The Right Moves - The Game Book 3 (6 page)

“Damn,” she whispers. “This is some studio.” Her eyes travel across it, drinking in every inch of the room, before resting on the corner. “Oh,
hot damn!
”

I follow her gaze and my eyes land on Blake’s back. If the messy brown hair combined with the fact he’s early isn’t a giveaway it’s him, it’s the way he stands.
Strong and tall without a hint of a slouch. His posture is almost regal, and my gaze skirts up and down his body before I realize what I’m doing and pull it away.

“Is that the British guy?” Maddie nudges my arm. “Wait, it is. You’re drooling!”

I snap my head round to look at her. “I am so not!”

She studies my face for a second and smirks. “Just a little. God, I don’t blame you.”

“You have a boyfriend,” I remind her.

“I can look, Abbi. Especially when
that
is the view.”

I roll my eyes,
heading toward the benches where Blake is stood. “California is corrupting you, Maddie.”

“Eh, maybe a little.” She shrugs a shoulder and follows me.

Blake turns as I put my bag down and grins at me. “Abbi.”

“Blake.” I return his smile, albeit more hesitantly.

“So,” he leans against the wall, looking at me casually. “I heard Bianca is pairing us off today so we can choreograph our own dance. Something about her seeing how ready we really are for her class.”

“Where did you hear that?” I grab my water bottle, a bolt of fear shooting through my body.

Pairing. Choreographing. That means out of studio time with someone. One on one endless dancing with a guy.

A level of intimacy I’m not quite ready for.

“I … Er … She told me,” he admits with a shrug. “I came here to practice yesterday and she mentioned it then.”

“Oh.” I pause. “Has she paired us already?”

“No idea.” Blake shrugs and glances over my shoulder at Maddie.

“Oh, Blake, this is Maddie, my best friend. Maddie, Blake,” I introduce them and step to the side to change.

“Are you joining the class?” Blake asks her.

She bursts into laughter. “God no. I can’t dance. I’m just here to watch.”

“The studio would need closing down if Maddie tried to dance,” I mutter, tying the ribbons on my shoes.

“Shut up,” she repli
es, laughing a little. Grinning at her, I back toward the
barre
. Blake follows, and we take our usual places at the back of the studio.

Bianca strolls into the large room with delicate yet purposeful steps, and sto
ps in front of us, standing in first position. Her clasped hands hover in front of her stomach as her eyes comb across us, and I feel the heat of her stare scrutinizing every single person here.

“
Pas de deux
.” Her words are sharp and short, cutting through the silence that comes with her presence. “A couple. At Juilliard, not only will you be expected to dance to perfection as an individual, but also as a couple. If you can’t do that, you need to go away, learn how to, and then come back. Remember, I’m here to hone your skills, not teach you new ones.

“
That said, after watching you for your last two lessons, I’ve paired you all off with the dancer I think you’ll work best with. You have one month to choreograph a
pas de deux
, put it to music and perform it to the highest possible standard in a mini showcase at a small theatre owned by a friend of mine. Friends and family will be invited, so you
must
get it right. So …”

I fight to stay focused on Bianca’s voice and grip the
barre
tightly. The idea of spending endless hours with someone I don’t know, dancing with them, sharing with them the deepest part of me, scares me beyond belief. I knew it would happen eventually. I knew I’d have to do this sooner or later, but I thought it would be later. I never thought I’d be in this position three lessons in.

I can’t do it. I’m not ready for this. I’m not ready to bare my soul to anyone.

“Abbi?”

I draw myself from the harsh, doubting voice ringing in my ears and focus on the voice that’s speaking my name. I don’t want to; I don’t want to know who I’m going to have to spend hours upon hours with over the next month.

Green eyes stare back at me when I turn to the voice. Blake.

“Are you all right?”

“I … Yeah.” I smile tentatively. “Just … Thinking.”

