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7 | A U R O R A

The days blur. Besides our ice cream excursion, most of the week is monotonous and drags by. The act of dancing itself serves as individual bright points to light up my otherwise dull day-to-day routine of teaching classes and trying to pay attention through our practices.

Usually, I love teaching. I like kids of all ages; the innocent way they view the world and look at new experiences with open eyes. I enjoy creating routines and instructing students on various techniques. I have fun sharing my own passion and pushing them to find their own—even if that's not in dance, I believe it's important to give it a heartfelt try.

Recently though, it's lost it's sparkle. I still smile while I teach, I'm enthusiastic, and outwardly I think I'm displaying all those positive things I usually do. Inside though... it's just not there. I want it to be, but the little energy I do muster is surface level and more routine than genuine. It's hard to be excited about teaching my routines when they aren't my routines. They are so polluted with Reese's suggestions, I can't even encourage or guide them the way I'd like to because, as he puts it, I "need to be firmer with them. Even if they're young, their parents and I expect to see progress. I'd hate for you to not meet my expectations." And considering he's the studio manager as well as the captain of our dance crew... well, my position with both are almost solely up to him.

Friday night couldn't come soon enough. Our family dinner was cancelled because our parents are going out with some of their mutual friends (it's weird to think our parents even have other friends). I had planned on using the opportunity to have a chill night at home with Quinn, but I couldn't pass up Prisha's invitation for a night out. I could do with letting my hair down and losing myself in an endless cycle of drinks and dancing. Maybe later I'll find someone to rail me hard enough to forget about it for awhile. Healthy coping? Not really. Self-care? Close enough.

After a shower, I stare back at my haggard reflection in the bathroom mirror. The only thing I can focus on is the dark circles framing my dimmed eyes and the way the corner of my flaking lips are turned down.

I hate this. Dance has always been such a core part of my life. Like Quinn said, it's my sanctuary, and now it feels like there's this tiny decaying seed planted there, slowly spreading it's rotten roots to the rest of my life.

No. No. That's ridiculous and it's not going to happen. Reese may have some influence at the studio but I won't let him rule my whole life, that's for damn sure. So I go all in, spending a solid two hours curling my hair and making sure both of my eyes look good (because it is a fucking struggle to get them to look the same, seriously). I choose a dress I feel good in, a gold little bodycon with a high-neck collar. It works wonders with my warm coloring and is the perfect, enticing mix of covering but hugging all my full curves. After a dab of my favorite perfume on my neck and ankles, I throw on some simple heels. A last look in my mirror and an Uber ride in which the driver kept stealing glances at me, has me feeling capital "C" type of Confident when I finally strut into the entrance of the nightclub where we're meeting.

The last little breeze of cold night air brushes the hair off my bare shoulders as I pull them strong and square, then I plunge down the steps and into the crowd. Warm, sticky air quickly replaces the chill and I take a few deep breaths as I gaze around, collecting myself and taking it all in as I keep an eye out for my friends.

While the outside appears as an unassuming warehouse, the inside is anything but. The place is swarming with activity. Full booths and high top tables are clustered between the exposed metal beams, and both bars (because apparently one isn't enough) are packed. As I weave my way through the throng, the balcony overhead ends and opens up to the second story and dark rafters high above. A giant, neon pink sign with the club's name, EveRave, is perched up there, but I follow one of the other countless light-up signs for the upper level where Prisha said they had a table.

It's not my first time here. We usually stick to bars or just some dinner somewhere on the weekends, but as one of the best nightclubs in the area, we've been here a few times for special occasions—which according to Prisha's text, it is, since she has some good news apparently. Regardless of the familiarity, I find myself awed by the sight and swaying with the heavy bass. I have to stop myself from being drawn to the center of the room, where bodies move in beautiful chaos to the music. They're bathed in flashes of colorful lights and lasers, highlighting their movements while shadowing their faces, allowing them a certain level of anonymity.

Instead, I glide up a spiral staircase, not even caring if my dress slides up and I flash anyone below me. Let them look. What can I say except I'm helping to set the mood? You're welcome, fellow voyeurs.

Upstairs is a fraction calmer than the main floor, with more booths and a few private lounges tucked in the back. The music still pounds but at least I can hear myself think and it's easier to follow a conversation up here, so it's not a surprise to see more groups relaxing and chatting. It only takes a few seconds of searching the dim tables to find Prisha's dark head of hair and Cole's blonde off to the side.

As soon as she spots me she breaks out in a grin, hand waving madly in the air. She stands from her seat and squeals while pulling me into a hug—which she never does, and I assume it's the martini glass in front of her I have to thank for it.

