Ripped

by Lisa Edward

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Also by Lisa Edward

  About Ripped

  Dedication

  Chapter One – Anyone But That Guy

  Chapter Two – Say You’ll Remember Me

  Chapter Three – Meatballs and Lettuce Leaves

  Chapter Four – The Creepazoid

  Chapter Five – Commando

  Chapter Six – Torvill and Dean

  Chapter Seven – Pointe

  Chapter Eight – American Horror Story

  Chapter Nine – A Leap of Faith

  Chapter Ten – Music Makes the World Go Around

  Chapter Eleven – Fred Astaire He Ain’t

  Chapter Twelve – No Biggie

  Chapter Thirteen – Sir, Yes Sir

  Chapter Fourteen – The Show Must Go On

  Chapter Fifteen – You Must Dance

  Chapter Sixteen – Tiger

  Chapter Seventeen – Chocolate Cake

  Chapter Eighteen – Winter Wonderland

  Chapter Nineteen – The Last Dance

  Chapter Twenty – The Bargaining Chip

  Chapter Twenty-One – A Leap of Faith

  Chapter Twenty-Two – Walk Away

  Chapter Twenty-Three – Imagine

  Acknowledgements

  Other works by Lisa Edward

  About the Author

  Copyright

  RIPPED

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination, or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons living or dead, is coincidental. Any trademarks, service marks, product names or named features are assumed to be the property of their respective owners and are used only for reference.

  Copyright © 2016 by Lisa Edward

  Cover design by Robin Harper of Wicked by Design http://www.wickedbydesigncovers.com/

  Male cover model Dez K http://www.facebook.com/dezk7/

  Photographer (male model): Kane Jarrod, Kane Jarrod Photography – www.kanejarrod.com

  Interior design and formatting by E.M. Tippetts Book Designs

  The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book without permission is a theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like permission to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), please contact lisaedward01@gmail.com. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.

  First ebook edition: August 2016

  First published as an ebook and as a print-on-demand edition: August 2016

  ISBN-13: 978-1535483056

  ISBN-10: 1535483059

  Follow me on

  Facebook: www.facebook.com/AuthorLisaEdward

  Goodreads: www.goodreads.com/LisaEdward

  Website: www.LisaEdward.com

  Songbird (#1, Songbird)

  Songbird Caged (#2, Songbird)

  Songbird Freed (#3, Songbird)

  Duty of Care (novella)

  Hook & Ladder 69 (collaboration of short stories)

  Broken coming October, 2016

  According to the Oxford Dictionary, the definition of dance [da:ns] is “to move rhythmically to music, typically following a set sequence of steps.” Technically, that’s true, but dance is so much more. What the dictionary doesn’t mention is that the movement comes from within you, from the very depths of your soul, that place that holds all your hopes and fears, all your loves and losses. Dance is a form of expression, of all the emotions that make us who we are.

  Jasmine Wilkinson

  I’ve finally made it … only six years later than expected.

  New York promises to be the experience of a lifetime, and if I’m lucky enough, a chance to dance on Broadway and fulfil a lifelong desire.

  After graduating from Boston Conservatory, I’d intended to meet the love of my life, Baxter Sampson, in the city that never sleeps, and share the rest of my life with him. But sometimes dreams don’t go as planned, and we have to make new ones. I know Bax would have made it big; he was such a phenomenal dancer. I wish I could have been there to see it happen, but I can’t wait to catch a Broadway show and see his name in lights.

  Maybe he’ll still remember me.

  Baxter Sampson

  Eight years in New York have all but stolen my dreams from me.

  After years of auditioning for every contemporary ballet production in New York, I had to admit defeat. I wasn’t good enough to make it on Broadway. I wasn’t good enough for Jasmine, the only girl I’ve ever loved, to keep her promise and meet me here after she graduated six years ago. So my plans changed—they had to. But when there’s an inexplicable force driving you to perform, you have to catch the spotlight wherever you can, even if it’s in the last place you expected to find it. My life had always revolved around Jaz and dance, my two true passions. I’ve already lost one—I can’t lose the other.

  This is for anyone who is driven by their passion. Maybe you can’t explain it. Maybe no one else understands it. It doesn’t matter what it is, grab hold and don’t let go.

  WHERE DID all these people come from? Weaving between the men in suits and ties and women in suits and sneakers, with coffee in hand, I tried not to collide with anyone. Checking my watch for the fourth time in the last ten minutes, I picked up the pace. If I wasn’t on the subway platform in fifteen minutes I would miss my train and be late for the audition, and I still had five blocks to negotiate through the never-ending throng of blank-faced professional robots.

  I pitied them. Their expressionless faces matched their gray characterless clothing. Yet as I darted through the obstacle course of people in my bright red yoga pants, black puffy jacket, and huge bag filled with various pieces of costume for every eventual style of dance I may have to perform, they didn’t seem to notice me.

  After only three weeks of living in New York, I was still finding my feet. Stopping at an intersection, I craned my neck to read the street signs, then checked the tourist map I held clutched in my hand like a lifeline that showed the entire neighborhood. I was sure I was heading in the right direction, although reading a map had never been my strong suit, and I cursed my stupidity for forgetting to charge my phone so I could use GPS.

