Текст книги "Fading"

Автор книги: E. K. Blair

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Текущая страница: 11 (всего у книги 25 страниц)

"Hey Roxy, I'm gonna go to the back to restock a few things before I leave, okay?"

"Yeah, thanks," she says over the hissing of the steamer.

I grab a box cutter and start opening boxes of flavored syrups and stocking the shelves. When I move on to the sugar boxes, I see Roxy come through the door with a huge smile on her face.

"So, that hot-ass guy is back and asking for you."

Sitting on the floor, surrounded by scraps of cardboard boxes, I say, "His name is Ryan."

"Well then, that hot-ass guy, Ryan, is here for you," she says teasingly with her hands on her hips.

"Thanks. Can you tell him to give me ten minutes?"

"You guys have a date or something?"

Standing up, I say, "What? No! He's just a friend."

"Mmm hmm." Roxy turns on her heel to walk back out to the front, and I pick up my bag and go to the bathroom to change into my running clothes.

When I walk out, Ryan is chatting with Roxy. He looks up at me as I'm walking over to him and says, "Hey."

"What are you guys talking about?"

"Your friend, Ryan, was asking about my tattoos." I silently thank her for leaving out the hot-ass part.

Ryan takes a step towards me and asks, "You ready?"

"Yeah, I just need to put my bag in my car."

Reaching out, he takes the bag out of my hand and starts walking to my car. I say 'bye' to Roxy as I follow him out.

I zip my keys up in the pocket of my running jacket, and we take off for our run from the parking lot. We head around the perimeter of campus before making our way through a few neighborhoods. I am mostly quiet as I listen to Ryan talk about work and the new bands that have been playing there during the week. Turns out that we pretty much have the same taste in music, and I find his reaction funny each time he discovers I like another one of his favorite bands.

We start making our way through some streets we haven't gone down before. I follow him and keep my pace by his side. My throat is beginning to dry out when I realize that neither of us brought any water, and I know we've already run at least three miles. I am more quiet than normal, and I'm sure Ryan notices when he turns his head and asks, "You okay?"

"I'm thirsty. We forgot water."

"No worries," he says as he picks up the pace, and we turn down another unfamiliar street.

I don't have time to question him when he slows down and starts walking up a driveway to a three-story building.

"What are you doing?"

"Getting you some water. Come on," he says while nodding his head toward the building.

I walk a few steps behind him, and he pulls out a key fob from his pocket. When he clicks the button, the garage begins to open.

"Do you own this building or something?" I ask.

Ryan turns back to look at me and grins. "This is my loft. I live here."

"Oh," I mumble, but I stop following him, not really wanting to go into his home. I try hard to control the anxiety that begin to race through me. I have been spending a lot of time with him and feel like he is trustworthy, but I can't seem to shake my nerves right now.

He motions for me to come, and I don't want him to think I'm some sort of basket case, so I swallow back my apprehension and follow him into the garage to the staircase leading up to the loft.

When we reach the top of the stairs, he unlocks the door, and we head inside to the large open space. The main room is completely open with a large kitchen along the back wall of exposed brick. The finishes in the kitchen are industrial and sleek, and two of the walls are lined with floor to ceiling windows. There are exposed beams on the ceiling, and the wooden floors are a rich wide-planked espresso. I wonder how he came to own a place like this; the square footage alone would cost a fortune.

"Here you go," he says as he walks back to me and hands me a bottle of water.

I take a sip and say, "This is a great place. How long have you lived here?"

"About five years."

He pulls his cell phone out of his jacket when it begins to ring. I can tell it's something about work when he starts talking. Telling the person on the other end to hang on, he puts the phone down to his side and tells me, "Make yourself comfortable. I need to take this call really quick. I'll only be a few minutes, okay?"

I nod my head, and he walks down the hall and into one of the rooms. I stand there in the middle of his house, not sure what to do. As I drink my water, I make my way over to Ryan's living room. It's filled with overstuffed furniture and a TV that is mounted to the wall above a large fireplace. I walk over to one of the windows near the corner of the room. I accidentally kick a stack of books, and when I bend down to straighten them back up, I see several large black photo mats. Leaning down, I flip one over and look at the beautiful black and white photograph that is a close-up of the curve of a woman's bare back. The lighting of the photo is exquisite.

I kneel down to flip through the others when I hear him walk back into the room. Before I can stand up he is at my side. I look up at him and say, "I'm sorry." Setting the photos back where they were, I stand up and he asks, "For what?"

