My pores are just fine.
“Ignore him,” I tell Bree, sinking a little lower into the water. “So what are you doing at the studio?”
“Oh, I’m just working on the choreography for one of the recital dances coming up.”
“Yeah? Can I see?”
Her cheeks turn pink. Other than when I’ve peeked in on her teaching a class or two over the years, I haven’t seen her really dance since high school, since before the accident. For some reason, it’s always something she keeps to herself. I’m hoping now that things are changing between us, she’ll let me back into that part of her life as well.
She wrinkles her nose. “I don’t know. It’s still rough. There’s not much to see.” Her shoulders are twitching
and her head keeps shaking, making her look like an alien trying to do an impression of a Normal Human Being.
“Breeee.” I cut off her blabbering, and she shoots me a look.
“Natthhaannn.”
“Come on. Let me watch you dance. I’ll even put on a bubble beard the whole time to make you feel less embarrassed.”
Jamal interjects again. “UGH, Y’ALL ARE GROSS!”
“Mind your own business!” I say, throwing a bar of soap at the door. I focus my attention on Bree again. “Why don’t you want to dance in front of me?”
Her eyes dart around the room and her teeth sink into her bottom lip. Damn, I wish I was there to kiss her. We didn’t have enough time last night or this morning. I need weeks with her—no, years to make up for lost time.
“I’m not as good as you remember.”
“You’re in luck—I don’t remember anything. What even is ballet? Is that the thing where you make all the noises with your shoes?” She laughs and gives me a look that says, Nice try. “Bree, take a good look at me. I’m FaceTiming you from a bubble bath right now. Doesn’t get much more vulnerable for me than that.”
“Fiiiiiine. Okay, you win.” The phone gets placed on the floor and angled up so I can see the entire studio. Bree leans down toward the screen and points a finger at me. “But just know, I’m not as fluent or graceful as I used to be. And the choreography needs a lot of work. That’s the whole point of me staying late tonight.”
I hold a bubbly hand up in the air. “It’ll be like I’m not even here.”
Her smile slants. “Mhmm. Sure.”
The sound of soft piano fills the air, and Bree stands in the center of the floor. Her bubble gum pink leotard is painted to her body, making her look soft and delicate, but then her favorite oversized grey joggers swallow up her lower half, contrasting with her prim and proper upper half. It’s a perfect representation of her personality. She’s wearing them as she always does: rolled down at the waist and cinched up over her calves. Pointe shoes are tied around her ankles, a rainbow of bracelets stacks up one of her arms, and her hair is in a wispy French braid dangling down her back.
Those long lean arms stretch at her sides and glide above her head. She goes up onto her toes like it’s nothing and begins a soft walk that turns into a series of impressive turns. I sit in awe, watching Bree’s powerful, graceful body twirl, jump, and completely captivate me until my water turns to ice. I don’t care though, because I don’t ever want to look away.
We don’t talk at all during this time. It’s clear she is hyper focused on her movements, and I wouldn’t dare ruin this glimpse into heaven for the world. Quiet confidence pulses through her veins as she leaps. The angles of her body are sharp glass and soft velvet at the same time. She creates the illusion that she’s as delicate as lace, but when she leaps off the ground with her legs flawlessly extended in opposite directions and then lands—barely making a sound—you realize she is not to be underestimated. She is strong and fierce in her delicate skin. Life tried to hold her down, but she gave it the middle finger and stood up again.
Bree is everything I aspire to be, everything I love, everything I desire. She holds my heart, and, with all that I am, I hope she never gives it back.
It’s Super Bowl Sunday, baby! And, yes, the Sharks made it! They won the NFC Championship two weeks ago, and now we’re all here in Las Vegas where the Sharks (aka the greatest team on earth) will be playing the Donkeys (just kidding, they’re really called the Stallions, but no one cares about them, and we want them to eat dirt). Lily left her kiddos with Doug so she could be my plus-one. Nathan paid to fly us out first class last night, and I let him because my bank account has about two bucks and a piece of gum in it but there was no way I was missing the freaking Super Bowl. Also, now that we are officially together, I’ve had to get better at letting him pay for things. Turns out, it sparks joy for him when I let him spoil me, so I’m trying to say yes more often.
Like, for instance, when I received the email that my dance studio had been chosen for the available space at The Good Factory (I’m trying to play it cool, but just know I’m jumping up and down), Nathan immediately asked if I would let him pay for the renovations we’d have to do to turn the space into a dance studio, and we made a compromise. Instead of paying him back with the money I earned doing the commercial like I had planned, I’m going to use it for the renovations. See, growth.
I haven’t seen him since we got to Vegas because he’s been ridiculously busy with the team and media events, like he has been the last few weeks after winning the NFC Championship. I completely understand, though, and have stolen every moment with him that I can. Soon, it will all be over and we can finally spend a few months together in the offseason, free of his rigorous schedule.
There’s been nonstop, next-level texting though. Always flirty little numbers like this conversation we had shortly after landing last night.
Me: Hi hot stuff. We’re in Vegas!
Nathan: I thought the day suddenly seemed brighter.
Me: Stooooppppp jk it’s so gross and I love it. Keep doing it.
Nathan: :) Miss you. Please don’t get drunk and elope with any strange dudes tonight.