach rumbles, the result of a vicious diet I've put myself on until my audition in a month. "When was the last time you ate?"

Miles frowns at me. He hasn't been happy about the diet, telling me I'm perfect just the way I am for weeks now. "I'm not sure..."

He gently eases me aside, standing and stretching. I get a great view of his tight, muscled ass. I role over onto my side and put my head on my hand, admiring the Adonis strutting unashamed around the studio. He picks up my water bottle and takes a sip, trickles of water getting caught in the curled chest hair and rolling down to his still semi-hard member. My insides quiver.

"Get up, gorgeous." His green/blue eyes crackle with heat at my nakedness. "As much as I'd love to keep you on that floor for the next six hours, you need some food. I'm taking you for pancakes."

As much as my insides had quivered for him, they positively tittered at the thought of carbs. I was really hungry.

Ten minutes later, we pull up in front of Jiminy Cricket, the diner where everyone slurps on midday milkshakes and drunk omelettes.

Miles pulls me in, practically over the center console of truck, and locks me into a searing kiss. He’s gentle and rough all at the same time.

Breaking away, he pushes his forehead into mine. “Let’s get my girl some pancakes.”

Taking my hand, he walks us into the diner, nodding to the older woman working as we slide into a booth.

“How are you, honey? The usual?” She comes over, notepad in hand.

Miles nods. "Thanks, Gloria. And a short stack and a chocolate milkshake for my lady, here."

Gloria smiles warmly and walks away. I lift an eyebrow at Miles. "You come here often?"

He shrugs. "I can't cook and am always hungry. Our place is just around the corner."

He picks up my hand where it lies on the table between us, and I lace my fingers with his. "What if I don't like chocolate milkshakes?"

Miles rolls his eyes so dramatically that I think they'll roll back into his head. "Everyone likes chocolate milkshakes. Its like a constitutional amendment."

"Good thing you're a handsome baseball player, because your legal skills definitely come up short." I laugh as he gives my hand a squeeze.

"So tell me about this summer course again...what is the audition for?"

We hadn't talked much about what would happen if I got into the intensive in New York. "Well, its at SAB, or the School of American Ballet. It’s a three month program with seriously the best teachers in the entire world. If I got a decent part in the end-of-summer showcase, it could cement my place in the ballet world. I'm just so nervous..."

"Hey," He tips my chin up with his long, muscled arm. "There is no reason for you to be nervous. You're the most amazing dancer I've ever seen. And no, I may not have seen many, but I know that you're special. It’s like all the world's light shines from your body when you're performing. You're going to get a spot in the school."

His confidence builds me up, a big ball of warmth landing in the middle of my chest. "Thanks. I think I get more nervous just talking about it though. How about you, babe, what are your summer plans?"

Miles shifts uncomfortably, clearly on the brink of sharing something. "Well, obviously visit you in New York as often as possible. But, um...I'm actually going to enroll myself in the draft. The MLB draft that is. Not the army..."

"Yeah, I got that." I lay my hand over his fingers, which are now drumming on the tabletop. "I think that's great, babe."

Miles sighs with visible relief. "Really? Okay, good. I didn't know if you'd be okay with me possibly leaving college if I got drafted, or what you would say..."

"I think that if this is your dream, you should chase it. Don't waste anymore time trying to do anything you don't absolutely love."

He shakes his head, smiling as he plays with my fingers. "Why are you the most perfect girl in the world?"

"I've been waiting a long time to hear you say that." My words bring a frown to his face, his eyes drawing tight and sending wrinkles up his forehead. "I don't mean that in a way that's asking you to apologize. I know you had stuff going on. I only mean that I feel so lucky, to be here right now."

Miles's grin melts my heart, and Gloria comes up with our food just then. She sets the steaming hot pancakes in front of me, and my milkshake next to the plate. In front of Miles, she places a six-piece french toast, a huge omelette with sausage and peppers, a side of hash browns, and four pieces of toast. He also gets a milkshake.

My mouth hangs open as he tucks his fork into the eggs. "Are we expecting company?" I look around the diner, feigning disbelief.

"Very funny, a regular comedienne over here. No, you know I'm a big boy." He winks. "I need my food. It helps keep me lean. And for stamina."

The lusty smirk that spreads across his lips at that last statement turns my insides to jelly, and I was only under him less than an hour ago.

The delicious scent wafting up to my nose catches my attention, and I pick up my fork. As the first bite of buttery, fluffy pancakes melts onto my tongue, I sigh. I'm not sure if the pancakes are actually good, but its been so long since I've had carbs, that the taste of them in my mouth makes me all tingly. Sex and carbs? Today was the perfect day.

"Good, babe?" Miles eyes are full of laughter as he peers across the table at me. I nod, not even opening my mouth to speak as I wash down the next bite of my pancakes with milkshake.

We eat in contented silence until most of mine and all of Miles's food is gone. It's 1:30 a.m. by the time we finish.

"So, where to now?" Miles jokes, swinging my hand back and forth in his.

"Bed. Take me to bed." I fall into the crook of his shoulder, brushing my hand back and forth across his abs as we walk.

"Your wish is my command, princess."

