❝Sadist,❞ I accused. ❝You only brought me to New York so you could torture me.❞
❝Masochist.❞ Grinning, he pressed his forehead to mine. ❝You stay because you like it.❞ His charming green eyes promised me more. ❝Enjoy it; I want you to. When your m...
The apartment complex had a fairly large gym on the ground floor. The main room was reserved for the heavy machinery like the weight sets and ellipticals, a few smaller rooms set aside for classes like yoga and Zumba. If you knew the schedule, you could sneak between sessions and claim a room for your own. Nobody bothered you once you were inside, as long as you put the mats away and cleaned up after yourself. Above being cleanly you had to be brave. Large glass windows had been inserted into the back walls; you could be observed any time by any one.
Claiming the largest of the rooms, I shut the door behind me. Stereo in one hand, towel draped over my opposite shoulder, I walked to the far corner, depositing the stereo and the towel. All prepped in my sports bra and leggings, I re-tied my Nikes, double-checked my bun wasn't coming loose, then rolled my neck and shoulders. Ritual complete, I pressed play on Summer Walker's Girls Need Love, and used my body to tell the story.
Contemporary was my niche. Under the guidance of Tyler's mom, I learned ballet and modern styles that over time I adopted and began to mix. Madelyn's dance studio was the beginning of everything, and the reason I fell in love with Tyler, the reason we met.
I pretended this was the place.
One song flowed to the next and I flowed with them, leaping, spinning, curving my body in graceful arcs. I danced like I had a partner, sometime to share the beat with. When I closed my eyes or glanced in the mirror, Tyler was dancing with me, filling in the blanks.
I didn't stop until the sweat was dripping, until my heart was a constant thunder in my chest, and my limbs were floating in space. Until I couldn't feel anything but the music.
The last song on the last track on the album came to a close. Breathing fast, I trotted to the corner and scooped up my towel, slinging it around my neck and using the ends to dab my face. Turning back around, I started at the group gathered at the windows, camera phones out, ogling behind the glass.
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"Wow, Liyah, that's really you." Scrutinizing his phone, A'keem seemed genuinely impressed by the viral YouTube video.
It was movie night.
We were all in the living room, sprawled on the leather, L-shaped sectional. To the right, A'keem had one section to himself, a couch pillow propped under his head as he did the one thing his publicist warned him not to - read through his Twitter page. "A fan posted your video to my account." A'keem was grinning from ear to ear, teeth sparkly as the diamonds in his ears. "They said I should put you in one of my videos."
Tyler and I were cuddling, his arm slung on the couch-back, playful fingers stroking my shoulder. Leaning into him, my head on his warm, hard chest, I watched the movie, his heartbeat strong and steady in my ear. I felt it when he stiffened, looking at A'keem with murder in his eyes.
"The girls in your songs are video vixens. That's not what Ali is."
I straightened, frowning at Tyler who was so busy glaring at A'keem that didn't notice. I could be a video vixen if I wanted to be a video vixen - not that it was at the top of my list or anything. I just didn't want Tyler deciding for me. Opening my mouth to defend myself, I was cut off by A'keem.
