Pas de Deux: Part Two (A Cross and Pointe Novel Book 2) (34 page)

Sammi stretched out on her sofa, Cillian sprawled on top of her. It was Sunday evening and the Fourth of July had just passed—a long, festive weekend that was full of family time, great food, and fireworks.

The inaugural women's self-defense class had taken place that morning, following on the heels of the two-day seminar over the last weekend of June. The response had been so overwhelming, the demand for a weekly class was not only obvious but needed soon. Cillian had decided to hold it the Sunday of the holiday weekend, as he expected a smaller turn-out and could better gauge the execution of a one-hour class.

Silly him, Sammi thought, since thirty-five women had shown up at eleven, ready to go.

The seminar had not only been wildly successful, but Sammi had been blown away by how enthusiastic the participants had been. She'd acted as Cillian's assistant and also had presented her story. It made her as sick with nerves as dancing onstage for the talent showcase had, but once she'd stood up, the words had flowed from her, as if she'd memorized lines.

The women had been so receptive to her that morning that Cillian had asked her to be his permanent assistant for the weekly class, and after a few months, if Sammi wanted—she could teach the class herself.

“And I'll be your assistant,” he said with an enormous yawn.

Sammi smirked at him, watching his lids shutter down. The class had ended at noon, they'd gotten lunch, swung by to see his parents for a while, then Mel and the kids, then gone back to Sammi's apartment. Normally, Sammi would have gone to Sunday dinner as usual at her parents', but Carmela had called that morning and said that neither she nor Joe were feeling well.

“Little touch of a stomach bug, don't want to get anyone sick,” Carmela explained over the phone.

“You need anything, Ma?” Sammi had asked. “You want soup, anything?”

“No, no, sweetie. I don't wanna get you sick. We've got stuff here, we'll be okay. We'll see you later.”

So, Sammi and Cillian had both collapsed on the couch late afternoon, lazy and content to do nothing but watch TV for the rest of the evening.

“So tired,” she said, scratching his head with her nails. “Thought you were supposed to be a machine. Those ladies get the best of you?”

“Fuck, yeah, they did.” Cillian yawned again. “For some reason, they all kept wanting me to flip 'em on the mats, and demonstrate how to get out of a hold if someone has you pinned on the ground.”

Sammi arched a brow and chuckled; some of the older ladies hadn't been particularly subtle with their flirtations toward Cillian.
Can't say I blame 'em...I know just how much fun it is to get pinned by him.
“Can't imagine why.”

“They kicked some ass today, though. I'm really proud of them. But now I just wanna lay here all night.” He nuzzled her belly, eyes still closed.

She used her hip to nudge him. “It's about time for my feeding. I'm starving.”

He yawned a third time and nuzzled her belly. “I'm gonna get up in a minute. I'm hungry, too.” He stretched with a groan, then dug in his pocket for his phone. He thumbed the screen and Sammi craned her neck but couldn't tell what he was looking at. He smiled a little at the screen and put the phone away.

Sammi chuckled. Her legs wrapped around his waist as her hands kneaded gently at his shoulders. “Let's just order pizza and watch Netflix.”

“Tempting.”

“Pepperoni and pineapple...” As if on cue, her stomach rumbled beneath his ear and he chuckled.

“I'm in the mood for somethin' else.”

“Well, we'll get to that later, Ronan.” She winked and poked him in the shoulder. “For now, stop bein' lazy. You're making me wanna go to bed, and it's, like, barely six.”

“I'm gettin' up, already.” He stayed where he was. “Not really laziness, though. It's just that good, tired feelin' you get after a productive day.”

“Um. Sure.” She didn't want to ruin his contentment, but
her
laziness lately had little to do with satisfaction.

I'm not motivated anymore.

Losing the studio affected her more than she'd thought it would. Her motivation to keep working as hard as she'd been had waned. Instead of riding the high from her showcase performance and taking the next steps toward her dream, she just wanted to do nothing at all.

