Seth (Damage Control #3) (14 page)

Holy crap…

The reality of what I’ve just done hits me square in the chest.
Oh God.
I kissed Seth. Kissed him, and let him kiss me—and get me off—in his bathroom, while Fred is somewhere else, thinking I’m at the party, talking and having harmless fun.

“I have to go,” I say, my voice barely making it past my lips. He’s still cradling my head, his leg is still between mine. I can still smell his delicious scent, still feel every inch of his body. “Seth.”

He blinks as if waking from a dream. Then his eyes narrow, his mouth flattens, and I can almost hear the shields dropping back into place with a clank, the defenses descending over his face, hiding any emotion he might feel.

“Of course you do,” he mutters and pulls away, turns his back to me. “Hell. Hope I helped with your question.”

I stare at the beautiful ink decorating the flare of his ribs, the line of his spine, the wings of his shoulder blades, and Jesus, what do I do now?

“Yes,” I croak, feeling ashamed and more confused than ever. “Thank you.”

I don’t know if he answers back, because this time I flee as if the devil’s at my heels.

***

“Physical therapy, huh?” Cassie’s reaction is much milder than Fred’s and makes me feel a little bit better about myself. “Why not?”

“Won’t you tell me I should stick to the arts? That I have to fight for dance?”

She shrugs. “It’s your life. Do you want to fight?”

Good question.
“I want to keep dancing,” I say truthfully. “Can’t imagine life without dance.”

“Can you dance on the side?”

“Maybe? Depends on how much time I’ll have for it, I guess. I could also give classes to pay for college, at least partly. Pilates, ballet, belly dancing, modern dance.”

She gives me a faint smile. “You were always so full of energy. You make me feel old with everything you’re about to do.”

I sit back and take a good look at her. She looks terrible, thinner, with bags under eyes a bit too bright. Even worse: she’s dressed as if she’s heading for the gym—not something Cassie might do—in a café, for chrissakes.

So out of character.

“You okay, Cass?”

She stares into her mug of tea. “Been better.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing new.” She takes a sip and before I press her for a real answer, she says, “So I heard you left Saturday night's party with Seth?”

Oh crap.
Stifling a groan, I lean back in my chair. “Who told you that?”

“Ha, gotcha.” A real smile this time. “You did, just now.”

I cover my face with my hands. “Devious.”

“I’m a bitch, I know.” She sniffs. “Everyone knows.”

“Hey…” I shouldn’t feel bad. She earned that title, and yet I’m pretty sure that’s why she’s like this. Like she’s really depressed.
Sinking.

“So did you have wild sex in your car? In the stairwell? On his sofa? In the shower?”

“Cass!”

“Why do you look so shocked? People do that, you know.”

They do?
“In the movies only,” I decide.

“I’m sure you believe that.”

My face warms, and I try to hide it behind my cup of coffee. “I do.”

Cassie of course sees right through me. Well, you’d have to be blind not to see my blush. “He kissed you, at least?”

“Fred?”

“Fred?” She makes a face. “You still hung up on him? Guy isn’t interested, girl.”

“What are you talking about? Fred wants me.”

“Because he goes out for coffee with you? Do tell. Has he kissed you?”

“Not yet.”

“Ah-huh. My point exactly. Whereas Seth…?”

I almost choke on my coffee. I want to lie. I try. My mouth won’t cooperate. “Seth did.”

“He kissed you. I knew it.” She grins, eyes twinkling. “The boy wants you.”

“No, he doesn’t.”

But even as I say it the memory of the way he held me and kissed me, the sounds he made, the feel of his hard-on branding my hip, it rushes back and makes me throb inside.

Crap.

“He wants into your pants.”

“He’s just being a good friend.”

She lifts a sandy brow. “By kissing you?”

I open my mouth. Close it. “It’s not like that.”

“Right.”

“I don’t want Seth.”

Okay, by now my excuses sound lame even to me. So I’m attracted to Seth. He’s an attractive guy. Nothing strange about that, right? Doesn’t mean anything.

But Cassie isn’t done with me yet. “Why do you want this guy anyway? This Fred?”

“We fit. We are similar.”

“That’s what I thought about Jesse. And see how wrong I was.”

