Ripped Page 8

  Stopping for a moment to take in the façade of the charcoal-painted bricks before entering, an excited knot formed in my stomach. This could be our home. This could be where Jaz and I finally set up house and started the first day of the rest of our lives together. There was no security to prevent access to the building, which was probably one reason the studio apartment was less than most in Greenwich Village, so I let myself in. The apartment was on the third floor, and I took the stairs two at a time. Apartment 3A was the first door as I reached the landing, and I knocked then waited for the landlord to answer. A dog barked from inside, its yapping growing louder as it neared the front door. Great. The landlord and a yapping dog living next door. An elderly woman cracked open the door just enough to peer through.

  “Hello, I’m Baxter Sampson. We spoke a few minutes ago about the apartment for lease.”

  “Mrs. Burrows.” She picked up the white ball of fluff and it licked her face affectionately. “This is Percy.”

  “Hi, Percy.” I reached out to give him a pat. He snarled, and I just managed to draw my hand away as he snapped at it.

  “Oh, Percy,” she cooed. “You’re protecting your mommy.” Percy went to town licking the old lady’s mouth as I screwed up my face in disgust.

  Mrs. Burrows was crazy, and her dog was Satan, but if the apartment was decent we would have to learn to live with it. The price was too good to pass up.

  “Come this way.” She shuffled out from her apartment, dressed in a robe that only just met down the middle to preserve her dignity, and slippers. Thankfully, she still restrained Percy the psycho pooch. “3B is of course next door.” She unlocked the door, and I squeezed past her tentatively, careful not to get too close to Percy. “It’s not as spacious as mine, but it’s plenty big enough for a single man.” The way she said ‘single man’ sent a chill up my spine. Where I’d thought it would be handy having the landlord close by to fix things, I now had the feeling I would be called upon to do the fixing and provide certain services.

  “I’m not single,” I told her. “I’ll be living with my girlfriend, Jasmine.”

  She nodded, unperturbed. “The rent is eighteen-hundred but I’m sure we could work something out.” She winked, and my skin crawled.

  Eighteen-hundred was way too much for this place. Most apartments had security and at least some furniture. This was one small empty room that was bitterly cold.

  “Is there heating?” I asked, trying to find one redeeming feature to latch on to.

  “Only if you bring it yourself.” For a woman who moments ago had shuffled her feet, she was surprisingly light-footed as she crept up behind me. “I’m sure we could heat this place up.”

  “Okay, well thank you very much for showing me.” In six steps I was across the room and halfway out the door. “Thank you, Mrs. Burrows, but I don’t think we’ll be taking it.”

  If I’d climbed the stairs two at a time, I leapt down them even quicker, unable to get out of there fast enough. If that was the standard of an apartment in our price range, then we needed to rethink our location. There was no way we could afford anything better, and I wanted Jaz to have a home that she loved. A home that we shared and could build memories in, where we could invite friends over and have space for beautiful furniture and still room to dance.

  The journey back to the theater had me consumed in thought. Maybe Jaz could move in to the tiny apartment above the pizzeria. I was sure Mama and Papa wouldn’t mind if she stayed, too.

  By the time I returned to the theater, the dancers were packing up for the evening. Jaz was chatting and laughing animatedly with Tiffany and Becca, and I hung back to watch the interaction. At Boston, Jaz had been so shy in the beginning, and it had taken her six months to come out of her shell and make friends with the other girls. She had maintained it was because she was focused on her lessons and dance and didn’t have time for socializing, but I knew it was because she was so introverted and feared rejection should they not embrace her and welcome her into the group. It warmed my heart to see her having grown, not only as a dancer, but in confidence as a person that she would take that leap of faith and have it pay off.

  Pierre had been less lecherous since Jaz had vomited on him a week ago at Pointe—maybe she should have done that at the start—but as I watched the girls together talking, he sidled over and was back to his old tricks. He placed an arm casually around Jaz’s waist; that was my cue to intervene.

