"Drink's at Sammy's, you in?" Clint rubs his stomach, which has shrunk since the start of the year. He must be down 25 pounds. He looks healthier than I've ever seen him.

  I don't really want a beer, and that shocking surprise is not lost on me. It may be ten kinds of fucked up, but I've actually felt pretty spectacular after fucking out all of my anger on Chloe.

  Yeah, I know. I'm a fucking dick. I left her there and ran like a scared little shit. I didn't even have the guts to contact her since. Which will end tomorrow, when we have our usual Saturday morning studio time. I won't be surprised if she doesn't show up, or kicks me in the balls, or something. Although none of those things sound like Chloe. Which only makes me feel like more of a tool.

  But since that night, a lot of my anger has subsided. I finally feel like the darkness that has been shrouding me the past three months has lifted.

  "Yeah, I'll go for one beer. But only if you girls are paying. This is a date, right?" I flutter my eyelashes at them.

  Owen looks so shocked, I think he might fall over. Okay, so it's been a long time since I've been my usual goofball self. But it feels really good.

  * * *

  Twenty-five minutes later we walk into Sammy's, the local college bar right off of Grover's campus. I nod at Ricky, the owner of Sammy's- yeah I know-as we pass the bar and slide into our usual table. We order a round when the waitress comes, and about three too many appetizers for the table. Whatever, we're guys.

  "We're going to shoot a round before the food comes." Clint and Parker get up to go play pool, leaving Owen and I sipping our beers.

  "So, you ever catch up with Chloe on Tuesday night?" I haven't talked to Owen except for passing each other in and out of the house, but I know his question is loaded. He either already knows something happened, or he suspects it. Might as well come right out with it.

  "Yeah. I went back to her house and fucked her." I swallow as Owen chokes on his beer.

  "You...what? Wow. Didn't think that's where this was going."

  "I didn't either. I don't even particularly like her. Or I didn't. I don't know, Axel." I was so confused, it felt good to be able to talk this out with someone.

  "Is it going to...continue?" He's treading carefully, being used to my moods from the past couple of months.

  I laugh sardonically. "Definitely not. I'm a dick, man. I know I've been one the last few months, I've thought about it all week. But I wouldn't be surprised if I really got Chloe to hate me this time. I basically hate-fucked her, without a condom, and then ran out as soon as I pounded one out."

  Owen blinks, clearly stunned that I'm being this candid with him. "Dude. First of all...um. Jesus, that's a lot of information. Let me think...well, the no condom thing. You're an idiot. But yeah, you're a dick for running out of there. I hope you called her, or at least texted her."

  Smiling sheepishly, I take a slow sip. "Not exactly..."

  "FARRIS! That's a dick move. Especially to my girl's best friend. What the fuck is wrong with you?"

  "I know. I've been a prickly son-of-a-bitch recently. Olivia fucked me up good. But that's no excuse for what I did to Chloe. Its weird actually. Hooking up with Chloe kind of...healed me. Its like, she took all of my anger, and then got rid of it. I've been able to think clearly this week, no depression clouding my view."

  "Well, at least there's that. I have to say, if nothing else, it's nice to have my normal friend back." He reaches across the table to offer me a fist bump. I return it.

  "I've been thinking a lot about Olivia. How I let her get to me way too much. That entire relationship was such a fucking sham. I guess I was so pissed off when she dumped me because it was the first time I'd actually committed to someone. Wanted someone to be there, unconditionally, for me."

  Owen nods somberly. "I know exactly what you mean. But, Farris...Olivia wasn't ever going to be that person. And if you need someone to be there for you, you've got me. Always, bro."

  I'd held this weight on my shoulders for so long, that I didn't know if I could unload it onto Owen. But we were already here, I was already being open. I took a deep breath.

  "I had a brother. Did you know that?" I take a small sip, glance over to where Parker is scowling at Clint over the pool table. Turning back, I catch Owen's astonished gaze. I press on. "He died in a car crash when I was seven. About a month before little league started and we met. He was much older than me, about 10 years older. I was the baby mother and father were never really supposed to have. Anyway, Jay...Jason that is, he was the best. Always so happy, fucking smart as hell, he always looked out for me. He was poised to take over the company after college."