And as we fall asleep in Miles's bed, my back pressed to his giant front, I float peacefully to sleep. My last thoughts are of Miles, swaying me gently around a huge, empty dance floor.

M
arch 15
. The worst day on fucking earth.

I wake with a start and a pounding headache. Looking at the clock, I almost forgot what day it is. Maybe I can just go back to sleep and when I wake up, it will be tomorrow.

But I'm so fucking restless its no use now. I trace the lines of my tattoo, feeling the raised ink through my skin.

Jason.

His name will be running through my brain on an endless loop today, I won't be able to think about anything else.

I remember when the police came to our door, that Tuesday night. It was around dinner, my mother had taken her food in her room, and I was sitting at the opposite end of the table from father. I remember the doorbell, the irritated sigh as he yelled, "Theresa, get the door!"

I remember our housekeeper, a second mother to me, running in, a panicked look on her face. "Mr. Farriston, the police are at the door." Her thick Spanish accent pierces my brain even now.

My father moved, striding to the door in that usual arrogant way of his.

I remember following him, knowing I might get in trouble for leaving the table but doing it anyway. I remember weaving myself behind Theresa's legs, watching as the police spoke to my father.

The words "car crash," "drunk driver," and "dead" imprinted on my brain forever.

I remember my father holding the wall for support, his knees buckling under the pressure of the blow he'd just been dealt.

I remember him saying, "He can't be dead. Jason can't be dead."

And then I remember the world going black.

Even now, 14 years later, I still have nightmares about that day. The day I found out my brother was dead.

I jam the pillow over my head, ignoring my 10 o'clock alarm signaling I need to get up and get my ass to macroeconomics. My phone vibrates under my hip, where I must have tossed it when I fell asleep last night.

Chloe: Morning, baby :) we still meeting for lunch today?

Fuck. I don't even want to get out of bed, not even for my perfect girlfriend.

Miles: Sorry, gonna play hooky today. Maybe tomorrow.

My phone dings instantly.

Chloe: What's wrong? Do you feel okay?

No, not at all. But I'm not physically sick.

Miles: Yeah. Just tired. Have a great day, babe.

I put my phone face down on the desk, silencing it and flopping back on my bed. Turning my head into the pillow, I pulled the comforter over my head to block out the early spring sunlight pouring through the slits in my blinds. Damn cheery world. Couldn't everyone just go into mourning with me for today? Was it so much to ask?

I tossed and turned for what felt like hours, imagining Jay's voice and face in my head. His image was different now, warped after so many years, a vague shape with features. It was why I hated myself so much on this day. I could barely remember his face anymore. He was the only person in my life who loved me and I couldn't even honor his memory properly. I was such a shitty person.

Looking at the clock, it was still only 10:38. Fuck. How was I ever going to make it through this day?

Glancing around the room, my eyes landed on the mini-fridge. Alcohol. That's what I needed.

Sleepily ambling over to the fridge, I pry it open. Three beers, a half handle of whiskey, and an old orange juice. Well, better not pussyfoot around.

I grab the bottle of whiskey, foregoing any kind of glass, and haul it back to bed with me. I turn on ESPN for background noise, if anything to drown out the thoughts in my head. I jack up the volume, hoping to push out the remaining thoughts of death, uncap the bottle, and take a huge, burning sip.

The whiskey flows down my throat like searing-hot lava, scarring and ripping at my insides as it goes. It feels good. It feels numb.

I sit there, on my bed, pretending to watch sports shows, until suddenly its 2 p.m. and the entire bottle of whiskey and all three beers are empty on my floor. I notice the wretched smell coming from my armpits and decide to go shower. Except that when I stand up, the floor slips out from underneath me, sending me crashing into a pile of dirty practice uniforms and worn out bats I've stacked in the corner. Pain immediately rips through my elbow, and when I look down, my vision hazy, I can see the blood dripping down my arm.

"Fuck." I shoot up, still unsteady as I trip into the hall and stumble into the bathroom, making it to the shower before I can cause anymore harm.

I strip, haphazardly climbing into the tub/shower combo. It'll be a miracle if I don't break my neck.

The cut on my arm stings and pinches as I soak it under the hot spray, the pain muted from the effects of my alcohol bender. The cut is probably worse than I think, but I just can't feel and I don't really care. I complete the necessities, carelessly squirting shampoo into my hair and washing my armpits and balls with soap. That should be good enough.

My buzz is still going strong when I make it back to my room, throwing on the first clothes I can find and grabbing my wallet and keys.

The door to my room flies open, Owen holding his ears. "Dude, do you not hear that?" He stomps to my TV, manually pressing the volume button until the roar I hadn't realized was echoing through my room goes silent. I just shrug at him, stumbling to grab my phone where I left it next to the bed.

"What's wrong with you, Farris?" Owen gets into my space, shoving his face close to mine. "Oh, Jesus. You reek of whiskey. What the fuck have you been doing? It’s two o'clock."

I push past him, way past done with this interrogation. I need more to drink.

"Where are you going? Did something happen with Chloe?" He's following me through the house, ghosting me as I pull on my fleece. Before I can turn, Owen grabs my arm, right on the elbow I just tore open.