  “Hey, Jazzy.” I approached from the other side, and she stepped away from Pierre and moved straight into my arms.

  “How was it?” she asked excitedly, chewing on her plump strawberry lower lip.

  I shook my head. “It was like a scene from American Horror Story.”

  She raised her brows at me.

  “Think horny old lady, psycho dog, and a room the size of a broom closet, and you’re halfway there.”

  LIFE WAS good. I’d slotted perfectly into a routine much like the one I’d had back in Boston with one exception—Baxter Sampson.

  I loved to dance and I loved the way the show was coming together, but I didn’t love my leading man. He was sloppy and clumsy and totally unprofessional. If he spent as much time warming up and getting to rehearsals on time as he did complaining about the surface of the stage, the lighting that alternated between being too bright, too hot and too dull, and the tempo of the music, then at least we would be halfway there to putting on a decent show.

  As he fumbled and nearly dropped me for the third time in half an hour, I couldn’t help wishing that Baxter had tried out for the role. Bax and I had practiced nearly every night since the first auditions four weeks ago, and he was outstanding. He could achieve a height in his leaps that was heavenly, before he lightly touched down. He could pirouette and stay perfectly in one spot, finishing in exactly the same position every single time. He could lift me with such ease that I felt I was soaring through the air instead of being manhandled, and when he danced, oh when he danced there was such passion in every fiber of his being. Baxter was a superstar, and I had to make it my mission to somehow coax him back to dance.

  Since I had stayed at Bax’s apartment a few nights ago, I had grasped the idea of us moving in together with both hands, and now I wanted it more than anything, but with a rigorous schedule at the theater I had to leave it in Bax’s capable hands to find us a home. I knew he didn’t mind, but I still felt like I was letting the team down and not pulling my weight. I knew I could move into the little apartment above the pizzeria permanently—I’d spent the last few nights there already—but I wanted to find something that was ours, not his that I moved in to, but ours from the very start. It was what we had planned all those years ago and although it had taken me four weeks to catch up to Bax’s way of thinking, I was finally there and more than ready to take the leap.

  Why it had taken me so long I wasn’t sure. I still loved Bax. After eight years apart, I had still thought of him and missed him every day with a void in my heart that could only be filled by him. I hadn’t changed; dance and Bax were still my life. But had Bax changed? Dance had always been his first love—well, second love after me—so how could he give that up? The events that had led to that decision were still unclear as Bax avoided talking about them every time I raised the question. All he would tell me was that he had lost faith in his ability and given up the dream, but watching him every night as we practiced in the empty pizzeria after his shift, it puzzled me as to how he could ever think he wasn’t good enough.

  Bax came in and took up his regular seat in the audience. He’d been looking at apartments again all morning but by the expression on his face, I didn’t need to ask if he’d had any luck. He looked defeated. From the downturned mouth to the way he sat with his head in his hands, I knew he’d had another fruitless excursion of overpriced shoeboxes and rat-infested apartments. I caught his eye and shrugged. We would find something eventually, but we were both becoming anxious. He had even spoken of finding another job to earn more money,
but was already working two part-time jobs that filled his Friday and Saturday nights at the bar and three evenings during the week at the pizzeria.

  Maybe I needed to find a job? Rehearsals were six days a week into the early evening, but I could work nights waiting tables or in a bar. Maybe Bax’s bar had an opening and we could work together?

  When the break came around I couldn’t wait to tell Bax my idea. I skipped toward him and lunged into his lap, smothering his face with kisses. “I’ve had the most wonderful idea ever.”

  “If it involves kissing me then I like it.”

  I giggled. “No, silly, I’m going to see if the bar you work at has any positions. Maybe I can work the bar with you or wait on tables. What do you think? Great idea, right?” I was so pleased with myself, and I waited with a broad grin for Bax to tell me I was brilliant.

  He baulked. “Ah, no, not a great idea.”

  “Why not?” I frowned. “We could work the same shifts, catch the train together. It’s a mastermind of a plan.”