  Owen nods, he knows what my family's business is, even if we've never really discussed it. Everyone knows who my family is.

  "Well, now he's gone. And with him, any sense of real family I ever had. My mother, I don't think I've actually seen her in a year come to think of it. She's off spending my father's money in Europe. My father, he's just interested in an heir to the company. Which, now that Jay's gone, would be me. Even though I'd rather be skinned alive. Even though I'd rather put my blood, sweat and tears into making it to the majors. Which my father naturally thinks is a joke. 'Baseball is just a hobby, Miles.' God, he doesn't care if I'm shit miserable for the rest of my life, just as long as I tow the family line."

  Owen snaps out of his shocked state when I mention baseball. "Wait, so you're not gonna go pro?"

  "I don't see how I can, dude. My dad only pays for me to play now because I agreed to get a business degree. After school, it's off to work for him, my responsibility to my bloodline, he likes to say. If I refuse, he stops paying my tuition. And I can all but kiss baseball goodbye if I can't afford to play for Grover."

  My best friend looks incredulous now. "But...dude, there has to be something we can do! You're too fucking good of a player to waste that talent building fucking airplanes."

  "Don't I know it." I hang my head, feeling empty but relieved at revealing the heavy cross that had become mine to bear. My family might suck, but I had some fucking great friends.

  "We'll figure something out. No way am I going into the draft alone. I need my shortstop." Owen smiles and raises his beer at me, indicating his need for a cheers.

  As I clink my glass to his, he pauses, both of our mugs in mid-air. "But dude, if you don't apologize to Chloe, I'm going to have to cut your nut sack off."

  “I know, dude.” We clink glasses, each sipping. “But, what do I do? I should have never done it in the first place. Chloe, she probably hates my fucking guts right about now.”

  Owen chuckles. “Then you don’t know Chloe, man. She’s a great girl. And I love Minka to death, but my girl doesn’t have a ‘benefit-of-the-doubt’ bone in her whole body. Chloe is the other girls’ voice of reason. She’s the calm, cool and collected one. Explain to her. I think she’ll surprise you, bro.”

  I took another sip of my beer, mulling over what my best friend said. I knew what I had to do.

  12

  Chloe

  My big toe was bleeding, I could feel it. The blood matted the inside of my pointe shoe, the cut scraping against the rough side of the layers of fabric and glue. But that doesn't slow me down. I feed the pain, going harder into turns and leaps than I should.

  I've been in the studio since 7 a.m., unable to sleep and feeling restless. So I came to my sanctuary. I had to be here to rehearse with Miles anyway, why not add another two hours to my already 30-hour practice week.

  I hadn't been able to sleep for days. Between having vivid sex dreams about Miles and not getting any kind of call or text from him, my nerves were fried. We hadn't spoken or seen each other since Tuesday. And I hadn't been able to let it go yet. It didn't help that I had regularly scheduled events with him twice a week. If he could have only been some random guy that I'd never have to see again.

  The soft, slow melody of the song I'd been dancing to stopped, and I glanced at the clock. Miles would be here in twenty minutes. Grabbing my water bottle, I sat on the floor in a butterfly position and began stretching my muscles out before unlacing the silk straps tied around my ankles. I was sore, really sore. Missing two days of class and then pushing yourself way too hard to make up for it will do that to you.

  But now that my dream was within my grasp, I had no time to spare. I needed to push myself even if my bones ached, even if my feet bleed, even if I couldn't stand to dance for one more hour. That's what makes a prima ballerina, Madame V had said. I'd visited her office, at her demand, after the Barre Techniques class she taught.

  "How are you feeling?" She says this with brusque disinterest, as if she only needs this to open up the conversation.

  "I'm okay, much better than-"

  "Yes, yes, darling. Anyways, there has been some interest in you. I almost should not tell you after you miss my class for two days." Madame's thick french accent cuts the threatening words.

