by J Q Anderson
“What are you doing?” I halted, clutching his shirt. He looked down at me and frowned.
“I’m taking you back to the Roxy, to your friends?”
“Oh, no, no. I don’t want to go back there.”
“Why?”
“Because my roommate will flip out and make a huge deal out of this. I’d rather go home. I just need ice, and I’ll be like new. I was heading over to the taxi stop in the next corner. I know the owner there.”
He hesitated for a moment, then fished his phone out of his pocket and pressed it to his ear. “I’m at the corner of Humboldt and Córdoba.” Without another word, he hung up.
In less than two minutes, a black BMW pulled over and skidded to a stop. A large shadow emerged from the driver’s seat. He reminded me of Nico guarding the door at the Roxy, his massive frame discernible even under his leather jacket. He rounded the car and paused, glaring at Danny’s unconscious body on the ground. His gaze flew to me, then to The Guy.
“Who’s that?” He nodded to Danny.
“He’s in Charlie’s band. Was, after tonight.”
The bodyguard scowled. “I could’ve taken care of him.”
“It’s fine. He went down easy.” Just as he said that, Danny squirmed about as he came back into consciousness. The bodyguard took a step toward him.
“Want me to call the boys?”
The boys? Fuck, who was this guy?
“Nah,” The Guy answered. “Not worth it. Have Tano take him back to the club. I’ll deal with him later.”
The bodyguard made a call that lasted less than thirty seconds while The Guy stepped to the car and opened the back door. I peered up at him. Whoever he was, there had to be a damn good reason for him to need a bodyguard. A shiver ran through me.
“You’re safe with me. Let me take you home,” he said in a soft tone, reading my thoughts. I stared at him blankly.
“Um…Thanks, but I think I’ll get a cab.”
He frowned. “Why?”
“I just…” I sighed. “Look, I can’t get in your car. I don’t know you, and I’ve maxed out on stupid decisions tonight. I’ll get a taxi at Pablo’s stop over there.”
He ran a quick hand through his sable hair, and even the way he did that was sexy. “Okay.” He gave a quick nod to the muscleman behind me. “Wait for Tano, then meet me at the taxi stop on the corner.”
In the small office, Pablo leaned back in his chair with his feet on the desk, earbuds in, watching a soccer game on a little TV that had seen better days. He straightened when he saw us, his eyes fleeting to The Guy. I felt relieved at the sight of a familiar face.
“Good evening.” Pablo shook The Guy’s hand, then turned to me and placed his hand on my shoulder. “Camila, princesa,” he said, looking from me to The Guy as if to assess the situation. “It’s late.”
I forced a smile, but inside my heart was still pounding. I just wanted to go to bed.
“Hi, Pablo. It is late. Any drivers ready?”
Pablo’s expression fell. “Not for another hour. I sent everyone home because Tuesdays are slow. I’m so sorry. I’ll call you a radio taxi?”
“Why don’t you let me take you home?” The Guy said.
I looked up at him and chewed on my lip.
“Look,” he said. “I know you’re shaken up. But I assure you, you’re safe with me.” His tone was confident, kind. Regardless of how insane this all was, I did feel safe in his presence. But I didn’t trust my own feelings tonight.
“Thank you. You’ve done enough.” I glanced over at Pablo. I knew he would intercede and say he would take care of my ride. But to my surprise, Pablo simply smiled.
“Camila, I’ve known Mr. Palacios for a very long time. You wouldn’t be safer anywhere else. Let him take you home.” He looked up at him. “She’s like a daughter to me, this girl.”
The Guy nodded, then said to me, “Are we good then?”
“Okay,” I said.
At the curb, the black BMW waited. The Guy opened the door and slid in after me as I gave the driver my address.
We rode in comfortable silence. Exhaustion weighed me down, and I rested my head back on the seat. The car was warm, comfortable. It smelled like leather mixed with traces of his cologne.
“You okay?” he said softly.
“Sure. Actually, I had him, till you showed up.” I smiled and he mirrored me. His mouth was sexy, dashing. “Anyway, thanks.”