  His head shook vigorously. “It’s a rough neighborhood and the patrons are … not what you’re used to. You wouldn’t enjoy it at all.”

  “But I just thought—”

  “No, Jaz, seriously. I don’t want you going anywhere near the place. Please promise me you won’t come down there. I’ll figure something out, maybe work extra shifts, but you need to focus on your dancing.” He stroked my back gently. “You’re exhausted every night after rehearsing all day; you need to rest, but you need somewhere to call your own where you feel comfortable and taken care of.”

  I knew the set of his jaw, and I was never going to win.

  “I’ll take on more. If I can’t get more work at the bar or the pizzeria, I’ll find another part-time job. I want to look after you, Jaz. Please let me.”

  I couldn’t argue with that, but at the same time I knew that if he worked another job then it would pull him farther and farther away from dance and he may never find his way back.

  “You could try dancing again. I know the pay’s not great during the rehearsal stage, but at least you’d be doing something you love.”

  “And we would never find a place to move in to if we were both surviving on dancer’s salaries.”

  He’d made up his mind, and I knew him well enough to know there was no point arguing with him. “Whatever you think is best, Bax. I trust you to make the right decision for your career and for us.”

  Of course I knew it was the wrong decision. Bax should be dancing even more than I should. He was so much better than I could ever hope to be, but I knew he’d taken a pounding, and the last thing I wanted to do was drag him down further. His pride wouldn’t take me browbeating him over this, so I let it go, for now.

  “Is that you, Baxter?” Mama called as we tried our best but failed to sneak up the side staircase to Bax’s apartment.

  I frowned as Bax smiled before answering, “Yes, Mama. Jaz and I are having a quiet night tonight.”

  The side door flew open and Mama’s beaming face greeted us. “Ah, Jasmine is with you again.” She embraced us both in an anaconda-tight grip. “Come, come. You must be hungry after all the dancing, no? Come eat.”

  This wasn’t how I’d wanted to spend the evening. I’d danced all day with only one thing on my mind, and it wasn’t sitting around a huge table with ten people I was getting to know, while they shoved plates of food at me. I wanted to spend the evening with Bax, alone, and if I could keep my nerve without chickening out, I wanted to spend that time naked.

  I sighed in defeat. “Yes, I’m hungry. Thank you.” There was no way out of it; Mama could be very persistent.

  “But she’s also really tired, Mama,” Bax interjected. “Maybe we could take something upstairs so Jaz can rest her aching feet? All the dancing really wears her out, Mama. You understand, don’t you?”

  “Ah, your feet, they ache?” Mama asked. I nodded, joining in on whatever Bax had planned. “Baxter, you must rub the feet, help poor Jasmine feel better. I’ll fix you a plate to take upstairs.” Mama scurried off, leaving us standing in the open doorway.

  “Genius,” I whispered.

  “I have my moments.”

  The pasta was delicious as always, but I was preoccupied with my own carnal thoughts. I’d told Bax I wasn’t ready, and he’d promised not to rush me and to wait for me to tell him when the time was right. As I perched on the edge of the couch, jiggling my legs, I wondered how to go about it. Did I just blurt it out? ‘So Bax, how about it?’

  Trying to seduce him would be an epic fail. I was about as sexy today as I had been all those years ago when I was totally clueless. I was still the awkward, gangly girl I had been when my mom had first taken me to ballet lessons to teach me some poise and grace; the only difference now was I’d learnt tricks to conceal the inner dork.

  Bax sat beside me, leaning back comfortably into the soft cushions, then pulled me closer to nuzzle in to his side. “So, whatcha thinking about?”

  Gnawing on my lower lip, I tried to word it correctly. ‘I’m thinking about jumping your bones’ wasn’t quite romantic enough for our first time in eight years. “You know how you said to let you know when I was ready?” I gave him the cutest smile I could muster and hoped he could fill in the blanks.

  “Ready for dessert?” he asked with a grin.

  I rolled my eyes. “You know what I mean, Bax. Don’t make me say it.”