"Fuck! Jesus, let go of me!" My voice sounds like a drunk's, I can register that much. And I'm swaying. "I'm going out. Chloe is fine, don't go fucking crying to her either, Benedict Cumberbatch!"

"I think you mean Benedict Arnold..."

"No, you're a fucking traitor! Running to your girlfriend every time I do something, tipping off my girlfriend. Just leave me alone!"

With that, I slam the door in his face, the bright sun slapping me in mine. I shield my hand in front of my face, and walk with quick strides towards downtown. I need Sammy's now more than ever.

T
he gleaming bottles
behind the bar are swimming in front of me as I pick my head up out of my hands.

"Another!" I shout halfheartedly at the weekday guy behind the bar. He's new and I don't know him. Which is good, because if this was Ricky, he definitely wouldn't have served me a drop.

"I think that's more than enough, buddy. How about I call you a cab?"

Prick. I look down at the half-drunken tequila on the rocks in front of me, not remembering when I switched from bourbon to that. Fuck it. I slam back the entire contents of the glass, not even feeling the sharp, acidic burn rolling down my esophagus. I'm not sure what time it is, but it’s now dark outside, which has to be a good thing. Means this fucking day is almost over.

The door to the bar opens with a bang, the glass windows in there rattling from the impact. I look up, my drunk-ADHD getting the better of me, to see my girlfriend standing there, a worried expression on her face.

Fuck. I knew it was only a matter of time before she found me.

"Hiya, toots!" I splay my arms wide, motion for her to come join me.

Chloe walks to me hesitantly, her gym bag slung around her shoulder, her dark pea coat covering her white tights. She's been in the studio.

"Hi, babe. Where have you been all day? I've been calling and texting you." Her eyes are pure worry, her motions not as calm as I'd like them to be.

I pull my phone out, see it light up with dozens of texts and calls. Some from Chloe, others from Owen and Clint.

"Ah man, sorry babe, must not have heard it. I've been here. What do you want, let me buy my baby a drink!" I motion for the bartender, who ignores me and snorts as he wipes down the counter.

"Babe, it’s okay. How about we get you home?" Her voice is gentle, coaxing.

"I'm not a fucking child, Chloe. You don't have to treat me like one." My harsh words slap the air.

"I'm not saying that. But I wanted to spend some time with you before I go tomorrow."

Shit, her New York trip. I forgot about her audition in my selfishness. Shit. She shouldn't have to be dealing with me.

"Sorry babe, you go on. I'll be fine. Go sleep before your plane tomorrow." I pick up the glass again, ready to take another sip, before realizing its empty.

"No, I'm taking you home. I'm not going to sit there worrying sick about you." Her pained expression causes me to move, to press my lips to hers. I pull back, seeing the real fear in her eyes.

"Alright, let's go." Chloe is the only person on this earth that I'd do something for, even if I didn't want to do it.

By the time we get home, Chloe is carrying me up the steps. The world is spinning, my feet slipping on every step up to our porch.

"Jesus christ..." Owen grabs my haggard body when Chloe drags us through the door, taking the pressure off of her.

"I'm fine!" I push off him, standing wobbly on my own two feet. They're all sitting in the living room, staring at me. Like some damaged puppy. "What the fuck are you all looking at?!"

I storm off towards my room, quickly followed by Chloe, who walks in and quietly shuts the door as I'm throwing random things around the room.

"Miles, please talk to me?" She looks stricken and confused, the purple of her eyes so light that she looks ill.

"I don't want to talk right now...please, can we do this tomorrow?" I beg with her, plead her to just leave me. I can't be with her right now.

"I don't want to leave you like this...just talk to me." She comes for me, taking up my hands in hers. The move fills me with warmth, and all I want to do is reject it. I need to stay in my dirty, horrible bubble.

"Don't, Chloe." I push her hands away.

"Really, Miles? Really? I thought we were done with this." Her voice spikes, anger rising in her tone.

"Jesus, can you just get out!? Can't you see I don't want you here right now?" I match her ire, giving it right back to her.

"Well I'm going to be here! Because that's what we do for each other!"

I run my hands through my hair, trying to calm my simmering blood. "Well I. Don't. Need. You." Too late. I say this inches away from her face, deathly quiet and slow.

"Yes. You. Do." A fat tear rolls from the corner of her eye. "Why won't you just fucking admit that already? You need me, and I need you. We take care of each other! That's what people do when they're in love!"

The outburst knocks me on my ass, literally. I fall into a sitting position on my bed, shocked at the sudden litany coming from Chloe. Chloe, who is always calm and collected. Who never fires back at me.

"What did you say?"

She's panting, her face is flushed and angry. "I said I love you, you stupid jerk. What is so wrong that you won't just let me?"

She's screaming by the end of this, her face a mess of tears. I can't even bring myself to say anything. Chloe is pulling on her fingers, trying to swallow back the worst of her tears. I still can't speak, drunk and blindsided knocking the wind out of me.

It seems like minutes go by before she turns on her heel, leaving me in my empty bedroom. I just let the girl I love walk out of my life without so much as a word.