Imagines: Not Only in Your Dreams

He’s angry. You can see it in his eyes. He leans off the wall.

You take a step back. “I just did what I thought was best for the both of us.”

He shakes his head. “No, you did what you thought was best for you. You were a coward.”

That makes you a little angry too. “I wasn’t. You could have found me if you wanted to. You had the means to find me. You’re famous, but you didn’t bother, so that was more than enough to believe these feelings were one-sided.”

“They weren’t,” he says, and your heart skips a beat. “But my pride was hurt. I was hurt. I let myself forget about you. I healed. I moved on. I dated other girls who looked like you, but they weren’t you. Still, I managed, and I was doing fine until you showed up tonight. And it was like all these feelings had been a dormant volcano inside me. This mixture of anger, love, desire, and frustration exploded and left me breathless. I was so angry at you for ruining my peace. I wanted to hurt you, so I said I didn’t know you. I treated you like a stranger because I knew that would hurt you.”

“Congratulations,” you say sarcastically. “You did one hell of a job hurting me. Are you happy now?” Tears escape your eyes but you don’t care anymore. “I should probably go now so you can meet up with that hot girl from before.”

Cameron smirks. “Oh, you’re jealous now? You’re right, I should meet up with her. I bet she’s not going to disappear on me like you did.”

“Fuck you!” you scream at him, and turn around angrily. You reach for the doorknob, but he’s quickly behind you. He grabs your hand tightly, stopping you, and the skin-to-skin contact takes your breath away. You try to use your other hand, but he grabs it as well. He pulls both of your hands above your head and presses them against the door. You feel his body right behind you, pressing against yours.

“You’re not walking away from me this time, little coward,” he whispers in your ear, sending shivers through you.

“Cam, let me go.” Your request comes out as weak because you’re actually enjoying having him this close. He flips you around until you’re facing him. His gorgeous face is merely inches from yours. He still holds your hands above your head with one of his and uses the other to lift your chin to him.

“You love me, don’t you?” His thumb caresses your lower lip.

Your pride doesn’t let you admit it after how he purposefully hurt you in front of everyone. “No, I don’t.”

“Then why are you shaking in my arms?”

You want to look away, but his grip on your chin keeps you in place. Pure denial comes out of your mouth. “I’m not shaking.” His cologne invades your mind. He smells so good. Cameron’s gaze drops to your lips, and you spot a glint of longing in his eyes.

“I’m so angry at you right now,” he whispers.

You moisten your lips nervously. “Just let me go.” You squirm in his arms. “Cameron, let me—”

His lips are on yours before you can finish that sentence. They are soft and wet, and you can’t believe how amazing they feel against yours. His kiss is aggressive, possessive, as if he is claiming you with it. You’re kissing him back with everything you have, with all those bottled feelings you’ve had for him all this time. This is a dream for you.

The kiss turns more passionate and your breath turns heavy, your body heating up. His hand releases yours and you rush to entangle your fingers in his hair to pull him closer. He presses you against the door, kissing you harder, making it impossible for you to breathe properly.

He breaks the kiss and presses his forehead against yours. “You are mine, little coward.” Then, through ragged breaths: “No more running.”

You smile against his lips. “No more running.”

Channing Tatum’s Dance Academy

Bryony Leah

Imagine . . .

Friday night. You’re home alone, balancing a huge bowl of microwave popcorn on one knee and your laptop on the other. While Magic Mike plays out on TV across the room, you’re in the middle of reading a steamy Channing Tatum fanfiction online. It’s been a long day—you had an exhausting dance class on top of a busy few hours at school—so you’ve earned this relaxation time. And it’s going well . . . until the front door bursts open and your mom clatters into the room, red faced and out of breath from running.

A huge grin is spread across her face. “Did you hear the news?”

You sit up quickly, hurrying to minimize the fanfiction on-screen to save yourself from any embarrassment. “What news?”

“About the dance academy!”

You shake your head. “What dance academy?”

Your mom practically bursts in front of you. “Channing Tatum’s Dance Academy!”

You pause, registering this information. “Explain.”

Mom inhales a deep breath. Then, her face aglow with excitement, she tells you all about a commercial she heard on the car radio while she was driving home from the grocery store: Channing Tatum is setting up his own dance academy in your city, and he’s on the lookout for an elite group of supertalented dancers to join him!

“What?” You jump up from the sofa, sending the bowl of popcorn flying—but you don’t care, because this is the best news you’ve heard in your life. A dance academy? The chance to meet your favorite celebrity crush? Maybe even dancing with him?!

“The auditions are being held next week!” your mom enthuses, catching you by the shoulders. “You have to go! You’re the best dancer any of us have ever seen—the talent scouts would be stupid not to let you in. You’ve worked so hard, you deserve this!”

You know it’s true. Years and years of dance classes and performances, sweat, blood, and tears . . . you’d be crazy to miss an opportunity like this.

“And, even better!” She waggles her eyebrows. “You’ll finally get the chance to make Channing Tatum fall in love with you!”

Your heart flutters in your chest at the thought, even though you know it’s total nonsense. But a part of you can’t help but hope that your mom’s words are true. You’ve been his biggest fan for years; your bedroom is more like an official Channing Tatum museum than a room in a family home; everyone at school knows you as the obsessive fan. . . .

Channing is your whole life.

Fit to burst with glee, you grab your mom’s hands and start to bounce up and down on the spot. “What are we waiting for? Let’s start practicing!”

YOU KNOW THAT SOMETHING has gone wrong the moment an agonizing scream pierces the mumble of voices backstage. All stop what they’re doing to turn toward the sound, a hundred sets of eyes widening in horror as the scream turns into a wailing cry.

“Uh-oh . . .” The makeup artist who was just about to start coating your face with powder bites his lip. “Sounds like Channing’s going to need a new partner.”

Right on cue, light floods the area as the huge black curtains part to expose the stage—empty, save for a small huddle of people crowding around the fallen dancer at the front.

Jenna.

“Oh my God, she’s broken her leg!”

“Yikes, that doesn’t look good.”

“She’s never going to be able to dance tonight!”

The voices rise backstage, every dancer wincing at the sight of Jenna’s awful injury. Your makeup artist lets out a low whistle and resumes his work; you’re forced to close your eyes so that he can dab at your face aggressively with his powder brush.

Making it into Channing Tatum’s Dance Academy was hardly difficult for you; the moment you began showing off your moves at the audition you’d stolen the show. The talent scouts had loved you, offering you a scholarship right there. Two months down the line and you’re finally here, brushing shoulders with some of the world’s most talented dancers and working hard, day and night, to prepare for the opening show: a three-hour-long spectacular performance that will be aired live on TV. A huge number of celebrity guests have been invited, and the night is set to be incredible.