Okay, but you only get a couple more days to be like this. That place was not the dream. The
dream
is the fucking dream.

“What's up?” Cillian's quiet voice broke into her reverie. She thought he'd dozed off again.

“Nothing.”

“Don't do that.” He propped himself up on his elbows. “I can feel the tension in you. What's wrong?”

Sammi sighed. There was no point in trying to be nonchalant; Cillian was like a bloodhound when he suspected something was off. “I was just thinking that I don't feel very motivated lately. Since the studio got sold.”

“Have you looked for other places?” His phone buzzed in his pocket again, and he pulled it out, examining the screen.

She shrugged. “Nothing more than some online browsing. I just—I don't feel like I care right now.”

“You don't
care
?” He lifted an eyebrow. “Since when?”

“I mean, I do. But I don't. Not right now, anyway. I still want my own place, I still want to open my own studio—I just feel disappointed. And that disappointment just drained my motivation.”

“That's understandable.” He shifted over to lay alongside her. “But you absolutely cannot stay unmotivated for long.”

“I know.” She stared up at the ceiling. “I feel like my students can tell that I'm off. Yesterday they just kept giving me weird looks during class. I was distracted—I'm never distracted when I teach.”

“What can I do to help you?” He leaned in, nuzzling her neck. “What do you need?”

“Actually, helping you with the seminar stuff helped me. I felt like I had a specific purpose for that week we were working on all that stuff.”

“They responded really well to you. By the way.” He lifted his head to look her in the eye. “You were incredibly brave, telling your story. That room was so quiet while you were talkin', you could've heard a pin drop.”

One corner of her mouth lifted. “Thanks. Good thing you hired me.”

He chuckled, kissing her jaw. “Good thing it's only once a week. Do you know how much shit I would
not
get done if you worked for me more than that?”

“Oh, please. You'd be fine.”

“No way.” His lips trailed down her neck and chest as he pushed up her shirt, leaning down to nuzzle her belly. “You're very distracting.” He dipped the tip of his tongue in her belly button.

Sammi bit back a giggle, squirming and pushing at his shoulders. “That tickles, knock it off.”

Cillian grinned at her, then blew a loud raspberry into her belly, making her shriek with laughter. “Let's look at places this week. Okay?”

“Meh.” Sammi looked up at the ceiling.

Cillian growled and gently nipped her belly, making her shriek again. “I said,
okay
?”

“Fine.”

“That's my girl.” He kissed her stomach, then as if on cue, it growled loudly again. “Does it ever stop?”

“Hey.” Sammi swatted his head playfully. “I'm a growing girl. I have a big appetite.”

“I always liked that quality in my women.”

“Your
women
?” Sammi lifted an eyebrow at him. He lifted his face from her belly and grinned at her.

“Nah, baby, that's just jokes.”

Sammi rolled her eyes. “Okay, Eddie Murphy. But, seriously—I'm hungry.”

“All right, all right. I can't deal with hearing your stomach gurgle all night.” His phone buzzed again, and he pulled it out.

“You know food is the way to my heart.” She frowned at him as he stared intently at his phone screen. “Hello. Are you listening to me?”

Cillian glanced at her and tucked his phone away. “Of course. You said food is the way to your—” He stroked his hand up her thigh and she laughed, a little breathlessly.

“Don't start,” she warned. “I'm cranky until I've been fed. I might go praying-mantis on you and bite your head off.”

“Yeah, all right.” He got off her and pulled her to her feet. “What does the lady want on Sunday evening?”

It was Sammi's turn to yawn. “I was serious about ordering pizza. Then we don't have to go anywhere.”

“Actually, I was kinda thinking La Cucina. You've made me a believer. That steak I had was awesome.”

“I don't wanna change, though,” she whined. She was still wearing the NYU tank top, cropped leggings, and flip-flops she'd put on for class. It was certainly not appropriate for the upscale restaurant. “And that place is fancy.”