"I wasn't snooping or anything, I just noticed these and was curious."

"Candace, I have nothing to hide. I told you to make yourself comfortable, and I meant it." He steps aside, sits down in one of the large, overstuffed chairs, and takes a swig of his water.

"Where did you get those?" I ask, referring to the photos.

"They're mine," he says.

"Yours?"

"Yeah. Sometimes I get bored and like to mess around with my camera," he says casually.

"That's pretty amazing for just messing around. You only shoot people?"

"For the most part, yeah," he says as he gets up from his seat and walks over to me by the window. He picks up the picture of the woman's back and looks at it as if he hasn't seen it in a long time.

"She a model?" I ask about the woman in the photo.

"No, just some chick I used to know." He sets down the photo and walks to the couch while motioning for me to join him.

I walk over, sit down next to him, and ask, "So, when did you get into photography?"

"When I was in college I took some art classes. So, one day I just decided to buy a camera and started taking pictures. Like I said, I pretty much have no clue what I'm doing. Just a little hobby of mine I mess around with every now and then."

"You ever do anything with them?"

"No."

"Maybe you should," I say, and he turns to look at me and repeats my words back to me quietly, "Maybe I should."

"You sure you don't want to come out to the bar tonight to see Mark play?" he asks.

"I told you, I have to work."

"I just picked you up from work."

"I know, but I have to go back. One of the girls quit and Roxy hasn't hired anyone to replace her, so I've been picking up extra shifts," I explain. "Plus, I'd probably be tired and no fun to be around."

"I can't imagine it not being fun to be around you," he says as he looks at me intently, and I begin to feel uncomfortable with his words. "You ready to finish the run?"

A smile crosses his face when he stands up and reaches out his hand to me. I sit there for a beat before I hesitantly place my hand in his. When I do, he gives me a slight tug and pulls me off the couch. He never lets go of my hand as he locks up and we walk down the stairs and out to the driveway. This closeness has my nerves twisted up, and I'm sure he can feel sweat on my hand. As we walk out to the street, hands still connected, he asks, "Wanna make it a long run, or are you ready to head back?"

I take a hard swallow before saying, "Long."

He gives me a squeeze before he unwraps his fingers from around my hand, and we begin to run.

School has been really busy. It's the last week of classes before finals. Aside from work, I have been buried in my books and getting everything wrapped up before the quarter ends. I'm going into all my finals with perfect grades, so I am sure I will still be able to maintain my four point GPA.

I did manage to meet up with Ryan Thursday morning for our run. I was starting to get really stressed out, so the run was just what I needed. Ryan was considerate and let me ramble on and on the whole time about my classes and everything that I needed to do to make sure I was ready for my exams.

But now that classes are officially over until January, I can start to wind down a bit. I only have three finals next week and a studio final. Everyone has learned the same routine, and we will perform in groups of four for our final grading. I have the dance memorized and perfected, so today when I go to the studio, I plan to just work on my solo. Ms. Emerson will be meeting me up there in a little bit to critique what I have so far. I am surprised that she offered to do this for me since she never gives anyone private instruction. So when she offered, I immediately said yes.

Ryan said he would meet me at the studio around four o'clock to grab a coffee before he has to go into work. I shoot him a quick text as I am heading out.

Leaving now. See you in two hours?

I'll meet you in the parking lot.

OK, catch you later.

When I arrive at the studio, Ms. Emerson is already there waiting for me.

"Hi, I hope you weren't waiting long," I say when I walk in and set my bag down.

Walking over to the stereo, she says, "Not at all. I just got here. Did you stretch at home?"

"Yes, but I need to warm my muscles up a little more." The cold temperatures make it hard to keep my muscles loose, so after my pointes are on, I slide on some leg warmers and loose long pants.

"Well then, let's do a little floor work before we begin." She flips on the music, and she joins me in the center of the room as we do a few adagio combinations.

I have never danced alone alongside Ms. Emerson. She is as focused as I am on arm placements and bodylines. We move gracefully together through the movements and repeat the combination a few more times before she asks for my music. I hand her the disc, and she gets the music set up as I take my spot on the floor in fifth position. When I hear the strings, I slowly relevè on my pointes and begin a series of chainès across the floor. I continue through my choreography, and when I get to the peak of my developè, I begin spotting my head as I go into a variation series of fouettès. I hear Ms. Emerson beating the counts by loudly clapping her hands. When I come to the end, all she says is, "Again." She clicks the remote, and the music cues back up.

