Free Maybe by Amber L. Johnson

in a chair in the middle of the loft, legs splayed out and a sucker in his mouth, facing the mirror and waiting for me. I go sit at his feet and begin to tie the worn satin ribbons up my left leg before starting on the right. I don’t look at him, but I know he’s staring.
    “What happened to your leg?”
    The question isn’t one I am expecting, and my hands falter a bit. I continue to look down while I answer. “Blew my knee out. It ended my career, and I never had the chance to make it to prima, which was my dream for a really long time.” I crane my neck to glance up at him. “Some dreams are just dreams, though. Not all of them come true.”
    “And the guy?” The way he says it conveys that he doesn’t want to know, but he does, and I can’t blame him because I brought it up in his interview.
    I lean back and point my toes, stretching out. “The guy . My fiancé. It’s funny, I guess. When you’re nineteen and you’ve loved someone for years, you think that life is planned out. You meet at the ballet school his mom owns. You date and plan for the future, which involves you onstage and him in the wings and his mother finally approving of you. But things happen.”
    I wait for him to say something—anything—but all he does is bend forward like he wants to hear better.
    “Look. You know how there are girls who only date musicians or guys in the military? There are some guys who are into certain things. Tim had grown up believing he’d marry a ballerina, so when that wasn’t in my future anymore, neither was he.” I finally look up at Tyler to find his face scrunched, the lollipop stick between his pursed lips.
    “He’s a fucking idiot.”
    I laugh and lean back more to point and flex my toes. “I won’t disagree with that, but I’ve had six years to get over it.”
    His fingers trail slowly over my right calf, and he sighs softly.
    “Are you ready?” I ask, slipping away from his touch and getting up on my feet.
    I want music, but I know this will be short, so I step up to the barre, avoiding my own reflection and watching him instead. The combination is not something I complete from start to finish. I do as much as I can on any given day, and though he’s asked to see me dance, it’s mostly just barre work that begins with pliés and moves into tendus. I strive to make it through to the adagio most days, but tonight I feel light and electric because he’s watching.
    “That’s beautiful.” It’s not loud when he says it, but I blush anyway.
    “I’m not even doing anything.” Coming to rest, I turn and watch his body language.
    His eyes scour my figure, starting at my legs and moving higher until we’re looking at one another in the silence. My chest feels so full staring at his face that I raise my arms and leg and spin out in front of him, coming to a dead stop just shy of his knees.
    “Are you trying to hurt yourself?” He asks like he’s pissed, but he doesn’t need to worry about me.
    Leaning into him farther, I smile and pull the sucker from his lips before I pop it into my own mouth. “I know my limits, Tyler. The question is, do you know yours?” For one fleeting second, I think maybe I’ve made a mistake, but when his hands grip my waist and he pulls me to his lap, every last fear is gone. I rest my wrists on his shoulders while he runs his hands over my arms and higher to sweep his thumbs along my jaw, tilting my head back before his mouth descends. His kisses are so soft, so featherlight that my toes instinctively flex and point, legs rigid and pressing into his. He stops, brings my head toward him, and removes the sucker from my mouth to drop it on the floor next to my feet.
    When I realize that his attention is focused behind me, I turn to look over my shoulder to see him watching us in the mirror. He kisses my shoulder and secures my hips with his arm wrapped like a vise over my spine, holding me against him while he begins to rock slowly. I can’t watch anymore