“Fuck fancy. We'll get it to go.” Cillian shrugged and tossed an arm around her shoulders and hauled her into his side, kissing her on the temple. “Damn, you're crabby when you're hungry and tired. You're like an infant.”

“Whatever. Just feed me.” Sammi stretched up on her toes and wrapped her arms around his neck, before brushing her lips to his. He made a noise of pleasure in the back of his throat, pulling her closer. She smiled against his lips. “And then
feed
me.”

“Roger that, ma'am,” he murmured in her ear before nibbling the lobe lightly. Her stomach growled again loudly, and he sighed, smacking her bottom as he moved her toward the door. “Let's go. Your stomach is cock-blocking me.”

“Some things just come first.” She grinned at him, reaching up for another kiss on the way out.

They took the T downtown to avoid the hassle of parking. It was a beautiful evening, too, so the walk around the downtown area was pleasant. Sammi took his proffered hand and hugged his arm as they walked toward La Cucina. Then, she gave herself a swift mental kick in the ass.

“I forgot to call the order in. Now we have to sit and wait for it.”

Cillian smiled and tilted his head down, brushing her lips with his and punctuating the kiss with a little nip to her bottom lip. “I don't mind waiting with you.”

Oh, well.
She leaned her head on his shoulder.
I can think of worse ways to spend my time.

As they neared the restaurant, Sammi slowed to a stop at the corner. She glanced down the block, where her studio—
no, not mine anymore
—was.

“What's up?” Cillian looked over his shoulder at her.

“I want to see if anything's been done to it.”

Cillian looked at her doubtfully. “You sure that's a good idea?” He didn't budge when she pulled on his arm, instead reaching out to grasp her shoulders. “Listen, this place is water under the bridge. Tomorrow, you and me—we'll start looking around at some places, okay? Don't torture yourself.”

“Just let me go look.”

Cillian sighed, but shrugged. “As you wish.”

Sammi pulled on his hand and led him around the corner, scanning the building's facade. Her eyes narrowed; the sign was down. The old door with chipped paint had been replaced with a new glass door with black trim and a black handle. The scraggly, ripped green-and-white striped awning had been replaced with a brand new lavender-and-cream striped one. She glanced up to see if there was a sign for the new business, but it was covered with a tarp.

“They sure didn't waste any time.” She cupped her hands around her face and pressed it to the window, trying to see inside.

The back wall was painted the same shade of lavender as the awning. There was a big wooden desk at the front, in the corner by the entrance. On top of it was spread a large calendar, something that looked like an appointment book, and some decorative items, including a short crystal lamp, a round vase of what looked to be cream-colored peonies, a gold stapler, a gold decorated coffee mug with a variety of colorful pens stacked inside, a letter tray, and notepads.

Cillian joined her at the window. “Wonder what this is? Like a spa, or salon-type thing, maybe? I see lots of girly stuff on the desk.” He reached out and tried the handle, and to Sammi's great surprise, it opened. He blinked at her. “Guess...they're open?” He nodded toward the inside. “You wanna check it out?”

She hesitated, but the curiosity to see what her dream space would be at the hands of new owners was too strong to ignore. “Sure.”

He held the door open for her and on the way in, she saw that in addition to the lavender paint on the walls, there was a swirling cream and silver border at the very top and very bottom of each wall.

Pretty. I like it. And hate it.

Where the front wall stopped, a short hallway began, leading toward the back. In the hallway, there was a large enclosed room with a door to her left and more wall to her right. The room had a long lookout window in one wall, and she rushed up to it to see what was inside. When she saw what it was, her jaw fell and rage curled in her stomach.

“Cillian. This place—it's a
dance studio
!”

“No way. You sure?”

Sammi jabbed a finger against the glass of the window. “Pretty damn sure.”

One wall of the room was covered in floor-to-ceiling mirrors. A double barre ran the length of two of the other walls, and a big shelf with a sound system was set up against the middle of the third wall. The floor was wooden, shiny and brand-new—there were none of the tell-tale scuff marks from hard pointe shoes or tap shoes.