I wince at the bitterness in her voice. “Yes, you were, Cass.”

“And if you are, too?”

“The difference is, I haven’t forced myself on him.”

“Fred or Seth?”

“Neither!”

Cassie nods, and I start when a tear rolls down her cheek, glittering like a crystal. She pushes back her chair and wipes at her eyes quickly. “Gotta go.”

“Cass…” Now why do I feel like a heel? “Wait.”

“What for? You’ve judged me, and won’t even think about taking another look at my case.”

“This isn’t a trial, Cass.”

“Then why does it feel like one?”

People at the surrounding tables are openly staring at us.

“Please sit down.” I sigh, rub my eyes. “I’m sorry. I believe what you told me, that you thought Jesse wasn’t serious about Amber. That he was only looking for a hook-up. I get it. I’m just stressed right now. Give me some time, Cass.”

She sits back down, a wary look on her face. “Okay. Is it because of Seth? And Fred?”

“I’m attracted to Seth, okay? But it’s Fred I want.”

“I see.” She toys with a strand of her blond hair. “So, this Fred. Must be really handsome, huh?”

“Yeah. He is.”

“You don’t sound too convinced.”

“I am.”

“And you like it when you kiss, right? When you fuck. You want to touch him, taste him, put your hands all over him? You want him to possess you and make you his.”

Oh God, yes.
But the one on my mind right now isn’t Fred. Not at all.

It’s
Seth
.

***

The next days pass in a flurry of activity—running between college and the dance academy, gathering signed documents and stamps. Putting off the inevitable.

Which is talking to my parents about my plans.

First I need to make sure I can do this. It seems I can jump into the middle of the sports kinesiology degree program without any difficulty, given I get some help with certain classes I never took—and special care will be taken not to aggravate my weak ankle. I can focus on sports like swimming, yoga, aqua aerobics and a bunch of other stuff.

Additional credits will be awarded for classes I’ve completed. There was even talk of the possibility of a small stipend. Once I get my degree, I can do a Master’s in physical therapy.

I can do this. I can.

Now I need to see if I can find work teaching dance classes, and I’ll be ready to tell my dad. As for my mom…

Yeah, that’ll be a tough one. She wanted me to be a ballet dancer. It was her dream, since she was little, and she passed it on to me.

Well, dreams change. They transform, and the more I think about becoming a physical therapist, the more I want it. And if it doesn’t work out in the end, I’ll have a degree I can use in lots of professions, specialize in lots of different things.

I feel as if my horizons are expanding. Ballet was lovely, but the outcomes were specific and uncertain. Get picked by a dance company and be a dancer—or not be picked and become a teacher, which isn’t something I really wanted. Teaching yoga or belly dancing on the side is one thing. Teaching the one thing I wanted to excel in is another.

As I run from appointment to appointment, a little freaked out, stressed and harried, as I jog in the mornings, and then do some stretches, do my routine exercises and work up a sweat, as I buy groceries and make myself some dinner—I’m glad for it.

Because it keeps my mind off Seth—at least during the day time hours. That kiss… it haunts my dreams. I keep waking up hot and throbbing with the ghostly memory of his lips on mine, his scent and taste filling my senses.

So I fill my days with more things, set myself deadlines. This is important. This is about my future. And Seth may have kissed me, but it was a challenge for him. I’m sure he’s forgotten all about it—all about me—by now.

God…

By Thursday evening, I sit by the phone and steel my nerves to call Dad.

“How’s my ballerina?” he says in lieu of greeting, and I wince. “Manon?”

“Hey, Dad.”

“Is everything okay? You never call me mid-week. All those rehearsals and training until late.”

“Yeah, about that…” I pull my legs up on the sofa and fold them underneath me. “Dad, I’m changing career. I had this thought to become a physical therapist, but that’s long-term. I’ll enroll in sports kinesiology at the university here and then—”

“Whoa, hold your horses. What are you talking about? Sports kinesiology? Physical therapy? What the hell?”

Ow.
Dad never swears, so he’s either pissed or so overwhelmed he didn’t realize.

“Daddy.” I wait for him to quieten down. “Daddy, listen. The dance school kicked me out because of my ankle. Remember, the injury I had?”

