Rian doesn’t ask again if I’m going to let Brielle get away from me. She knows the answer and now that I have her blessing, the need to make the future become the present is buzzing under my skin.
“I invited her to my birthday party,” Rian tells me right as I reach to put my truck back in gear and I freeze. “Is that okay?”
When I look at her, I can see the sly calculation in her eyes. It’s all part of her plan. I should never have let Mom show herThe Parent Trap. And I’m talking about the original version.
“Yeah,” I blow out a breath while trying to hide my smile, “I’m good with it.”
Little does my daughter know, I’m not waiting until her birthday party to claim my woman. Brielle is mine and I’m not going to pretend that she hasn’t always been mine.
CHAPTER 8
BRIELLE
I’d love to say I wake up slowly and it’s like the start of some princess movie where the light is coming through the window in perfectly slated rays. Except it’s not how it is at all. Because I wake up suddenly and all at once.
When I jolt up in bed, I look around the room with wild, wide eyes. The silence is what hits me first, and then the emptiness.
I’m alone again.
Fucking hell.
Tears prick the backs of my eyes, but getting emotional over this isn’t going to help. Still, I’m so angry it’s difficult to breathe for a moment.
Then realization hits me. I’m in Cowboy’s room on one of the club floors of Elysium. I’m not even sure if I can get out of here because I think I remember hearing a beep last night while I was dangling over a certain shoulder like I was being carried away by some treasure hording dragon.
My eyes slide closed as I take a few deep breaths and try to get myself under control. Raging to mask the hurt of waking up alone, again, after spending the night in Everton’s arms isn’t going to help. But, fuck, I wish he were here so that I could tellhim exactly what I think about him.
It takes me a few minutes in the bathroom and the entire time I tell myself that I can’t keep doing this. Falling back into Everton’s orbit isn’t going to help me make my dreams into reality. Dancing at Elysium is a job, nothing more, and I've prided myself on being professional for years. I can do it with this job too.
It’ll just mean walling off my heart to Everton. And Rian. I need to keep my distance and my head down. I’m here to dance and save money to go toward my next dream.
Time isn’t on my side. I know it; I can feel it.
It’s going to take time to build walls around my heart, impenetrability isn’t instant, but hopefully they’ll be strong enough when put to the test. There’s also the amount of time I’ll still be able to dance. I can bemoan younger dancers getting better jobs in New York all I want, but I’m not getting younger and that’s just the truth of it.
I’ll never stop dancing, but the limits my body puts on me have changed. And it’ll continue to change. As much as I hate it.
Which means if I want to open my own studio then I need to save quickly.
I’m grateful I was able to keep ahold of my bag when I was leaving work last night as I start to pull clothes out of it. You never know when you’ll need a change of clothes and I wasn’t going to be left in a position to ask another dancer for help. I learned that lesson the hard way.
You only need to be sneered at by another dancer one time as they begrudgingly give you clothes when you need them. To save face, I made sure to return those clothes to her washed andI went out and got another set of clothes of the same style as a thank you. Did I force her to give me a little respect? You better fucking believe it and I would do it again.
And I’ve never been without at least one change of clothes since.
My movements are jerky as I yank on a pair of sweatpants. As I reach for my tank top, the door swings open behind me. I let out a screech and clutch the fabric to my chest as I turn toward the door.
Everton’s eyes are locked on my barely covered tits as he slams the door shut behind him. The heat in his gaze licks at my skin, but I push the feeling away.
“What the hell?” I bark out the question, and his whiskey-colored eyes snap up to meet mine.
“Why are you out of bed?” His voice is like gravel as he takes a step closer to me.
I take one back, but it doesn’t feel playful. Everton immediately freezes, feeling the tension in the room. His eyes search my face and even though I don’t know what he sees, his shoulders drop.
“I’m sorry,” he rasps. When his eyes meet mine, I can see regret in them. “I shouldn’t have left you here alone.”
“Again,” I challenge.