His smile’s as huge as mine, because holy shit, we nailed the routine. In one month, we’re going to rock the St. Louis Microfest, taking the main stage with our modern compilation of Dirty Dancing dance scenes.
The acoustics in my studio thunder with the music and the pound of our feet. He wraps an arm around my hips, the other hanging loosely at his side as he jackhammers against me, the fluid thrusts of his pelvis rivaling that of Patrick Swayze. I arch back, hang my head upside down, and XXX grind with the undulation of his ripped body. Then he snaps me back to his chest.
Now for the hard part. With a determined breath, I propel myself upward, lifting my torso and hips while pushing against him. Midway through the jump, I turn myself into a balanced, steel-stiff form. He takes it from there, leveraging my momentum, lifting me above his head, and locking his elbows.
Whew! Excitement fizzes through me as I plant my knees on his shoulders, grip the folds of my pink skirt, and slap the gauzy material wildly around my waist in rhythm with the music.
The crotch of my leotard writhes inches from his face, but that’s not what this is about. He’s grinning up at me, suspending my weight and mouthing the words to Talk Dirty by Jason Derulo.
I’m so consumed in the dance and the music, I don’t hear Cole walk in. I don’t feel him until his arm hooks around my waist and rips me from Nikolai’s shoulders. I don’t see him until his fist flies past me and collides with the other man’s nose.
Blood spurts across Nikolai’s bare chest, and he stumbles back, colliding with the mirror and cupping his face.
“Cole!” The wind whooshes from my lungs, and my knees lock in horror. “What have you done?”
Expression tight and eyes aglow with black fire, he rears back for another punch, hellbent on putting my dance partner through the wall.
My legs propel me forward, and I hurl myself in the path of his strike. I narrowly miss four knuckles in the face as he redirects his fist into the mirror behind Nikolai.
Glass shatters, and Nikolai’s arms come around me, hauling us away from the detonation of testosterone and fury.
I slap the power button on the sound system, plunging the room into a haze of panting, wheezing breaths.
Cole steps toward us, hands flexing at his sides and the cords in his neck stretched taut. “What the fuck—?”
“Don’t come any closer!” I thrust a finger at him and swivel toward Nikolai.
Oh God, blood trails from his bent nose, the cartilage twisted and swelling rapidly. I grab a towel and hold it up to catch the bleeding.
“I’m leaving in two weeks!” Cole shouts behind me. “Is this what you’re going to be doing while I’m gone?”
“Dancing with my dance partner?” I whirl around, voice rising. “Yes, Cole. You better fucking believe that’s exactly what I’ll be doing.”
Cole and I fell in love so easily, naturally, perfectly. But I’d be lying if I said our relationship has always been easy. His temper is explosive, his jealousy obnoxious and turbulent on the best days.
“Where’s your ring?” He glares at my left hand with murderous accusation.
Shit, I forgot to put it back on. “Bathroom counter. I took it off to wax my—”
“Don’t ever take it off!” His roar echoes off the walls.
“Stop yelling at me!” I scream back.
“I can’t do this.” He paces through the room, threading his fingers through his hair and locking them together on his head. “I can’t be halfway across the world thinking about you rubbing your pussy all over another man.”
“I warned you. The morning we met, I said no jealousy. This is my job. You told me you could deal with it.”
“I also said I was hotheaded, and you told me you could handle that.”
He’s right. I can handle it. But…
“Nikolai didn’t sign up for this.” I step to the side and place a hand on my friend’s chest. “Un-fuck this up, and I mean, fix it right. I want groveling, Cole.”
“Danni, don’t.” Nikolai glares at me over the bloody towel against his nose.
“I want bowing and scraping and heartfelt apologies,” I say to Cole. “If Nik leaves here without forgiving you, you’ll be leaving with him.”
I walk toward the kitchen and pour a glass of wine as their footsteps trudge into the bathroom. A moment later, Cole’s voice rumbles through the house.
“I don’t like you.”
Christ. I pinch the bridge of my nose and release a heavy breath.
“I get that.” Nikolai’s Trinidadian accent sings through his pained voice. “But just because I fucked your girl in college— Ow! Fuck! You don’t have to press so hard.”