He watches me for an everlasting second, his eyes never wavering from mine. It’s as if he can see something no one else can and he can understand what I can’t say. But that’s crazy, because everything is inside, locked away, where no one can see or understand it.

I take a deep breath and close my eyes. When I open them again, he’s walking backward. But still watching me, this time with an intensity that makes me want to squirm. It makes me want to rub my hands over my arms and hide, and it’s a stare that makes me feel as if I’m being stripped bare. As if every time he blinks he peels a layer away. And no matter how much I want to or how hard I try, I can’t tear my eyes away from his.

“Are you coming?” he asks.

“Where?”

His lips twitch. “We have a dance to choreograph.”

I fiddle with the scrap of paper Abbi wrote her number on last Sunday. I flip it between my fingers repeatedly, my eyes darting to and from my phone.

And I feel like a complete and utter dork.

I know nothing about this girl besides her name and the fact she can dance as well as any seasoned ballerina. I also know she’s beautiful – you’d have to be completely blind not to see that – and I am stupidly fucking attracted to her lithe little body. But that’s it. I have no idea what she does aside from dance, if she has a boyfriend, or why she gets a shadow behind her eyes when she dances. But I want to.

I spent all day yesterday convincing myself I want to know because we’ll be spending a lot of time together over the next month. That we’ll work best as a
pas de deux
if we’re friends. That to build the element of trust needed between dance partners, we should know each other as more than just dancers. And when I was telling myself that, I was denying the fact it’s because the shadows in her eyes are too familiar.

I was denying the fact I want to know Abbi because something about her reminds me of Tori. Something I can’t put my finger on; perhaps it’s the way she loses herself in dance, or the way she seems so delicate, so fragile. Maybe it’s because sometimes her smiles seem a little forced
.

Or maybe that’s me. Maybe I’m seeing something that isn’t there, reading too much i
nto it. She could just be shy. And here I am comparing her to my dead sister.

Maybe it’s all in my head
and I’m looking for something that reminds me of Tori to hold on to. Maybe it’s a combination of both. That would definitely explain why something about Abbi bugs me. Why something about her taps on my shoulder repeatedly until I give in and think about it.

I grab the phone and dial her number before I can
think about it anymore and it drives me insane. She answers on the third ring.

“Hello?” her voice is quiet and wary.

“It’s Blake.”
God, I’m so eloquent.
My mother would have a fit if she could hear me now.

“Oh!” I hear a shuffle. “Hi.”

“Hi.” I pause, looking around my apartment. “I hope you don’t mind me phoning you.”

“No, I don’t mind you
calling
me.” The hint of laughter in her voice makes me chuckle.

“I’m sorry – I hope you don’t mind me
calling
you, then.”

“No. If I minded, I wouldn’t have given you my cell number.”

“You know, if you said that to someone in the UK, they’d wonder why you were in prison.”

Her giggles ring down the phone. “It’s not my fault you British people talk strange.”

“Hey! The language is called “English” for a reason, you know. British and English are pretty much the same thing. It’s you bloody Americans that have changed the words.”

“Whatever. You freakin’ British just think you have some claim to the language because you’re from England.”

“I think we’ll have to come back to this,” I muse.

“I agree.”

“So, the reason I
called
.”

I almost hear her smile. “Yes?”

“I know we have class tonight, but I was just wondering if you were free today. You know, before class. I thought we could get to know each other. Or something.” I scratch at the back of my neck as I wait for her reply.

“S-sure. What were you thinking?”

“Uh …” I laugh nervously. “There’s something really funny about that, because my plan is kind of half-assed.”

“You don’t know anywhere in Brooklyn or New York to go,” she states, amusement lacing her tone. I’m seriously wondering if we’ll ever have a conversation where she doesn’t laugh at me.

“Yeah … That’s pretty much it.”

“Right. Well, it depends where you live.”

“Brooklyn.”

“Oh, me too. So, do you know where the Starbucks is downtown?”

