Ripped (5 page)

Jaz picked up the steps easily, having memorized part of the routine after watching it through only once, but her partner struggled. When he was supposed to support her as she pirouetted and leaned back, he was completely in the wrong position, and Jaz went crashing to the floor in a heavy thud.

Pierre clapped his hands loudly. The music stopped in an instant.

“You!” he bellowed at Jaz’s partner. “Off. Go. Now!” With a flourish of his hand the dancer was told in no uncertain terms which way he was expected to go, which was down the stairs and out the door.

Jaz was still clambering up, rubbing that sweet little ass that was now obviously slightly bruised. She also had just lost her partner. The combination, along with the fact that we’d already been there for several hours and she was exhausted, had tears springing to her eyes.

Pierre walked over to her, placed his hand on her shoulder, then wiped a stray tear from her flushed cheek with his thumb. I sat farther forward on my seat and tried to relax my clenched jaw.

With a nod of Pierre’s head, the music started up and in a move that was uncharacteristic at these auditions, the choreographer partnered Jaz through the piece. She moved so gracefully, and because she was confident that he knew what he was doing, she allowed herself to blindly fall backwards when required and take a flying leap into his arms.

At the end of the piece, Pierre held her a little too long for my liking as he gazed down into her upturned face, the rise and fall of her chest accentuating her round, firm breasts. He was too familiar with my Jaz, the look in his eyes making me crack my knuckles as my blood boiled.

The group was then broken up into five, and I waited for Jaz to come back to her seat, but instead she waited in the wings with everyone else for her turn.

Leaning back, I let out a gigantic yawn. Fuck, these auditions were boring as hell, but I now had the chance to pull out my phone and do a little surfing. Seeing the way that wanker choreographer had looked at her gave me the urge to look Jaz up to see if he was the type of guy she’d been dating all these years. It was funny—I’d forced myself not to follow her on social media. I didn’t want to know what she was doing or who she was seeing. If she didn’t want me then why should I care about her? Now, I frantically searched page after page that mentioned her name, clicking links to social events and photos to see who she was with.

Found one
. In a simple yet stunning fitted pink gown, she smiled sweetly at the camera. But it wasn’t Jaz I was most interested in. Who was the dude she was with, and why was his arm around her with his hand resting on her hip? Too fucking close, asshole.

On my phone it was hard to read the tiny caption. Hmm, let’s see. Jasmine Wilkinson with curator Robert Thompson at the gala opening of some hoity-toity gallery.

Okay, now I was on a mission. With a few clicks I’d found the entire album of pictures from that night. The guy was in several photos, all with various people, so maybe not a date. I breathed a little easier. After searching until my battery ran down to five percent, I confirmed that this was the only time Jaz had been captured on film with any guy.

The first day of auditions was finally a wrap, and the remaining twenty dancers left the stage and made their way to the seats to gather up their belongings.

I stood to stretch out the kinks and shuffled past the end seat to the aisle. Jaz’s face was flushed from exertion but her smile was so bright, it lit up her entire face. When she was ten feet away, she squealed and took a less than graceful flying leap at me. Stumbling back a step, I just managed to catch her as long, lean legs wrapped around my hips, her face nuzzling my neck.

Oh, Jesus
. I squeezed tight, my hands holding her up by the ass, and inhaled the sweet, intoxicating scent of Jaz. She’d been dancing for ten hours so she was hot and sweaty, but she smelt like fucking sunshine to me.

“Can you believe I’ve made it through to casting?” She glowed. Her eyes sparked, her cheeks were still flushed, and her smile lit up the emptying theater.

“Yeah, I can believe it. You’re fucking awesome, Jaz.”

“What do you think my chances are for the lead? Oh my God, I have a one in ten chance of being the female lead in my first, slightly off-Broadway production.”

I didn’t want to let her go, but she unfurled her legs and stretched them down until her feet touched the floor. “I think you have a great chance. You danced circles around the other girls and half the guys.” We turned to walk toward the seat I’d been occupying for the entire day, and Jaz’s bag. “And I think the choreographer took a shine to you.”

She giggled, and my jaw tightened. Was she happy that Pierre had a hard-on for her?

“I don’t think he’s interested in li’l ol’ me, Bax. I think you’re more his type.”

Shaking my head, I grabbed up her bag. “You never did have a very accurate gay-dar, Jaz. The guy was all over you.”

Her T-shirt was pulled on over her head. She stepped into her bright red yoga pants then zipped up her warm puffy jacket. “I believe someone owes me a dinner. And after dancing all day, I’m starving.”

I
COULDN’T
believe how easily Baxter and I had fallen into our familiar banter. In fact, I couldn’t believe that after not seeing each other for eight years or speaking for six, that we had bumped into each other in a city that was teeming with people.

Was it fate? Or was it coincidence? Either way, it was so good to have a familiar face in this enormous city where up until today I had felt totally alone.

We cuddled into the farthest corner of the train and finally relaxed after an exhausting day. Baxter hadn’t let go of my hand since we’d left the theater and was still holding it. His thumb circled and ran over my fingers lightly, caressing my skin, awakening something inside me that had been lying dormant since Baxter had left Boston eight years ago.

I craved his touch and not only on my knuckles. I imagined his hand running up my arm, tracing tiny circles on my forearm the way he used to. His hands had never been still, always on me, but always moving over my flesh and reminding me that I was alive and he was there. And he was doing that now—stirring those feelings, arousing the butterflies in my stomach until they were swirling frantically and my breath shortened.

“You okay, Jaz?”

I closed my eyes and tried to calm my breathing. It was ridiculous that a simple touch on my hand had me practically panting.

“I’m fine, Bax,” I replied huskily.

His pupils blackened. “Do you want me to let go of your hand? To stop touching you?”

My stomach clenched. “No. I want you to touch me.”
God that sounded desperate
. “I’ve … I’ve missed you.”

The corner of his mouth twitched up into a half-smile. “I’ve missed you, too. You have no idea how much.”

The train shuddered as it slowed, and Bax peered out the window before standing, pulling me with him.

We bound through the doors at Canal Street, and Bax led me by the hand for five blocks until we reached Mulberry Street in Little Italy, stopping outside a quaint-looking Italian restaurant.

“Bax, I’m not dressed for dinner.” I sniffed my armpit. “And I stink. I need a shower.”

“Don’t worry. You’re fine.” He chuckled as the door was pushed open, and the little bell chimed to announce our arrival.

The place was practically deserted, save for a group who sat at a large round table that was covered in a red and white checkered cloth.

“Is the food any good?” I whispered to Bax. “There’s no one here.”

“All the important people are here.” He indicated with a nod of his head to the table. “This is my New York family, the Giancolis.”

Just as he had finished saying it, a loud, welcoming cry rang out as a short, buxom woman with a round, cheery face bustled over.

“Ah, Baxter,” she said in a thick Italian accent, as she pinched his cheeks and gave them a good, hard squeeze. “You bring a girl to see us.” Her focus shifted to me as the rest of the diners came over to greet us.

“Mama, this is Jasmine.”

I smiled and gave a little wave. “Hi.”

“Ah! This is
the
Jasmine?” Now it was my turn to have my cheeks pinched. “She’s a beautiful girl, hey? No wonder she’s a so special.”

So Baxter had told them about me? I glanced in his direction in time to see his cheeks flush. Yes, he had, but what had he told them?

We were surrounded by the mob of people who seemed to be appearing from every hidden corner of the restaurant. Between hugs and kisses on both cheeks, we were guided to two seats at the table as more chairs were pulled up.