Fake It 'Til You Break It

Trent is a quick learner so we’re basically chatting as we repeat the steps in slow counts to keep going like we’re busy. It’s not as if the boys have a whole lot to do other than hold on and follow our movements. They aren’t dancing with us, it’s just a presentation welcoming them onto the field, and then it’s our routine.

As much as I try not to, I repeatedly glance toward the end of the gym, where Miranda and Nico practice independently.

I can’t look away as she starts from step one again, foolish frustration flaring when Miranda drops in front of him.

His eyes following her form as she slowly lifts has me looking away.

“Your coach is a trip.”

A laugh leaves me and my eyes widen mockingly. “Yeah. I like to joke she’s a stripper at night and sometimes lets it show in here for fun.”

“She probably is.” He laughs. “No way she can afford to live how she does on a coach’s salary.”

“Trust me, she’s making money.” I look to him. “She dances for Jay Productions.”

“The record label?”

I nod. “Yep, she’s their top dancer. Featured in over a dozen videos this year alone.”

“Damn.” He nods, impressed.

I squint their way, finding Miranda smiling and pushing on Nico’s chest. “Yep.”

“Are you jealous?”

My head snaps toward him. “What’s with the tone of surprise lately, Trent?”

“Shit,” flies from him, but he recovers quickly, his expression smoothing out. “I meant seeing another chick on your man like that. Does that make you jealous?”

I look back to the two, tracking Miranda’s hands as she reaches behind her to grip Nico’s, and places them a little too high on her middle.

I swallow and turn back to Trent.

“No,” I lie. “Chemistry, sexuality, it’s all a part of what we do as dancers. People have to believe what they’re seeing. It’s our job to make sure they do.”

If he doesn’t believe me, he doesn’t say so, instead going with, “Not sure I could handle it if Krista was doing this instead of cheer.”

“Yeah,” I frown. “I imagine it can be a lot.”

Like right now, for example.

“Demi...” Trent trails off, gaining my attention.

“What?”

He eyes me a moment, before shaking his head. “Nah, nothing. Let’s keep going.”

So, we do.

The rest of the day I’m stuck with a headache I can’t get rid of and end up going straight home to sleep it off, not waking up until my alarm rings for school the next morning.The second I walk into dance class, I’m tempted to walk right back out.

Miranda and Nico are the only two in the gym, both tucked in the back corner, only half the lights turned on for some stupid reason and providing them with too much privacy for my liking.

I stand there, frozen, watching as she drops in front of him, then rolls her way back up his body. When she spins, walking out with his hand in hers, the last move that involves the boys, I begin to step the rest of the way through the doors, but the music continues to play, and Miranda keeps fucking dancing.

She twists her knees left, her elbows locked and shifted right, then as she jumps up, her stance widening as she tugs her jacket open, revealing her sports bra beneath it – the move I choreographed to go with the lettermen’s jackets we’ll be wearing at the beginning of our performance.

I look to Nico, who while his eyes are pointed in her direction, wears a deep frown.

Slowly, his feet move toward her, and just as slowly she walks into him. Her hands slide across his chest, as his move down her ribs, gripping her hips so he can tug her forward.

That’s not part of their entrance.

“Damn,” is whispered in my ear, and my head jerks over my shoulder to find Alex. He’s watching them. “Guess you weren’t the only one asked for a private lesson.”

I look back to the two.

“Shit, I’m sorry, Demi. I wasn’t—”

“It’s fine,” I whisper.

Why am I whispering?

Why not go right in, make my presence known?

“Wanna go somewhere?” Alex offers, his hand finding my lower back. “I doubt you really want to stand here and watch this.”

I don’t answer, but lift my bag in the air, letting it go when it’s well over my head to ensure it hits with a loud, echoed thud across the near empty gym.

Miranda, I would think, would fly away from the student whom she has her filthy hands all over. She doesn’t.

Nico either.

He locks in place, a hard glare taking over as his hands slowly fall to his sides.

But his eyes, they aren’t on me.

They’re on the guy beside me, or more, the hand still fixed on my back.

“Hey.” Miranda laughs, dropping her palm to Nico’s chest, officially forcing my attention back to her. She looks to the clock quickly. “Early as always.”