  "Again, I'm deeply sorry." Best to appear apologetic.

  "Yes, well. The School of American Ballet is going through their application process for summer intensives. I know the director there, I may have put in a good word. Although now I may regret that."

  I think my jaw hit the floor. SAB? It was only one of the premiere schools in the entire country. It fed right into the New York City Ballet. I could hardly contain my excitement.

  "You recommended me? For SAB? Wow, Madame Vivienne, I don't know what to say..."

  "Say you will work harder. Prove me right that I was correct in mentioning your name to them." She gives me her sternest look.

  "I will. I promise Madame. I will do whatever it takes." I was shaking I had so much adrenaline pumping through my veins. SAB. Wow.

  "I hope you do. I don't often give out compliments, but you have the raw talent to really go far. Listen to your teachers here and you just might be the one in a million who achieves what every amateur ballerina dreams of. Now, you may go." She dismisses me with a wave of her hand.

  I float of her office, high on this recent development.

  I'm dreaming of SAB and the instructors there, some of the best in the world, when I pull my left pointe shoe off to assess the damage.

  It's sticky with blood, and makes a suctioning noise as I pull it off. My big toe has a ragged cut down the side closest to my instep, and I grab a tissue to help clot it. I have two new blisters on my third and forth toe, adding to the three I already had on them. And my pinky toe is bruised such a deep shade of indigo that I'm starting to get concerned about it.

  My feet have never been pretty, being a dancer and all, but since I came to college they've been through hell and back. It's a good thing I don't even feel much of the pain down there anymore.

  I hear the sudden groan of the studio door, and look up at Miles, who is surprisingly, fifteen minutes early. Gosh, he looks delectable. His sunny ringlets still damp from the shower, the white t-shirt he wears clings to all of the right places, allowing me to make out the grooves of his abs. I involuntarily blush as my gaze locks on his worn-in grey track pants. I know what's under them now, and that's not something I'll ever forget. Miles is hung like the guys in pornos. And I only know that because Kels made me watch some freshman year of high school.

  "Hi." Miles gives me a small smile, his eyes genuine. Contrite. That wasn't what I was expecting. I don't really know what I'd expected. I'd tried to play this scenario out in my head for the last four days, and could never decide on which way it was going to go.

  "Hi." I answer as I unwrap my right pointe shoe, peeling it off the shredded skin on my foot.

  "Jesus! That's nasty." Miles squirms as he gets a closer look of my feet. So much for being nice to me.

  "Hazards of being a dancer." I utter, harsher than I mean it to sound.

  "You may look like a princess, but you must be tough as nails to endure that shit." His compliment both surprises and pleases me. Crap. We were supposed to be forgiving but not forgetting here.

  "Thanks." I turn, reaching for my water bottle.

  "Um...so, about the other night..." I peek through my lashes to watch Miles in the mirror. He's rubbing one big hand behind his neck, trying to figure out what to say next. He looks completely uncomfortable. "I...are you okay? I never, um, do that by the way. I'm clean. I didn't want you to worry."

  Like I hadn't been worrying the entire week. Like I hadn't cried myself to sleep Wednesday and Thursday night over how stupid I'd been, and how inconsiderate he was. "Thanks for letting me know. Don't worry, I'm fine now."

  "Now? Did I...um, hurt you?" He looks worried, but isn't coming any closer to me. He stands in the middle of the room, while I sit by the mirror. This discussion couldn't be any more awkward.

  "No. You didn't hurt me. But I did get the morning-after pill to be safe." My lips feel tight as I admit this to him. I can feel the tears pool in the back of my eyes just remembering taking that trip alone.

  Miles exhales and curses under his breath. "Shit. I'm really sorry. I should have taken you, or something."

  There is a few beats of silence. I really don't know what to say. What I want to say is, "Yes, you should have manned up. You should have called me in the last four days. You shouldn't have even had sex with me in the first place if you don't think that highly of me." But I don't. I hold my tongue, my niceness overcoming any rudeness. It always did.