"Rory! Oh, I'm glad your here!" She guides me into the seat next to hers while Cole politely greets me as well. Then she looks at me up and down, and all around the empty air around me. "Ohmygod, you look amazing, I love that dress! Look at your hair, it's so silky, I'm jealous! Where's Quinn, weren't you guys coming together?" She changes the subject so quick I barely have time to say thank you.

"That was the original plan, yeah. He was supposed to meet me at my place, but he called to say his meeting at work was going to be longer than expected so he'd just meet us here. He texted when I was in line to say he's on his way, so I imagine he shouldn't be far behind."

She nods wildly, sending her high pony to bouncing, and I glance curiously at her martini glass... somehow I doubt that's her first.

She pinches her lips together, like it physically pains her to not talk, and glances—super obviously—between Cole and me. After a silent communication she bursts out, "Ok! I was gonna wait until Quinn was here, but I can't. I really just can't, so I'm gonna say it: Cole asked me to move in with him!"

Another round of squealing ensues and Cole puts his arm around her as he grins. They make adorable googly eyes at each other, which is equal parts cute and disgusting. But their excitement is infectious and I end up grinning with them. "I'm so happy for you guys!" I reach over and playfully backhand Cole's shoulder. "I think she's been spending more time at your place than ours anyway."

They nod along before Prisha shoots me an apologetic look. "I'm sorry to spring it on you, I know it kind of puts you in a pickle without a roommate... I figured it was good timing though, since our lease is up soon anyway. And I'll totally help spread the word if you want to get another roommate. I can ask around the crew and see if anyone's looking for a place."

I put my arm over her shoulder and pull her in for a side-hug. "It's fine, girl. Go live your life, I'll survive. But sure, I'd appreciate that."

I plaster a smile on when we break apart and she plunges into a one-sided conversation about Cole's condo. I try not to think about what she just brought up, because I'll have plenty of time to worry about that later and I made a pledge to myself tonight to have fun and not let other people's decisions run my life. So I remind myself: chin up, deep breath, nod along, and focus on being here in this moment. I inhale pungent sweat and perfumes, and the musty air of the fog machine. I listen to the hum and shouts of voices, and the heavy beat of music nearly matching my heart. Then I feel a distracting tickle on the back of my neck, a sixth sense of awareness that tells me to turn and look.

Sure enough, a tall figure emerges from the stairs. His wide shoulders cut an imposing picture framed in his black suit. Good god, he's gorgeous. I wouldn't be surprised if the bouncers took one look at him and let him right through, thinking he might own the damned place. His trousers are fitted just enough to pull at his muscular thighs and his jacket is tailored at his waist with a crisp white button-up tucked into his belted waistband. While his face is perfectly familiar, his cheekbones and jaw look sharper in the harsh lighting. Even at this distance I can feel the weight of his eyes that have locked onto me as well. They rake over me as he walks closer, his lips parting as he takes in my choice of dress and the cross of my bare legs just visible under the table.

Quinn wades through the crowd—or maybe they part for him—and when he's finally within range, I clear my parched throat and call out to him, "Well, hello there, handsome."

He picks up his jaw to give a pearly grin. His dark eyes never leave mine as he leans into my space, invading my senses with heady cologne and leaving a kiss on my temple. "Hello, love," he responds in my ear before retreating. A deep, latent part inside me flares at those words.

Next to me, Prisha's narrowed eyes are going back and forth between us. Once he finally takes notice of her and Cole, a new onslaught of greetings begin from them, in which she's sure to fondly comment on his suit.

"Yeah, sorry I'm a bit late," Quinn explains with his hand running over the back of his head. "I came straight from work. Oh, and congratulations guys! Big step. Now you get to fight over whether the toilet paper roll goes over or under. Rory and I are over, but Cole's always been under. Good luck with that."

Cole is another member of their old soccer group. In fact, that's how Prisha and him met, when some of the guys came to our place. I've therefore heard about plenty of their previous and ongoing inside jokes—this toilet paper thing being one of the latter. It seems like a random thing to comment on, but to the two of them it obviously means way more, judging by the way Cole guffaws in laughter.

Prisha however, looks awestruck. "Wait. How'd you know what this was about?"

Quinn shrugs and nods his head towards Cole. "It wasn't hard to piece together. He asked for advice about it awhile back and then you said you had good news. It was either that or you're pregnant, and to each their own, but this doesn't exactly strike me as the right time or place for that kind of announcement," he states with a not-so-sly glance around the crowded club and glass in her hand.

Her eyes go wide before we all start giggling. Quinn comes to stand next to me and sets his hand on my shoulder, brushing aside my hair in the process. "You want a drink? I'll go grab the next round."