  Standing in one place was a mistake. As a wave of people who were waiting to cross the street stepped from the curb, I was shuffled along with them, jostled and bumped as they went, without a single apology.

  But I guessed that was New York in a nutshell. It was nothing like Boston, the town I’d lived in for the entire twenty-six years of my life, up until my recent move. New York was a melting pot of culture and indulgence mixed with poverty and desperation. It really was the city that never sleeps or at least never stayed the same for any length of time. And I was the girl way out of my depth who’d had the foolish notion that I was ready to leave the Boston Ballet Company and try my luck in a city that was sure to swallow me whole.

  Diverting my focus to check my watch again, I cursed under my breath as I ran smack-bang into another wall of people. The contents of my bag were strewn across the pavement and being trampled by pedestrians who didn’t have the foresight to look down and avoid them. My eyes darted around, trying to account for my meagre possessions as they were kicked from my reach, and I scrambled on gloved hands and my knees to catch them.

  “Do you need a hand?” A shadow was cast as someone squatted down in front of me, and strong male hands clutched at my spare tights, Band-Aids, and hair brush.

  “No, it’s fine. I’ve got it,” I barked a little too sharply, worried that this stranger was about to take off with my ballet shoes.

  “You haven’t changed, Jaz—always so independent. You know for a dancer, you’re a real klutz.”

  My head snappe
d up, my eyes locking on a ghost from my past. “You haven’t changed either,” I whispered as my heart leapt to my throat and swallowed my voice.

  Baxter Sampson, the love of my life, looking every bit as delicious as he had the last time I saw him, smiled back at me. Those gray eyes that used to captivate me were now holding me prisoner as if the last eight years apart had never happened.

  “Hey, Jasmine.” The rise and fall of his chest increased. “Long time, no see.” With a sweep of his hands he gathered up the last stray items from my bag and shoved them in, then took my hand as he helped me to my feet.

  As Baxter stood to his full height, I realized how much he’d filled out over the years since I had last seen him. His navy knitted long-sleeved tee pulled tightly across his filled out chest and shoulders. His arms were huge, and peeking out from beneath his pushed up left sleeve were lines of script that I couldn’t quite make out.

  “Where are you running off to?” Bax asked. Our hands were still entwined, the warmth permeating through my woolen gloves, and even though it had been so long since we had laid eyes on each other, I felt a phenomenal pull toward him, to kiss him.

  His palm felt so familiar in mine, soft but firm, comforting yet terrifying all at the same time.

  Then he took a step back and abruptly let go of my hand and I felt the connection lost, not only physically but emotionally. We had once been so close, but for some reason Bax had stopped taking my calls just when I had needed him the most. I suppose it was bound to happen; he had moved to New York and was auditioning for Broadway shows while I’d still had two years to go till I graduated from Boston Conservatory before I could join him. At first the distance hadn’t seemed to matter. We would talk and text nearly every day. I would tell him about the lessons I was taking and who I was cast with in a workshop or partnering with in a pas de deux, and he would tell me of the auditions he’d attended and the shows he’d gone to see. Life had seemed so perfect, and I had counted down the days until I could move to New York and be with him. And then my life had gone to hell, and when I’d needed Bax to tell me everything would be all right, he wasn’t there for me.

  We’d been standing looking at each other in silence for a full minute before I remembered where I’d been going. “I’m late for an audition.” Shit! “I’m late!” Grabbing up my bag and slinging it over my shoulder, I turned toward the subway. There was no way I would get there in time unless I could break the land-speed record.

  “I guess some things really don’t change. You used to be late for everything.” His eyes sparkled as I took in my surroundings, trying to get my bearings.

  “I have to run.” I told him, my feet still rooted to the ground. I knew I had to go but my mind was telling me not to leave. In the whole of New York City, I had found Bax, and if I left now I may never see him again. My gaze swept over his attire—jeans, a long-sleeve tee and sneakers. “Are you auditioning too, or are you already in a show?”

  His hand rubbed the back of his neck. “Neither. I’m not dancing anymore.”

  I wanted to ask him why. I was sure there was a story behind the decision, but I glanced at my watch again. I now only had eight minutes.

  “Do you want to come with me?” I asked, shuffling my feet as the crowd pushed past us.

  Bax’s brow furrowed as he stood silently, studying my face for so long I assumed the answer was no. I was just about to tell him not to worry about it when he grabbed my hand. “Come on then, let’s go.”

  We sprinted together toward the corner. I went to cross the road, but Bax dragged me to the right. “If you’re auditioning for the new James Buckshaw production, this way’s quicker.”

  I trusted him; I always had when we were together, so I followed blindly, glancing in his direction with a small smile on my lips. He smiled back and my face flushed. He’d always had an effect on me from the moment we’d been paired together at Boston Conservatory in the contemporary ballet class. I had walked into the studio on my first day, a naïve sixteen-year-old, and looked around nervously as dancers stretched their limbs to impossible angles. Dressed in tights and leotards or shorts and crop tops, they’d flexed every part of their bodies to breaking point.