  "I'm really sorry about everything. I've been through hell and back the past year and a half, and it's not just because of my gold-digging ex-girlfriend. I've had some stuff going on. And the anger, I took it out on you because...well I don't really have a good reason. You were here? You're so nice and understanding? I apologize, for all of it. You're a good person, Chloe. I never meant to take advantage of you the other night. So...I'm sorry."

  Before I can think, the words are out of my mouth. "You're a nice person too." I imagine that little boy with the unruly curls, standing up for me. "Just because you got lost in the dark there for a while doesn't erase that. And Miles...you didn't take advantage of me. I wanted that just as much as you did."

  Lust consumes his distinctive eyes like a tidal wave, and we just sit there, looking at each other for what seems like hours. Finally, he breaks the silence. “Well, I am really sorry. And nothing like that will happen again. I won’t hurt you like that.”

  I shouldn’t feel disappointment at his words that it won’t happen again, but I do.

  "So, we're jiving this week, huh?" I don't miss his double entendre.

  "Yes, we are performing a jive." I smile, hoping he likes my idea. "I was thinking we go like, 1940s wartime costumes. You in a Marines uniform, I can wear an Army nurse's outfit. That's always what I think when I think jive."

  Miles nods, his eyes lighting up. "Sick. I've always wanted to be a soldier. I'm in."

  For the first time in weeks, our practice goes swimmingly. We don't just jive, we jibe. Our ideas are in sync, we get the choreography put together in record time, and Miles even cracks a few jokes. By three o'clock, I'm presently surprised we have performed the final result four times without any missteps.

  "I think we're done for the day." I smile cheerily, glad to be getting out of the studio at a decent hour.

  "Great." Miles pauses, not running out of the studio like he usually does. "Do you want to maybe...I don't know...grab a slice from Angelo's? Early dinner?"

  My heart shouldn't leap the way it does at his question, but it’s such a reflex after all these years of wanting him. I shouldn't go. I said I wouldn't. And I can't even eat pizza.

  “That depends, are you going to make me pay for it all by myself?”

  I flinch, and so does he, at my words. I don’t know where that came from.

  Miles looks guilty when he meets my eyes. “I know it won’t make up for it, but maybe its a start? Let me take you out for a slice.”

  "Sure, I'd love to."

  Idiot.

  13

  Miles

  The week flies by in a blur of baseball practices, dance competitions, class and parties. I thank god every night my head hits the pillow, I'm that tired. Thankfully baseball is over after this week. We go into hibernation for the winter before spring training starts in February.

  Chloe and did alright on our jive in Tuesday's performance, but I had a few missteps. Something about playing a Marine just got me overly excited, and I'd accidentally earned us two eight's and a nine. Not bad, we were still top of the leader board, and hadn't been voted off, but it wasn't perfect ten's. Not that Chloe was mad. She was her usual polite, nice self.

  I always got the urge to tousle her when she was like that. I think it's why I had been so nasty to her at first. Being in a bad place only perpetuated how badly I wanted to see her untamed. But this time I'd held back, opting to play pong with her at the DWTG after-party instead.

  It was weird how well we'd been getting along. Our pizza dinner on Saturday had been a little awkward, but not overly so. She’d given me a complex lesson about how to actually make pizza, something she did all the time when she helped out her parents at their restaurants. Her family’s food was to die for. It was the only place my father made reservations for clients that came in from out of town, and sometimes he dragged me along.

  I’d told her about baseball, and she mentioned she used to go to some of my high school games. It was weird, how much we knew about each other’s lives without ever having really talked. I didn’t know how to feel about the fact that she had always had a massive thing for me. I guess now I felt stupid, because I had wasted a lot of time not trying to get to know a genuinely great girl.

  Her forgiveness astounded me, although I still caught the looks she threw me when she didn't think I was watching. The ones where her purple orbs drained of all color, leaving her looking so sad and forlorn that it felt like a tornado was ripping around my gut. But she quickly covered it up, throwing on her signature smile and suggesting we try this step or that.