Mark

“Danny says you’ve been assigned to me,” Faith says, stepping into the auditorium where I’m waiting the next day to practice with her. She’s not wrong. Danny has officially made me Faith’s gatekeeper, because Theo is too much of a dick to do it without scaring her off. I hadn’t realized I’d been so welcoming to get the privilege of wasting my time with her, but here we are.

“Yeah,” I mutter. “What fun.” Today, she’s dressed in black and gold leggings that show off the dancer muscles in her thighs and calves, as well as another off-shoulder sweatshirt that openly gives a peek of her black lacy bra. Her blond hair is pulled up in a messy bun today, and while she’s not wearing any makeup that I can see, it doesn’t really matter. Faith’s beauty is natural, and I’d be lying to myself and everyone else if I said I didn’t find her attractive, despite my feelings about the team.

“Look,” Faith says, dropping her dance bag at her feet. She puts her hands on her hips and glares at me. Gone is the naive, scared little girl, and I know why. Our dance together yesterday changed something in her. She knows what she’s got and she isn’t afraid to flaunt it. She’s good. But so am I. “I understand that you don’t like me,” Faith continues, her gaze never wavering from mine. “But honestly, Mark, I no longer care.”

My name rolls off her tongue easily, and a spark of desire travels through me. But I can’t. I can’t let myself fall for her, because this is a business transaction only. I’ve sworn off relationships and for a good reason. I refuse to let her intoxicate me with her hot body and words.

“I don’t expect you should care,” I say, holding my phone up to find a song we can practice to. It’s hard not to stare at her, to admire the soft curves of her body, the way her cheeks flush with heat when she’s riled up …

“Well, good then,” Faith says. She approaches the stage, arms over her head as she stretches those muscles, neck rolling from one side, and then the other. I gaze back to my phone and pick a song to warm up to, pressing play.

“This is an old one,” Faith says as the music plays. “Take Your Shirt Off.”

“As you wish,” I tease, reaching up to yank my tank top off. I toss it to the side, pleased when Faith’s eyes land on my abdomen. I try not to boast about it too much, but the dancing the three of us do certainly forces us to stay in shape, and I can't blame Faith for checking me out, even as a red flush rises to her cheeks.

“Nice,” she mutters, and I flash her a wicked smile.

“First things first,” I say, hopping up on stage and grabbing her hand to pull her with me. “I need to teach you how to dance.”

“I know how to dance,” she complains, already looking flustered.

“No.” I shake my head, still grinning. I could have fun with her if nothing else. As long as it’s at her expense. “You know ballet.”

“Ballet is dance, genius.”

I’m surprised by how soft her hands are; dainty, and my own palm and fingers wrap tight around hers, engulfing them. Fuck, she smells good. Some sort of perfume with hints of lilac and vanilla.

“What are you doing?” Faith demands as I take her hand and place it against my bare chest. Her cheeks flush pink with humiliation. I can tell she’s uncomfortable with the sudden shift in mood, but I don’t let her back away.

“Stop,” I tell her as she tries to take a step back. “Just stop. Relax.”

Faith’s nostrils flare as she stares at me, befuddled, and I smile. “Close your eyes,” I murmur. “And focus on the beat of my heart.”

I’m pleased when she does as she’s told, closing her eyes warily as I shift her hand up and over my heart. I, too, close my eyes, feeling the rhythm in my ears.

“There’s your beat,” I say softly, pulling her forward into the middle of the stage. “Keep your eyes closed. Dance to it.”

Faith takes a deep breath, her eyelids fluttering, but she doesn’t open them as she begins to move, feeling the stage with her feet, moving cautiously but freely as I step back to watch her. She’s tense, her muscles bunched as though she’s getting ready to bolt at the first sign of trouble. She twirls and leaps across the floor, her movements a mix of grace and clumsiness—a beautiful contradiction that captures my attention. She’s awkward in front of me; tense.

Her delicate form tries to mimic the elegance of ballet, but her feet stumble, her arms flail, and yet, there's an undeniable passion in every step. She dances as if the entire world disappears, lost in a realm of her own creation. It's raw, unrefined, and utterly captivating.

She spins on her toes, her eyes shining with determination. She's not the polished, technically flawless dancer that I've seen before. No, Faith dances with a reckless abandon that draws me in, making me forget everything else.

I watch as she attempts a pirouette, her body wobbling precariously. Yet, she refuses to give up. Her lips curl into a determined smile, and she pushes herself further. The room becomes filled with a sense of both vulnerability and strength—a potent cocktail that both mesmerizes and inspires.

She’s doing well, but she’s not doing enough. I want more … I need more from her. As Faith continues to dance, I notice the flicker of frustration in her eyes. She knows her movements are far from flawless, and yet, she doesn't let that deter her. Instead, she embraces her imperfections, using them as fuel to propel her forward. It's a bravery that I've rarely seen before, and it ignites a fire within me.

“Faith,” I call, shaking my head. She opens her eyes and stops dancing, meeting my eyes.

“What?” She puts her hands on her hips defensively, ready to chew me out.

“You’re not doing what I want you to do,” I say, and she sneers at me.

“What do you want me to do, Mark?”

“I want you to let go.” I sigh and run a hand through my hair as frustration rises in my chest. “I don’t want you to just move your body. I want you to dance. Feel the music. Feel the rhythm.”

“I am.”

“You are not.” I shake my head, grunting with annoyance. “Dance is an art, Faith. It’s not a competition.”

“Of course it is,” she argues, and I find myself wanting to kiss those red lips just to shut her up.

“Not always,” I tell her. “Above all, dance is an intimate display of our emotions. Happy, sad, in love …” With a shake of my head, I approach Faith and reach for her again. This time, she doesn’t hesitate as I step behind her and then abruptly pull her against me, making her gasp in surprise. In this position, with her beautiful body pressed against mine, I have to focus hard on not allowing my body to react to her the way it wants to. I’m supposed to hate the girl, not fawn over her body. “And Lust,” I finish in her ear, and Faith shivers.

Suddenly, all I want to do is fuck her.

“Mark,” she murmurs, unsure. She’s tense as I wrap one arm around her from behind, cradling her stomach, and then place the other hand on her hip. She shifts, wary, but I don’t relax my grip.

“Do it again,” I whisper. “Close your eyes and feel the beat.”

She swallows, and then closes her eyes. For a moment we don’t move, simply stand there as I hold her . . . and then we dance.

I take a step, and then another. Faith follows my rhythm, uncertain at first, but as I move us to the beat of the music, she falls into step with me, her eyes still closed, lips pursed as she breathes between her lips in intense focus.

“Good,” I murmur, moving my hand from her stomach and up to her neck, where I trail my fingers down her sensitive skin. Faith’s eyes flutter, but they don’t open, and I slowly move away so she can show me what she’s got. Try as I might, I can't help but feel a connection to her as if we share a common yearning to break free from the constraints that society places upon us.

As another moment passes, and without even realizing it, I find myself moving closer, my steps mirroring hers. I yearn to be a part of her dance, to share in her journey of self-discovery. It's as if her spirit has awakened something deep within me, something I thought was long gone.

This isn’t going like I hoped it would—with nothing but udder disdain for our new dance partner. Fuck it all.