“Someone like you shouldn’t walk alone at night. You need to be more careful.” The tone of his voice was firm but gentle. “You’ll feel better after you’ve slept.”
A mix of emotions whirled inside me. Tears prickled under my lashes, and I nodded. God, sleep. A luxury at this point. I would be up in less than four hours. I rubbed the exhaustion from my eyes, eager to push the thought away. “You were calm back there,” I said. “Even after that guy pulled out a knife. You weren’t worried?”
“No.”
Damn. Who was this guy? Everything about him exuded authority and confidence. The silent, but palpable demeanor of someone used to being in charge. Even in my current state, I found it sexy as hell.
Part of me wished it had been true that I could’ve handled Danny. I wanted to be able take care of myself without anyone’s help. Maybe I should start taking boxing lessons. But when? My brain hurt.
“You had some impressive moves,” I said. “Are you a black belt or something?”
“I am,” he said. He didn’t make it sound smug. Just a simple fact being stated.
“Well, I’m very impressed. And glad. Thank you.” I smiled weakly.
We got to my place a few minutes later, and even though I knew I would pay for this long night tomorrow, something about him held my interest captive.
“This is me,” I said. He followed me into the foyer.
“How do you feel? Do you need anything?” He squeezed my shoulder gently.
“A bed, a shower, ice packs. Oh, and…my night back would be awesome.”
He half smiled. “How’s your ankle?”
“I’ll be fine. It’s always my left one. It just needs ice.” I looked up at him, racking my brain for words that would make this moment last longer. His eyes blazed, an uncharted hue of pale silver. He tilted his head, and a few disheveled strands hung over his forehead. I curled my fingers, fighting the urge to touch him. And that face. Holy shit. It was as if Michelangelo had sculpted a bad boy of a future era. Beautiful and dark. A perfect contradiction between good and evil. It then occurred to me that for the first time in over a year, someone other than Marcos had sparked my attention.
“Ok, then.” He sighed, snapping me out of my daze. “You should lie down and rest. And no wandering alone at night anymore.”
“I won’t,” I promised. “Look, I know that both times we met contradict this, but I’m normally smarter when it comes to my safety.”
“Good.” He nodded. “Try to get some sleep. And let’s stop running into each other in these kinds of situations,” he said with a hint of a smile.
“Thank you so much.” A sudden impulse to wrap my arms around his neck and press myself against him washed through me. Our eyes met. Don’t go.
As if he could read my thought, he pulled me into a careful embrace and kissed my forehead. My body trembled. I took a long breath, letting his scent fill my lungs. It was a mix of suede, lavender, and soap. What was it about this beautiful, enigmatic stranger that lured me in with a force I had never felt before? I didn’t even know his full name.
X-Man, you have to have a name.
He squeezed me gently and broke away. “I better go. You need to rest.”
“Wait,” I snapped, suddenly aware I was clutching his shirt in my fist. The muscles in his chest were like granite under my knuckles. “Your name?” I cringed at how desperate I sounded. A cryptic smile played on his lips. It went straight to the pit of my stomach. Fascinating how he could change my breathing pattern with just a smile.
“I’m Sebastiá
n.”
“Sebastián.” I tasted the word, letting it linger in my mouth.
“Yours?”
“Camila.”
“Nice to meet you, Camila.” He watched me for a moment, then reached in his pocket and pulled out his wallet. “Call me if you need anything,” he said, handing me a business card. How formal. I took it between my fingers and caressed it. The paper was white linen, his name engraved in a black, minimalistic font.
Sebastián Palacios, Arquitecto.
An architect…It didn’t at all fit with the image I had put together of him so far. Why would an architect need a bodyguard? He yanked me back from my thoughts when he kissed my cheek, sending chills down my neck.
“In you go,” he whispered.
He waited for me to step into the foyer, then turned away and slid into the passenger seat of the BMW. I watched him go with a mixture of exhaustion, pain, and a strange thrill at the effect he seemed to have on me.
On the ride up in the elevator, my thoughts swirled around the events from the last half hour. What a bonehead move it had been to leave the Roxy alone. And how did…Sebastián know where to find me? Wait. Had he followed me out too? My head ached, and I closed my eyes, wishing the pounding away.