I repeat my steps, and I focus in on the movements as I hear: "I need more, Candace...Hit that position, and hold!" CLAP CLAP CLAP "Piquè! Piquè! Come on! I need more from you!" I hear her stern voice through the loud music and follow her commands. When I come to the end, she repeats, "Again."

We go through this process countless times before taking a break only to continue repeating this routine over and over. I keep pounding out the moves harder and harder, but she continues to yell and demand. We do this for over an hour, and I begin to grow exhausted when she shouts, "Again!"

The music repeats, and I go through the steps over and again. "Pick it up, Candace! Hit! Hit!" She claps the counts loudly and continues, "I'm not feeling it! Come ON! Feel it! Watch that port a bras. Demi second, make it strong!" I focus on her commands, trying to keep my emotions tight, although I feel like I'm at my end. She's relentless. "Again. Last one," she says, and she starts the music again.

"This time...feel it, Candace. Really feel it. Let it out."

I nod my head and silently take my position again as the music pounds through the room. Making my way through the steps, my toes are aching, but I push through again. I can hear the frustration in Ms. Emerson when she yells over the music. "Feel it, Candace! You're dead behind the movements...Make that spotting stronger!" CLAP CLAP CLAP "Hit those fouettès...Smooth out that demi right there. I'm getting nothing! Feel, Candace!"

She shuts off the music, and I stop, standing in the center of the floor when she walks toward me.

Speaking softly, she says, "Whatever walls you have built this year, you need to break them down. I'm getting nothing from you. You feel nothing."

"Yes," I say breathlessly as I nod my head.

"We spoke about this earlier, but I'm not seeing any changes. This is a powerful piece of music. In my opinion, the best piece of all the girls, but you're wasting it. Whatever this is...fix it."

"Okay." And before I can say anything else, she turns to leave.

When the door closes behind her, I let out my pent up frustration and scream through my clenched teeth. Ripping off my pointes, I throw them hard across the room. I lie back on the floor, taking a few deep breaths and feel the tears welling up. My emotions are on edge after being so harshly berated for the past two hours. I squeeze my eyes shut and feel the tears as they roll down my temples and into my hair. I throw my arm over my head and continue to breathe in and out slowly.

Letting a few minutes pass, I grab my things and leave. I just want to go home, shower, and try not to think about this disastrous rehearsal. I slam the door open when I walk out, and I'm shocked when I see Ryan leaning up against my car. Shit! I completely forgot that he would be here. Quickly, I wipe the tears off my cheeks and try to pull myself together fast. But before I can start walking, he's standing in front of me with both hands cupping my face.

"What happened?"

"Nothing, honestly. Just a tough rehearsal." My voice comes out wobbly, and I hate that.

Ryan stares down at me with a clenched jaw. Taking his thumbs, he wipes my damp cheeks. The tender action breaks my strong façade, and I fall into his chest allowing the comfort of his arms as they wrap around me. He cradles the back of my head with his hand the same way Jase does when he hugs me, but this feels different. His hold is strong and tight, and I let myself soften into him. Aside from Jase and Mark, there is no one that I ever let touch me like this. I know it isn't much, but it's difficult for me. Being in Ryan's embrace feels safe, so I wrap my arms around his waist as we stand in the empty parking lot.

When I start to pull back from him, he asks again, "Are you sure you're okay?"

I nod my head, uncertain of how my voice might sound.

Ryan takes the bag off of my shoulder and drapes his arm around me. "Come on," he says as he starts walking me to his jeep.

I don't ask where we are going, and honestly, I'm too worn out to really care. He helps me into his car, and when he closes the door, I rest my head against the back of the seat and close my eyes. Ryan doesn't say anything; he doesn't even turn on the music as we drive. It's only a few minutes later when the car stops in front of his loft.

When we get upstairs, I sit on the couch in his living room while he gets me a bottle of water from the kitchen. He sits down next to me, and I gulp the water down quickly.

"Feeling better?"

"Yeah, I'm sorry. After being yelled at for two hours, I just..."

"Don't worry," he says as he puts his arm around me and draws me closer to his side.

Leaning my head back on the couch, I say, "No...It's embarrassing."

"Don't let it be," he says.

"Can I ask you a huge favor?"

"Anything."

"Do you have dry shirt I can change into? I've been dancing for the past few hours, and I'm sweaty and stinky."

He laughs at me and says, "You don't stink at all actually."