“How can I forget? Baby girl, we thought it was all over, but you made it back into the game. They have no right to kick you out, I’ll come over and talk to—”

“No, Dad.” No matter how I wish I were still his little girl in times like this, I’ve got to handle things on my own. “I talked to them several times, and they explained the issue. If I continue with the intensive training, I’ll hurt myself more. This isn’t just them not wanting the responsibility: it’s my decision, too. My chances of becoming a professional ballerina were slim at best. My injury ensures that they’re non-existent, and that if I force myself, I may have trouble dancing or even walking in the future. I don’t want that.”

“Don’t want that, either,” he says, his voice hushed. “God almighty, I didn’t realize it was so serious.”

Me neither. Not until the director talked to me and I read the medical report.

“Are you okay with my decision, then?”

“I’m one hundred percent behind you, baby girl.” His voice is warm over the phone, and I relax back on the couch. “You know that. Do whatever’s best for you. Just let me know.”

“Thank you, Daddy. Need to tell Mom, too.”

“That’ll be a bitch,” he says, and we both laugh, because it will be.

Le
sigh… Not looking forward to that conversation.

***

Friday rolls around. I’ve enrolled in belly-dancing, classical ballet—of course—and Pilates. My first belly-dancing lesson was today, and it rocked. I love the freedom of it, the sensuousness.

My feet aren’t sore from pointe dancing anymore. The blisters are going away. It’s weird.

But not necessarily bad.

My day is full. After a few more classes, I head out to town. I called around the gyms to see if I could offer classes there, and a couple replied positively. I have a few interviews lined up.

I should be pleased with myself. Things are slowly falling into place.

It’s just that not everything is settled yet.

Seth isn’t the only person I’ve avoided thinking about this week. Fred is another. He did text me once to ask if I wanted to catch a movie with him and friends, and I declined, buried under a mountain of forms to fill out for the university.

But I need to see him. The way we parted last time was awkward, and after the kiss with Seth… I need to clarify things with Fred.

Was it wrong, what I did, asking him to kiss me? Are we together? He did ask me out—did I misunderstand him? He said I’m pretty, said he likes me—but he has never tried to kiss me or grope me or do any of the other things boyfriends are known to do.

Not that I want him to grope me.

Not sure what I want. It still bugs me, though, and it gets worse when I text him ask if we could talk, and he says he has his whole weekend booked with rehearsals and studying.

The whole weekend?
Jeez.
I stare at the text message, not sure how to react—how I’m supposed to react. As a friend, a buddy, I should send back a “no problem” and a smiley face.

Am I really his girlfriend? Sometimes I’m not sure. Is it supposed to be like this?

Biting my lip, I send off a “have fun” and put my cell down. Take stock of things. It’s Friday. Almost the weekend.

Fred may be studying, but I have time on my hands. I’m a college student. I’m supposed to go to parties and to bars and have fun.

No idea how to do that.

I shoot off a text to Cassie, asking for ideas, and she invites me to a street party downtown tonight.

This girl parties even when she’s down. Or maybe because she’s down? Either way, I say why the heck not?

I’ve worked hard this week to set my life back on track. I might as well party on this Friday night.

And not think of Fred. Or Seth. Or the death of my ballet dream.

Or Mom’s ballet dream. I don’t even know anymore. My heart isn’t as heavy as I thought it would be. I want to have some good fun, maybe meet new people. Literally let my hair down. Feels as if I’ve had it pulled back in this conservative bun for all my life.

Ballerina rules are going out the window. Time to learn to enjoy freedom. Loosen up. Learn new things.

The fact the street party isn’t far from Seth’s place has nothing to do with my decision to join in.

None at all.

Seth

“So your mom was gone for two years, and now she’d back from the dead? What the fuck, man?”

Micah is pacing my tiny living room, waving his bottle of beer about. I sit back and watch him. It feels damn good having someone else speak the thoughts that have been spinning around in my head for this past week.

Fucking bad week that was. Without Manon. With job interviews falling through and calling job ads only to find out the positions had been filled. With potential roommates calling but never actually showing up, and my landlord calling every day to remind me I owe him money. With my little cash close to running out, and no solution I can think of.