I stepped into my dark apartment, dreading being alone, though I knew Nata wouldn’t be long. Locking the door behind me, I headed to the shower to wash away the past hour, or at least part of it.
It was almost 4:00 a.m. when the sound of a lock turning woke me. Nata and Marcos walked in with a bag of food, the warm smell of baked cheese instantly filling the apartment. Marcos usually crashed on our couch on the nights we went out together. I had fallen asleep in the main room sofa, waiting for them, the images from the ponytail creep haunting me. Marcos ran to the bathroom.
“Hey,” I said in a raspy voice.
“You’re still up.” Nata set the bag onto the kitchen bar. My empty stomach growled.
“Yeah, I had a headache.” I watched her unpack a salad and grease-blotched boxes while I eased back onto the couch. Everything was right because Nata and Marcos were here. Nothing could penetrate the bubble where the three of us existed.
“Man, what a night,” she said.
“You have no idea,” I muttered.
She glanced over at me and frowned, abruptly stopped opening boxes. “Why are you icing your ankle? Did you fall?”
“I did, but I’m okay. It’s just my bad ankle.”
“What happened?”
I darted a look at the takeout. I wanted that food. I needed that food. I rubbed my eyes. “I’m fine. I was just…going to get a cab when this guy started following me, saying he wanted to give me a ride.”
Nata rushed over and sat beside me on the couch. “Dammit, Camila. You should have taken Alexei.”
I let out a defeated sigh. “I know, I’m sorry. I didn’t think I would need him.”
“So, what happened?” she said. Marcos had emerged from the bathroom and was pouring himself a vodka.
“What happened to whom?” he said.
“Camila, she fell and sprained her ankle.”
“It’s not sprained.”
Marcos approached, his jaw locked in that way it did when someone pissed him off. “What the fuck, Cams. Tell me what happened.”
I gave them a quick rundown of the events and how Sebastián had ninja-ed the asshole down and left him unconscious, then escorted me home in a taxi.
Marcos flexed his knuckles. “We’ll figure out who this Danny asshole is. I’ll fuck him up, babe.”
“That’s sweet, but right now I’m hungry, and I don’t want to talk about him. Can you just bring me an empanada?” I forced a smile.
“I should’ve come home with you.” Nata shook her head in irritation, heading back to the kitchen bar.
“I’m fine, you guys. Really, it’s not a big deal.” I looked up at Marcos. “Any cheese ones in that box?”
He handed me a plate with two empanadas and sat next to me, tossing a bundle of crumpled-up napkins between us. “Careful, they’re hot.”
I gave him a grateful smile. I never had to explain much to Marcos. He leaned down and kissed the top of my head, then scooted closer so our bodies were pressed against each other. Tears threatened, but I held them back. I just wanted to curl onto Marcos’s lap and have him lock those muscular arms around me, making me feel safe. I ate slowly while he devoured his food, his ruffled hair flopping onto his forehead. Nata brought her salad and sat beside us.
“I don’t like that you walk alone so much,” she said, stabbing lettuce angrily with her fork. “I’ll talk to Sergei. I’m sure one of the guys can hang out with you for a few days. I would feel better.”
“What? No. And please, just stop ragging on me, all right? It’s so late. Besides, I have Marcos,” I said, kissing his shoulder. “He can be my bodyguard.”
Marcos grinned. “Anytime, babe. Always ready.” Tossing his empty plate on the table, he slid his hands under me and lifted me onto his lap, squeezing his arms hard around me and startling me into laughter.
“Stop!” I squirmed, half wrestling away from the incredible feeling of being in his arms. Ignoring me, he leaned back against the cushions, pulling me with him. I winced. “Marcos, ouch.” He gave me a wet kiss on my cheek, tightening his grip to lock me in his arms. “Get your slobber off me.” I giggled. He laughed and didn’t budge. And just like that, it all felt normal again.