"Liar."

"I'll be right back." I watch Ryan as he head up the stairs, to what I presume is his bedroom.

"You need socks?" he yells down.

"Please. It's cold," I say.

When he comes back down, he hands me his clothes and shows me to the guest bathroom. "Thanks. Just give me a few minutes."

"Take your time."

I turn on the faucet and wait for the water to run hot. I open the linen closet and find a washcloth. When I take off my clothes, I wet the washcloth and freshen up as best as I can. I slip on his old UW shirt and a pair of his pajama pants, leaving my dirty clothes folded on the side of the sink. His clothes are huge on me, and I have to tug on the ties of his pants to cinch up the waist and rollup up the waistband several times, but the pants still drag on the floor.

Walking back into the living room, Ryan is sitting back on the couch, flipping through channels on the TV. I sit down next to him, and he grabs the bun that is still secured on the top of my head and laughs. "This is cute," he teases me.

I swat his hand away. "Whatever."

"Come here," he says, and I lean back on the couch with him. "So, what happened?"

"I have this tough piece of music, and I'm having a hard time connecting with it. My instructor keeps telling me what I need to fix, but I don't really know how. It's frustrating. I can perfect my moves, but I don't know how to get into this piece."

"So she just bashed you the whole time?

"It's how she is. But the fact that she even came in to work with me is unheard of. She's extremely stern, but she's only trying to help me."

"I didn't like seeing you upset."

Looking up at him, I say, "It's not a big deal, really."

"I didn't like it." He says this intently as he looks down at me, and I have to look away from him because when he says things like this, it makes me feel too much. I know Jase likes Ryan, but the other night Mark had mentioned that he has a bit of a reputation for hooking up with random women. It's hard for me to picture him that way because I don't see him like that, but at the same time, it makes me feel like I should be even more cautious around him.

"You want that cup of coffee?" he asks, and I am pulled out of my thoughts.

"That'd be great, I'm still really cold."

"There are some blankets in the trunk by the fireplace," he tells me as he walks into the kitchen. I hop up and grab a large blanket, wrapping it around me before I sit back down.

"How do you take it?" he asks from across the room.

"One sugar and really blond."

Ryan hands me my mug and sits down next to me with a grin. "You getting warm?"

"Trying too."

He picks up the remote and turns it to TCM. I shake my head and laugh at him.

"What's so funny?"

"You. I don't know anyone who watches the classic movie channel, aside from you."

"You want me to change it?"

Pulling my feet up on the couch, I say, "No, it's fine. I'm only teasing you."

He turns up the volume and we sit back and watch 'The Blue Dahlia.' He knows I'm only half paying attention because every now and then he will make commentary to keep me up to speed.

By the time the movie ends, Ryan has to get ready to go to work. I grab my clothes from the bathroom, and we head downstairs to his jeep. When he pulls in the studio lot, he asks me to come out tonight. When I tell him that I can't, he doesn't push.

"I'm sorry, but I'm just really tired and will probably go to bed early," I say. I know Mark's band has become the regular Saturday night house band and that Jase is often with him, but the thought of being in a crowded bar, and possibly crossing paths with Jack, is too much for me to think about. "Plus, I have the early shift at work tomorrow."

"Your boss doesn't strike me as the type who would mind if you came into work a little hungover," he jokes.

"You're probably right about that, but I've never drunk enough to have ever been hungover."

"Never?"

"Don't act surprised."

"I'm more relieved," he says

"I'm not even going to ask why. But, thanks for today."

"Any time."

"Tell Mark and Jase I said 'hi' when you see them tonight, okay?" I open the door and hop out of the car. Looking back at him before I close the door, I say, "Thanks again for being there today. It probably would have ended up being a crappy day if I just came home."

"Thanks for letting me be there," he says.

I close the door and get into my car.

When I arrive home, Kimber is sitting in the living room flipping through a magazine as I walk in.

"Hey," I say.

Looking at the clothes I'm wearing that are entirely too big, she asks, "What are you wearing?" I'm surprised that she is speaking to me.

"Oh, um..." I stutter as she nods her head. By the look on her face, she seems annoyed. She closes the magazine and starts walking toward her room.

"Kimber," I call out after her, but she just ignores me and slams her door shut.

I dump my clothes in the laundry room before I go into my room. I brush my teeth, take my sleeping pill, and slide into bed. I am still wearing Ryan's clothes, and can smell the warmth of his scent with a hint of amberwood as I start to grow tired.