I nod up at him. "The usual. Please."

Before he even steps away, Prisha practically leaps off her chair and takes my wrist. "We're gonna go to the restroom while your doing that."

"I don't need to go, I'll just stay here—"

She shoots me a look. The look. So I don't bother complaining when she hauls me away from the baffled men.

Safely hidden away in the women's restroom, she very nearly pins me against the counter. There's one or two others in here, but Prisha doesn't even seem to notice the gothic beauty staring at us from a sink over to my left.

"What the hell was that?" She pounces as soon as the door closes behind us. "Between you two. You guys were practically undressing each other with your eyes when he walked over."

"I have... absolutely no clue what you're referring to..." I feign, on the off-chance that maybe, just maybe, she'll drop it.

"Oh, come on. You know I generally stay out of your relationship with him, because I get it, you're friends... but seriously. Sometimes I want to shake you!" She actually does shake me by my shoulders at that. "Friends don't stare at each other like they want to devour them, Rory. So fuck it. I'm about two drinks away from drunk and I don't care if I'm meddling. I'll ask again: What the actual HELL is going on between you? I feel like this is new, or maybe I missed it... Did I miss something? Did—"

I clamp a hand over her mouth to stop her rant. A few more women have turned to watch us and I give them a polite, hopefully dismissive smile before turning back to Prisha's wide eyes.

"Ok, ok. Yes, alright? You're not imagining things, something... did... happen."

With my hand still clamped, she gives a muffled grunt. Her irises are nearly the same color as her pupils and with as wide as they are it's like staring into a black hole, sucking me into her madness.

"Fine! Jeez, ok, fine." I lower my voice a tad. "We may or may not have had a few suggestive conversations that may or may not have led up to having phone sex." A beat later, I clarify, "Really good phone sex, at that." To be fair, I've been dying to talk to someone about it. Usually I can talk to Quinn about this kind of stuff but obviously I can't do that and Prisha has always been a supportive friend. Even with things at our dance crew, she's one of the few who even attempt to voice or defend herself and everyone else, including me. She's never betrayed my trust, and maybe, just maybe, I want to crack open my shell a bit to her.

She peels my hand off and, knowing she's about to explode, I put a warning finger up to my own lips for her to be quiet about it.

Her mouth drops open, a very near to silent squeak-type of scream escaping. She bounces on the tips of her toes before whisper-yelling at me, "I KNEW IT! I knew you guys were into each other!"

"I mean, finding him attractive isn't the same as being into him—"

"Have you done anything else?" She gasps. "Did you fuck him?"

A third voice chimes in from a few sinks over, "Get it, girl!" The blonde winks at us as she reaches for a paper towel.

I narrow my eyes at Prisha. "No! No, we literally haven't done anything else. It's not like that, he was just helping me out because I was horny and couldn't sleep."

"I'm gonna shake you again, I swear," she deadpans. "Seriously nothing? I guess that explains the weird tension... Really? Nothing? No sexy time? Smacking lips?"

"No! I mean... well, we've kissed but it was always for some innocent, specific reason. He's never had his tongue down my throat or anything."

"But he would."

"What? No. I doubt it."

She puckers her lips at me, a single eyebrows raised.

"Stop looking at me like that." I state, but it does nothing to change her face. "I'm not the naive heroine who can't see what's right in front of her, alright? I hate that trope, it makes me want—"

"To strangle them?" She finishes with a glance at my neck.

"Yes. Them. Not me, I see it. I do. I'm fully aware that he might be interested in something, but I just don't— I don't know. It's different with him. With most people, I have no problem with something strictly physical, or a one time Come-and-Go, but he doesn't deserve that. Especially from me. I don't want to hurt him if it doesn't mean anything more than that to me. And then where would that leave us?"

"That's fair. And listen, I'm not going to tell you what to do, 'cause you're a big girl, with your big girl panties on... but he's a big boy too. Probably a big boy, judging by the few times I've seen him walking around the apartment in almost nothing." She wiggles her brows. "Point is, he can also make his own decisions. Sometimes you just gotta grab life by the—"

"Balls?"

"—horns. I was gonna say horns, but I like balls better. Grab life by the balls, and see what happens, ya know? You two work together. You make each other happy, anyone can see it, and I'm sure you'd be just fine if you both want to shake up your relationship a bit. And I get it, change is scary. Especially an unknown change. But again... big girl panties. Pull 'em up, buttercup. Grab those balls. Lick life's lemons— No, that's not right. Something about life and lemons, and definitely licking something. Whatever, I need another drink. And my boyfriend's hands on me. So I digress." She grins mischievously and pats both my cheeks before announcing, "I actually do need to pee first, though. Wait for me?"