“Uhh …” I try to remember what I know of downtown from walking to and from the restaurant, but I can’t think of a Starbucks.

“
Whole Foods?”

“That I do know. Not much of a day out, I gotta say.”

“And there’s the famous British humor,” she retorts dryly. I grin. “If you can make it without getting lost …”

“Oi!”

“… Then meet me there in half an hour, and I’ll show you some of Brooklyn. Okay?”

“Sounds good to me. I’ll see you then.” I sink back into my sofa, leaning my head back over the top. “Jesus Christ,” I mutter to myself. I rub my hand down my face.

I only have half an hour, and I might know where Whole Foods is, but I have no idea how to get there by foot. That, and I’m still in my damn pajamas.

~

Abbi is sitting on the wall outside Whole Foods, her legs swinging, with her head bent forward and her brown hair hanging loose around her face. She tucks it behind her ear and looks up as I approach.

“Not bad,” she says, checking her watch. “Only ten minutes late.”

“Yeah. I cheated,” I admit. “I got lost after five minutes and called a taxi.”

Her lips pull up on one side. “I thought you said you knew where
Whole Foods was?”

“I did. However, I didn’t say I knew how to get here.” I lean against the wall and gaze up at her. “So, where are you taking me?”

She jumps from the wall, landing gracefully on her toes. She lowers herself onto her heels and swings her head round to look at me. “Prospect Park. It’s one of my favorite places, especially in early summer, so I thought it was as good a place as any to start.”

“I’ve never heard of it.”

“That’s because most people think ‘Central Park’ whenever the words New York and Park are put together, even if they mean New York state opposed to City.” She smooths a lock of hair between her finger and thumb. “Which is a shame, because Prospect Park is beautiful.”

“Lead the way.”

“Are you kidding? It’s the other side of Brooklyn. You need to flag us down a cab.” Abbi turns and smirks at me.

No way. “Do you know how hard it is to get one of those things?”

“It’s not hard. You just wave at one and it’ll stop.”

“If it’s so easy, you do it.”

“If it’s so hard, you need the practice.” She grins. “One is coming down the street now. Try and get it.”

I look down the busy road and spy a canary car coming toward us. When it gets close enough for the driver to see us, I do as Abbi told me to and motion to him. The driver completely ignores me and drives straight past. Abbi tries to hide a small giggle behind her hand. There are little crinkles around her blue eyes that tells me she’s smiling, and even the fact it’s hidden doesn’t stop me from fighting my own.

“Try again,” she urges me.

I do.

And again.

And again.

And again.

“I give up!” I throw my arms up. “I really do give up. Why you have to wave at these guys is beyond me. In London we just call the taxi service and tell them to come to a certain place and they do. I feel like a right bloody lemon standing here waving at taxis.”

Abbi doesn’t try to hide her smile this time. She grabs the lamppost, raises herself onto her tiptoes and waves in the direction of an approaching taxi. The taxi slows as it nears us and pulls up by the curb. I stare at Abbi in shock.

“See?” She smiles. “Easy.”

“I have no idea how you just did that.” I open the door of the taxi. She climbs in, and I slide in next to her. She directs the driver to Prospect Park, smiling smugly to herself, but doesn’t say another word until we arrive. I pay the driver, and we get out, and I get my first look at her favorite place.

The large arch that greets us immediately reminds me of the Arc de Triomphe in Pari
s. The stone is expertly carved and the statues of horses and men adorning it look regal and very military.

“Soldiers’ and Sailors’ Arch,” Abbi says softly from behind me.
“My favorite entrance. When I was a kid I used to come here and stare at it for hours. I don’t know why, but it just amazed me.”

“I can see why.” My eyes flit from statue to statue, and I barely notice when she walks through the arch to cross the road.

“Are you coming or are you just gonna stand there like a lemon all day?” She crosses the road when there’s a break in the traffic, and I jog to catch her up. More monuments and arches are just inside the entrance to the park, all surrounded by lush green bushes and trees as they come into their summer bloom. Already I can see why Abbi is so taken with this place.

