Free Waking Kiss by Annabel Joseph Page B

my better judgment, I headed down the deserted corridor toward the corps dressing rooms.
    *** *** ***
     
    Since my Sleeping Beauty debacle with Rubio, I’d become obsessed with doctoring my toe shoes. I’d developed an exacting ritual to prepare each pair so I had three or four ready to go at any given moment. First I sanded down the satin tips of the toes for traction, then bent the shank in a slow and careful process. I sewed my elastics and laces on at a specific angle and only then did I go to work on the boxes, alternately kneading them and banging them on the dressing room floor until they lost their echoing “knock.” Bang, bang, bang.
    My practice behavior grew equally compulsive. Dance was all I had now; I had to make it count. I came early to class and warmed up twice as long as my fellow artists. I grimaced through each exercise, needing every movement to be flawless. When I had a bad class, I fell into a funk for hours. Performances were a little easier to deal with, since adrenaline distracted me from all but the worst faults. Bang.
    But after the performances, I had to go home. Bang, bang, bang, bang.
    I didn’t know if it was the bed that kept Liam Wilder on my mind or if I was just cursed to never forget him. I stopped mid-bang, running my fingers over the gathers of satin under the toe. My memories of him were so vivid, I could practically smell the scent of his cologne.
    I lifted the shoe to bang it again but then I sensed someone behind me. I whipped around, preparing to scream. A hand clamped over my mouth as I stared into wide amber eyes.
    I’m not proud of it, but I clocked him on the side of the head with the shoe. Hard. He let go of my mouth to rub the spot.
    “Jesus, Ash. Hello to you too.”
    He was dressed for the theater in a tailored charcoal coat and navy blue tie, his hair cinched back in a loose ponytail. He looked amazing.
    “You gave me a heart attack,” I said, trying to hide my physical reaction to his hotness. “Why are you here?”
    “I heard banging. I thought someone was being beaten to death.”
    I twisted the satin ribbons around my fingers. He was smiling, teasing. Beautiful. All I could think of was the way we’d left things, my abrupt meltdown and the fact that I hadn’t called him in all this time. “I’m working on my shoes,” I said. “Did you come to see Rubio dance?”
    “Not Rubio. This pretty ballerina I know.” He advanced a step for every step I retreated. “How have you been, Ashleigh?”
    I crossed my arms over my chest as he stalked me into the corner by the costume racks. “I’ve been really busy. I’m— I— I have classes, and sews to shoe—I mean, shoes to sew— and…spring rehearsals, and…a lot of dance stuff.”
    “A lot of dance stuff, huh?”
    I considered running away from him, but what was he doing to me? Just talking in a soft, friendly voice. Handsoming me to death. A lock of hair had escaped his ponytail and curled over the shoulders of his expertly fitted suit. The quality of the garment reminded me of the sheets he’d bought, the sheets I’d slept on for weeks now.
    “Uh, thanks,” I said, flushing. “Thank you for the bed.”
    “You’re welcome.”
    “I’m sorry I didn’t call and thank you before now. I lost your number.” I took another step back, squelching the urge to hide behind a row of tulle skirts hanging to the right of me. “The bed’s so beautiful, but…you know…you didn’t have to do that.”
    “I wanted to.” He gave me an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry I broke into your place to deliver it. I wanted to surprise you.”
    “You definitely surprised me.” Yes, and broke the goddamn law. I looked up at him from under my lashes. “If you did it because you felt guilty about that night—”
    “It was a gift. It had nothing to do with anything except me wanting to give you a bed without any devils under it.”
    His words were easy and affectionate, but the memories were killing me. “I