I do, and when we make it back to the table the guys are busy chatting and laughing. Quinn has a wide smile lighting up his face when he turns to us. It doesn't leave when we walk up and I slide my hand up his shoulder the way he did to me before. He hands me my drink, a Sex-on-the-Beach (because who doesn't love ordering that), and I down a few much need sips.

Instead of sitting, Prisha grabs Cole's arm and gives him a tug. "C'mon babe, let's go dance." She throws me another pointed look over her shoulder before they're gliding away hand in hand.

"Do I even want to know what that was about?" Quinn asks.

"Probably not."

His hand finds my waist as I make my way around to stand in front of him. With him seated on the bar stool, I'm about eye-level with the top of his head. It's a perfect height to admire his suit—or specifically his dress shirt, since his jacket and tie are now draped on the chair. Even in just the shirt though, it looks good on him. From now on, in my mind, dress shirts and Quinn will go hand in hand.

I wasn't lying when I told Prisha I found him attractive. Somewhere along the line, he became my standard for everyone and everything. Her hair isn't as dark as Quinn's. His hands aren't as calloused as Quinn's. They didn't hold eye contact with me, or pull the covers over me, or wait patiently for me the way Quinn does. I don't go more than an hour or two without using him as my metaphorical ruler. It's honestly becoming a problem. Which isn't to say that those people aren't attractive in their own right, they definitely are, and I've never intended to diminish that at all. But that's why it's completely unfair. I don't expect everyone to be like him, that would be ridiculous, I just can't help comparing.

"My eyes are up here, Rose."

I refuse to let my cheeks heat as I tear my eyes from his chest to find a smirk plastered across his face. Honestly though, with the way the neon lights cast magenta and cyan hues across his face, I'm guessing it's the same on mine so I doubt he would even notice if they did.

I take a step closer to him and he takes the cue to part his legs so I can stand between them. "You look quite nice tonight," I comment. "Very business-y, although you kind of stand out from the clubbing crowd. A little too put-together."

He raises a thick brow when my hands both land on his arm. "So sorry to disappoint."

He lifts it up for me when I take ahold of his sleeve cuff, unbuttoning it and rolling it up to expose his forearm. I take my time to admire how the veins and corded muscles are reflected in the light as he turns it. "It's fine, I'm sure I can help roughen you up a little."

A little puff of air escapes him in a chuckle as I switch to the other arm and roll that one up too. "Why, thank you. I'm not sure what I'd do without you."

He assesses me all the while, as my hands land on his chest and I begin undoing a few buttons until a light smattering of chest-hair peeks out from the deep V. Catching myself, I glance up at him, expecting him to have noticed my staring again. Instead, his eyes are lowered on my legs, before tracking up to my hips and stomach, and over my chest. I pause at the third button to call him out. "My eyes are up here too, Quince."

He doesn't look ashamed either, in fact his lips actually turn up at the corners, one dimple a shadowed spot in his cheek. And of course now that I'm noticing his lips, I'm thinking about that whole conversation with Prisha just now. She gave me an absolutely terrible pep talk. Seriously, pull up my big-girl panties? Like it's supposed to be that easy? To just throw caution to the wind and give into our desires?

She has awful lot of confidence in us. But... so do I.

My fingers trail quickly down past his waist to his belt, where I grip his shirt once more to tug out the ends.

"I was admiring that dress on you," he says, his voice just loud enough to be heard over the noise. "I would tell you that you're beautiful, but you always are. Plus, it feels like an understatement."

"All that reading and business talk you do, I'm sure you can find the right word." I work my hands around both sides of him to free up the entire hem. When I finish, I meet his gaze and find I've drifted much closer while working.

"You are... quite literally, breathtaking." I watch as his lips form the words, distracted as that heat flares and twists low inside me again.

He's always given me occasional compliments and, while they're always genuine, I never gave too much stock to them. Recently though, the frequency of those compliments has been increasing. So has the intensity of them and this reaction in me that he's eliciting. And maybe it's just my imagination, but it feels intentional on his part, as if he knows I've begun to notice and crave it.

I don't stop my unabashed smile from emerging as I lift my hands up to his head, where I slide them into his perfectly combed hair.

His hands find my hips again, the same moment he closes his eyes. When I run my fingers through, lightly tugging, he tilts his head back into it. Face tilted up to me, his half-lidded eyes observe me again, probably noticing how I've zeroed in, once again, on his lips. I'm tempted to close that gap between us and test out Prisha's theory.

"You thinking about what I taste like tonight?"