“This place looks huge,” I mumble.

“That’s because it is.” She runs her hand along the rough bark of the tree. “I think that’s why I like it. It’s a great place to disappear in.”

“For someone who lives for the limelight, you really like to hide a lot,” I say without thinking.

Her steps falter for a second. An unsettling cloud lowers over us, and I know I’ve said the wrong thing.

“Even people who live in a spotlight need to hide once in a while.” Her voice is soft, barely audible over the gentle breeze rustling through the trees surrounding us. “If you promise you won’t try to find me, I’ll show you where I hide.” She glances over her shoulder, and through the playful glint in her eyes
are the shadows. Ever-present, they pull me in and entrance me as she takes a few skips away from me.

I hold up two fingers. “I promise. Scouts honor.”

“Were you ever a boy scout?” She stops.

“No. Well, once. I hated the uniform, so I quit.” I shrug.
“Plus my brother loved it. There was no way I was going to spend more time with Jase than I needed to, believe me.”

“Don’t you get along?”

“About as well as water and oil,” I reply dryly. “We’re not that bad now. You’d think being the only boys in a family of six kids, we’d be close, but we’re not really. He’s seventeen, and I won’t lie, his ‘I know everything and I’m always right’ teen attitude really pisses me off.”

“Ever thought your ‘
You don’t know everything and you’re nearly always wrong’ adult attitude might annoy him?” Abbi asks with a raised eyebrow as we walk down a seemingly never-ending path through the park.

“
Not really.”

“It probably does.”

“How do you know?”

She points to herself. “I’m eigh
teen.”

“A
nd to think I left London happy, knowing I wouldn’t have to deal with any more teenage girls. Damn it.”

“You’re really lucky I’m about as strong as a newborn baby or I’d throw you over this bridge for that comment.”

“Bridge?” I look down and realize we are indeed standing on a bridge. Below us is a mini waterfall surrounded by rocks and boulders. The water falls into a clear pool, and numerous birds I don’t know the names of fly around. Some zip off into the trees, and others land on the rocks and stare into the water before taking flight once again.

It’s completely silent apart from the water rushing and the birds in the trees singing. I didn’t notice how empty the park
is until now, or even how beautiful it looks.

And Abbi is completely right. This is the perfect place to hide, to get lost, to disappear. I get the feeling we’ve barely even scraped the surface of what Prospect Park has to offer
. Growing up in London and spending half-term holidays in my paternal grandparents’ country house means I’m no stranger to nature or parks, but I can honestly say none of them hold a candle to this place.

I turn to Abbi to tell her this, to thank her for showing me this of all places, but she’s not next to me. I spin on the spot, looking for her, but she’s nowhere to be seen.

“Abbi?!”

Giggles travel up to my ears, and I lean over the side of the bridge. She’s sitting on the boulder in the center of the falls, her shoes in her hand and her feet dangling in the water.

“I told you this is where I come to hide.” There’s a teasing lilt to her voice. “Fallkill Falls. Only one of my hiding places, but by far the best one. The falls are linked to a whole stream of falls and pools and ravines. This one is further away from the main paths so less people come here. It’s usually only hardcore nature-lovers, or real-life-lovers looking for five minutes of privacy.”

I fold my arms against the side of the bridge and smirk. “I bet that’s a nice sight to wander onto.”

“It’s only happened once, and I’d prefer not to repeat the experience.” She shudders and tucks her hair behind her ear again.

I laugh and swing myself up onto the bridge. I scale the side of it until I can reach a rock with my foot and climb down. Abbi watches me as I pull my shoes off and step into the cool water. She scoots over on the b
oulder, so I can sit next to her, and tucks some hair behind her ear.

“I can see it
being a perfect place for real-life-lovers,” I muse and look at the water rushing past. “These rocks would make for some interesting positions for sure.”