  Then there’d been Baxter. He’d been dressed in baggy black pants and a gray singlet. His dark blond hair that had been just long enough to tie back was in a messy bun with a loose tendril falling over his face. He’d casually stretched in between talking and laughing animatedly with a group of girls.

  When it came time to pair up, I’d held back. Anyone but that guy, I had thought, but sure enough that guy had become my partner in dance and in life.

  I’d thought he’d be cocky, and his relaxed manner had made me think he’d be a lazy dancer. But he was extraordinary. He’d lifted without effort, and he’d supported and guided me as I’d tried desperately to keep up in a complicated routine that everyone knew except me. Somehow he had gotten me through that first day without making a complete fool of myself, and after class he had offered to help me practice the steps so I would be ready the following lesson.

  For two years, he had been my everything. There was dance and there was Baxter, and so many times over the years I would have given up on the first if not for the latter.

  And now here he was again, holding my hand and guiding me through these unfamiliar streets and saving my ass.

  We made it. The train was just starting to pull away from the platform as Baxter’s muscular arm stretched out and wrenched open the door, and we both leapt inside. We found two seats together, sandwiched by more people in suits, and I took a moment to catch my breath.

  Baxter’s legs jiggled as he looked everywhere but at me. I knew the mannerism—he had something to say and was trying to phrase it in his head before speaking out loud. Maybe he was formulating an apology for what had happened between us all those years ago.

  “So, how long have you been in New York, Jaz?” He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing.

  “Three weeks.” I sighed heavily. “I finally made it.”

  “Better late than never, right?” He furrowed his brow, and his gaze dropped to his sneakered feet. “Only six years after you said you’d come.”

  I took a deep breath for courage. “What happened between us?” I asked, needing to know even after all this time why he’d suddenly abandoned me and all our dreams.

  “Why don’t you tell me?” he said harshly, running his hand down his denim-clad thigh and picking at the frayed edge of the tear across his knee.

  Heat flushed my face. How could he be angry with me? I wasn’t the one who’d stopped calling. “Well, from my perspective, what happened is you stopped taking my calls and then you changed your number just to be doubly sure I couldn’t reach you.” My pitch rose, and I looked around quickly to see if any of the commuters were listening.

  His eyes narrowed. “Well I didn’t see the point of continuing the charade between us when you had accepted a place at Boston Ballet Company. What happened to moving to New York, Jaz? BBC called and you weighed up the two.” He held out his hands like scales, balancing weights. “Let’s see. Dance for BBC, or move to New York with your loser boyfriend who couldn’t get a job?” One hand of his invisible scales rose higher than the other. “And there, we’ve made our decision. Boston Ballet it is.” The last words were filled with bitterness but his eyes betrayed his true emotions. He was still hurting after all this time.

  Tears welled, and I quickly turned my head to look out the window while I tried to compose myself.

  “It doesn’t matter now, Jaz. It’s all water under the bridge.”

  “That’s not what happened,” I said, my voice barely a whisper.

  He didn’t respond.

  I turned to face him. “That’s not what happened,” I said more clearly.

  “So what did happen? Because that’s sure how it seemed to me.” He finally looked at me, his piercing gray eyes searching for answers. “I was here for two years on my own, but that was okay, be
cause I knew you were coming and we would build a life together so I waited like we planned.” A sad smile crossed his lips. “I found a little apartment. It wasn’t much but it would have been ours.” His eyes were sad as he sat slumped in the uncomfortable seat.

  “My dad …” I choked back a sob. I doubted it would ever be easy to talk about. “Dad got sick.”

  Baxter’s eyes widened with the realization of what I was telling him. “Oh, Jaz, I’m so sorry. I had no idea.” He wrapped an arm around me, holding me firmly to his side. “I saw you were given a place at BBC straight out of the Conservatory. I thought you’d changed your mind about coming. I thought you’d got a better offer.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’m sorry.”

  My heart ached for all the time that we’d lost. “It all happened so fast. Dad was diagnosed and then BBC came to the house. They saw the situation and offered me a place and I took it. I needed to dance but I had to stay in Boston, for Dad.” My vision blurred with tears, and I shrugged sadly. “I tried to call you after the dust had settled with Dad to tell you I had to postpone my move. It was like you’d disappeared off the face of the Earth. I left messages … so many messages. Then your number was disconnected; I didn’t know how to reach you.” I wiped my damp cheeks. “You’d already graduated and been gone for two years. I thought you’d decided you didn’t want me anymore.”

  He exhaled sharply. “How could you think that? You were all I wanted. Everything I did—the move, the crappy jobs to earn enough money to go to auditions and pay rent—all of it was for you.”

  “And yet you didn’t let me explain.”

  His eyes flashed with regret. “I always was pigheaded.” He squeezed my hand in his. “I’m so sorry, Jaz. You’ll never know how sorry I am that we’ve wasted all these years. I was going through a tough time, facing one rejection after another. I guess I just thought you were rejecting me, too.”

  I shook my head. “You were the one good thing in my life. You were my future.”

  He pulled me close, lightly kissing my temple. “So much has happened in the past eight years since I graduated, but at least you’re still dancing.”