I'm confused by his question for only a second, before quickly glancing down at his empty glass and back up. "Maybe I am. What did you have to drink?" I let my thumb glide over his cheek and then his lower lip—just in case there was any more confusion about what either of us is talking about.

His tongue peeks out and licks right over the pad of my thumb, before he comments against it, "I'm not telling. You can find out."

When he lifts his chin up another fraction, I recognize the challenge in the motion. He's giving me permission and I'd be a fool to pass it up.

I lower my head slowly, waiting to see if he would change his mind and back away. He doesn't. His pupils are blown wide as he patiently waits for me to bring my lips to his. As soon as they lightly land, he presses in against me. His hold on my hips is pulling me in the same way my hands on his head do. I lean into him for a few glorious seconds and forget about the bustling room around us, focusing instead on how his whole body molds into me; the way his lips are pliant and scalding against mine. Absently, it occurs to me that while we've kissed before, it's never been like this. It was always featherlight and over before I even realized it had begun, but this kiss is... breathtaking. And I want more.

But I force myself to release him anyway, afraid to overstay my welcome. He invited me to taste him, not devour. Once I take a few heavy gulps of air in, I comment into the few inches between us, "Fruity. I don't know. It could just be my drink, too... berries, maybe?"

"Bingo. Cranberry." His breath is hot on my lips and I can hear the playfulness in his tone mixed with the gravel. "Was that all though? You sure?" His nose brushes against mine, a fraction closer, and when his fingers slide up my sides that all I need to crash my lips back into his.

Neither of us hesitates this time. My tongue sweeps against his lips just as he opens them, and our kiss deepens in an instant. I barely register his hand sliding over the small of my back, or his deep groan in response to my fingers fisting in his hair. I'm too caught up in the raging current. My heartbeat pounds in my ears as his tongue glides against mine, curling into my mouth and causing my toes curl in kind.

When we break for a breath, I leave one more lick across his bottom lip before pulling fully away again, lest I give into the almost overwhelming part of my mind, and burning in my core, that tells me to continue.

It wasn't nearly as much as I want. Hell, I want to crawl into his lap and kiss him until we forget our names. But this will do. It was enough for a taste and to satisfy my curiosity... and to leave him wanting as well.

This time I move back enough to view his whole face—parted lips and hooded eyes and all. I grin wickedly at him. "Still just fruity. A little citrusy or something fresh like that." Tingly too, but I'm not sure if that was just from the kiss itself, so I don't mention it.

He nods with his bottom lip sucked into his mouth. His hand on my back falls away but I can still feel the warmth it leaves behind. "Damn, you're good at that. Sprite."

"Kissing or guessing?"

He only answers with, "Yes."

I huff a little, but can't keep a straight face. "Just cranberry juice and sprite?"

"Mmhm. Since I drove here, I figured you guys would appreciate a ride home."

I slide a hand down to his broad chest, putting a little distance between us. Then I reach for my own glass before taking a few healthy swigs—to which he raises a brow.

"Wanna dance?" I ask with a nod to the dance floor beneath us, just visible through the metal railing a few feet away.

"Sure." But regardless of his answer, he doesn't release me, instead he spins me around to hug my back to his chest. The reasoning becomes evident and hard against my backside. "Just give me a few minutes first."


When I finally drag him to the dance floor, it's everything I'd hoped for. I don't resist the pull this time and it's like my body has a mind of its own as I start bopping and swaying to the beat. My shoulders roll and my hips swing, and with the alcohol starting to take hold, I lose myself in the mess of fellow dancers.

The lights obscure my vision and the thudding music invades my whole body. It's not long before I'm not even sure who I'm dancing with or how, all I know is it feels like heaven. Nothing even compares to dancing for me. Organized and planned in the studio, or free and inspired here—it doesn't matter. It's like nothing else matters. Just this moment. Just the rush of my body's motion and the feel of everything at once.

I throw my hands in the air and tilt my head back. I grind against whoever is next to me. I dance like nobody's watching, because I don't care if they are. There's hands on me too. Most of them are unfamiliar, light grazes on my hip or my back. But then there's a pair of strong hands I know, running down my sides in a familiar way. They pull me against them, or maybe I just grind or fall into them, but it feels right and good, so I keep doing it. I can't keep the smile from my face when I feel those hands dip lower. They glide over my thighs, my pesky dress bunching under them, before they grip my ass and I love it. I love it all, and I might have even said as much aloud.

Warm, handsome eyes watch me fondly, pinning me with their intensity as I smolder and dance to my hearts content. A brilliant, white smile lights up in my view before they lean down to whisper in my ear, "You're practically glowing, Rose."

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