Dance for Me (Fenbrook Academy #1) - New Adult Romance by Helena Newbury Page A

his neck, my head pressed up against his. “Sorry.”
    “Are yours alive?”
    I felt myself shake my head. “No. Foster parents, since I was fifteen.” I could hear the pain in my voice, and I knew he heard it too.
    We lapsed into silence.
    “Do you want—I mean, I wasn’t sure if you—” He stopped and started again. “Do you want to keep doing this? Dancing for me?”
    “Yes! God, yes, I love it. But...not if it’s just....” I shrugged my shoulders, hoping he could feel it against his back. “I mean...you don’t have to pay me to be here.”
    He craned around to look at me. “Does the money make you uncomfortable?”
    “Not as long as it’s for the dancing.”
    “It’s for the dancing.”
    “And you really need it? It really helps, to see me dance?”
    He nodded, and jerked his head towards the whiteboards. “I really need it.”
    I took a deep breath. “Then I want to keep doing it. But I’d like to—Can we do something else? Together? A date?”
    He smiled. He didn’t smile often, but when he did it was light-up-the-room fantastic. “I’d like that.”
     
    ***
     
    We hesitated as we left the elevator, listening for the shouting. There wasn’t any. Had one of them left? Were they sitting reading the newspapers?
    Then, as we got closer, there was the crash of something breakable hitting the floor. I turned to look at Darrell. “Oh.” I was just a little disappointed. I thought I’d sensed something between them. I thought that was why Clarissa had worn that dress.
    We rounded the corner. “ Oh!” I said again, very quietly.
    Clarissa was half-lying on the table, the newsprint from the New York Times rubbing off onto her dress. Her outstretched arm was what had just knocked a mug off the table to shatter on the floor. One of the catering pots of coffee was lying on its side, hot coffee glugging out across the table—luckily, away from her.
    Neil was between her legs, one hand hiking her already short dress up almost to her hips, the other under her back. It was almost violent—I would have been worried, had Clarissa not been kissing him with wild, unrestrained hunger.
    For a second I worried about disturbing them. Then I realized they were completely oblivious to us. I exchanged looks with Darrell and got another of those fantastic smiles.
    We waited by the front door. “Tomorrow night?” he asked me.
    “I have to work. Monday?”
    “Monday. I’ll call you.”
    We both glanced towards the kitchen again, as if afraid of being caught—why?—and then he was kissing me again, soft and gentle, a teasing kiss that sent heat rippling down my back. I had to stop myself giggling. How long had it been, since I giggled?
    I closed the door behind me, making sure to give it a good slam that Clarissa and Neil would hear. Sure enough, she came out a few minutes later.
    “ That man!” She was almost spitting out the words. “Smart enough to know better, but he’s all— urgh!”
    “Mm-hmm.” Her hair was mussed, as if from strong hands stroking through it. We climbed into the car.
    “Remind me never to come here again with you. I can’t stand to be in the same room with him.”
    “Mmm.” I thought about telling her that her lipstick was smeared, but decided it was more fun not to.

 
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
    Chapter Eleven
     
    Natasha
     
    Saturday night at Flicker. There’s an unwritten rule that, if you have to work a weekend shift, your friends come along as customers to keep you company. Clarissa had to rehearse, but Jasmine was there and she’d brought Karen.
    Flicker was a bar, opened twenty years ago by some group of low-budget filmmakers who needed somewhere to meet—and a way to make money when their films kept bombing. They’d kept the lights low—like, trip-over-something low—and invested in hundreds of screens, hung all over the place like an art gallery. The screens showed random, classic scenes from movies, minus the sound, which made