He slid me back onto the couch and winked at me, leaving me bereft and longing for the brief, enveloping warmth. One of my favorite things about Marcos was his ability to lighten up any situation. You could always trust him to give it to you straight, but once he felt the point was made, he did or said something funny, and the mood would totally change. I worried he would want to find the guy that followed me. Marcos was instinctively protective and didn’t let things go easily.
I admired his profile as he relaxed next to me on the couch. Everything about him was masculine, the square lines of his jaw, even his rebellious, sandy brown hair, a bit overgrown like he needed a haircut. Despite all the suffering I put myself through in the last year, I couldn’t imagine my life without him in it. Even if his feelings for me were not what I fantasized.
He re-wrapped an ice pack on my ankle with expert precision. Then the three of us snuggled up in front of the TV. My head was heavy, and I curled against Marcos’s bicep as he flipped through the channels. The earlier wave of adrenaline was replaced by deep exhaustion, and I drifted into the familiar comfort of being squished on the couch with my two friends. This is where I felt the most normal. Marcos and Nata were my family. My eyelids finally won, and I surrendered to Morpheus’s spell as a surreal montage of images flashed in my head: Sebastián…an architect…with bodyguards. Deep in my mind, an unsettling feeling swam in circles like a shark in a tank.
Chapter 5
The next morning was a bitch. My body felt as if it had been pulled apart and put back together wrong. Exhausted from the long night, I stretched on the bed and cursed at the overall stiffness that overpowered me. Fortunately, only a residual dull ache was left from the pain in my ankle, nothing I hadn’t dealt with before. Dancing through injuries was a reality all dancers endured.
I dragged myself to the kitchen and popped three Aleve to face the long day of classes and rehearsals ahead. A note from Nata tented the salt and pepper shakers. She and Marcos had already left for an early meeting with the principals, so I had the apartment to myself.
In the bathroom, a good embodiment of a zombie bride taunted me from the mirror. My eyes were bloodshot from the mojitos and rimmed with purple. I buried the exhaustion under concealer as best I could and slowly dressed, wishing I could crawl back into bed. Damn me for getting carried away by the dream of meeting Irina and whatever the fuck else. I had been totally irresponsible. The variation we were rehearsing that afternoon was a complex one, and it would demand every ounce of my concentration.
In the theater, I hurried down
the hallway and snuck into the studio as quietly as I could. Madame Vronsky was looking through a notebook and didn’t see me come in. When she did look up, her emerald eyes met mine full on. I nodded a greeting and peeled off my sweatshirt, pretending I didn't notice her look burning a hole in my back.
On its own accord, my mind drifted while my body followed the class routine it knew well, Madame’s voice a background conductor marking the tempo: “…and up, and one, two, pa, pa, pa, like this, girl, not like that. And up, and higher, Emilia wake up, and up, and two.” She walked around, making corrections with her usual stoic expression. As soon as the class ended, she called me to the side while everyone else dispersed.
“What happened.” It was both a question and a statement.
“Sorry? What do you mean, Madame?”
“I mean, what happened to your ankle?”
I blinked at her like a dumbfounded idiot. Shit. Did anything ever escape her?
“Well?”
“Oh, um. Nothing, it’s very minor, Madame. I’m okay.”
She pressed her lips in disapproval. “Listen to me carefully. You are the understudy for a principal role now. I need that to be your priority. Even when you are not here. That means your life changes. It adapts to this”—she gestured at the air—“and that means outside the studio you stay away from anything that could cause physical injuries. Do you understand me?”
“Yes, Madame.”
“Today are the first rehearsals with the corps. How do you intend to dance for all those hours en pointe with an injury?”
“I’m watching it, Madame. I assure you, I’m okay.” Our eyes locked for a moment, the ire in hers fresh, letting me know just how royally I was fucking this up, how I was proving her right. You’re not ready, girl. She then set off toward the group gathering for the corps rehearsal. For the next four hours, we would work with the choreographer while Madame sat to the side, watching everything closely.
Breathing through the heaviness in my chest, I hurried to the back to change into pointe shoes. A few of the girls exchanged looks, muttering under their breaths. I ignored them and proudly took my place at the barre, letting them know I gave zero fucks what they thought.