  Soft lips pressed against my forehead. “But I want you to say it. I want you to tell me you want me the way I’ve wanted you since I first laid eyes on you.”

  Heat flushed my cheeks. “Well I can’t say it.” I climbed onto his lap, straddling his thighs. “But I can show you.”

  This was so out of character for me, and I was sure it took Bax by surprise, but if I stopped to think about it I may never have had the nerve to start again. Grasping his cheeks with both hands, I leaned down and kissed him as passionately as I could, pouring every emotion, every longing into that one kiss.

  It took Bax only a second or two before his hands ran up my sides and into my hair, fisting it and holding me in place. I gently rocked back and forth in his lap but instead of gripping my hips he continued to kiss softly, tentatively. It was too gentle, too guarded—I wanted more. With both hands, I pushed him backwards until he was lying on the couch, then lowered my body down on top of his. His strong, muscular arms pulled me closer until I could feel every peak and valley of his torso beneath me. This was better. As both his hands clutched at my ass, he ground his hips up into mine. He was so hard, and I dropped my knees either side of his thighs so I could gain leverage.

  “Fuck, Jaz,” he growled.

  “Yes please,” I gasped as rough hands ran all over my body, under my shirt and down the back of my yoga pants.

  With both hands back in my hair he gently lifted my head, my needy lips tingling from the pressure of his. “Not here, Jaz.”

  I didn’t care where. It had been too long, and I didn’t want to wait another second to feel him inside me. “Where then?” I panted.

  He picked me up as he stood, like I weighed nothing at all, and strode down the short hall and into the bedroom with my legs still wrapped around his waist. His bed was a mattress on the floor, the sheets crumpled, the quilt bunched in a ball to one side. He placed me lightly down before bending to hurriedly gather up clothes that were in the path between the door and bed.

  “Jeezus. Sorry it’s so untidy, Jaz, I was in a hurry this morning.”

  I smiled as he tossed an armful of clothing into the corner, moving the mess from one area to another. “It’s perfect, Bax.” I stepped closer, bridging the gap between us. “I don’t care about some clothes on the floor—I only care about you.”

  “You deserve better than a grubby mattress on the floor.”

  Holding his face in my hands, I kissed his lips tenderly. “All I want is you.”

  “You’ve had me from the moment we met.”

  My heart skipped as a mis
t blurred my vision. “And you’ve had me. I never stopped loving you.”

  Baxter’s body trembled against mine as he delicately kissed my cheek, then my neck, his mouth finding my earlobe and tugging. Teeth grazed my collarbone as his hands took hold of my shirt and lifted it over my head and off. I followed his lead only not so gently, yanking his long-sleeved T-shirt over his head and tossing it on the floor. My hands wandered over his body. I couldn’t help myself; his skin was so smooth. He had bulked up so much over the years since we’d been together. No longer was he the lean dancer he used to be—he was now muscle and abs that rippled from defined pecs to the mouth-watering V of his obliques.

  “Holy shit,” I muttered, trying to take it all in. He was breathtaking, hotter than I ever remembered him being all those years ago, and it made me nervous that I wouldn’t live up to his expectations. “Your body’s amazing.”

  “So is yours.” He sighed between kisses. We were down on the mattress with Bax’s leg over mine in seconds. “We can stop at any time, okay? No pressure,” he panted, his hand gripping my hip and guiding it up to meet his.

  “I don’t want to stop.” I just managed to gasp as his hand slid down the front of my sweats.

  “So wet,” he murmured against my lips.

  Pushing up against his hand as his fingers found their way between my folds, I dropped my head back, his lips scorching my neck as they continued lower toward my chest. I’d fantasized about this for eight years, since Bax had left Boston and now that it was finally happening, I wanted to relish every moment. A firm hand slid inside the delicate lace of my bra, kneading my breast, making my nipple pebble under its touch. His hot mouth followed the path of his hand, and I moaned as his tongue languidly circled before his lips drew my nipple in.