We settle on poker, and for nearly two hours we spend our time staring one another down and trading our fortunes away. I end up winning the whole of Logan’s student loan debt, and he somehow manages to walk away with an IOU for a quarter. We jokingly debate who came out on top—I argue in favor of my new fortune. It is late, and we finally say our good nights still laughing about our ridiculous gambling. I don’t want the night to be over, but I know I’ll have to get up early just to get home in time for Sara to pick me up.

* * *

I just can’t seem to get enough of her. She is driving me crazy, and all I want is to be near her. My attraction to her is insane, not to mention inappropriate. I can’t help but laugh at her silliness and shyness. She is so unsure of herself, yet she radiates with intelligence and strength that are as much a turn on as her physical appearance is to me. I like seeing her in pajamas as much as I do in jeans or, better yet, the mandatory gondolier outfit she wears to work. And I’m constantly enticed by what is under her clothes. I can hardly sit in the same room with her without imaging myself pulling off her clothes and fucking her. I can’t even think of Amy anymore with any interest. My thoughts just shift to Rowan.

I had no business asking her to spend the night, but I just couldn’t stand the idea of the weekend being over already. I’m never sure when I will see her next, and it drives me insane with wonder. I spend long hours of the day, wondering and hoping today will be the day when her father graces the pub with his presence. I wish she was here every night, and I’m overcome by ridiculous jealousy at the thought of hormonal guys from her classes even looking at her.

I know I’m pushing the limits of decency with her but just can’t seem to stop myself. I’ve always prided myself on my self-control, but it vanishes in an instant when it comes to Rowan. And it certainly hasn’t escaped my attention that she’s an adult now and more than capable of deciding who she chooses to fuck. But desire aside, I won’t cross that line with her … not her. There is truly no point. I’m moving halfway across the country in little over half a year. And I won’t take advantage of her, knowing I’ll be walking away from her. Never mind the fact my family would kill me if I ever did anything to hurt Rowan. And I’m not entirely sure I could ever forgive myself either.

I try desperately to push the thought of her out of my mind, and I vow to get control of my feelings for her before it gets out of hand. I swear to myself, lying here in my lonely bed, I won’t allow myself to indulge in her company any more than is necessary. This decision, of course, sounds more like torture than decency, but I’m resolved.

Chapter 6

Christmas is fast approaching, and the weeks have fallen away. I’ve somehow managed to keep my vow. Rowan has spent little more than the necessary time at my apartment. I still enjoy every second of my time with her but have managed to keep things as platonic as I can manage. It is a constant struggle when she is around to keep my mind on this world and not my imaginary world where she and every part of her belongs to me. But then the blizzard hits.

* * *

The wind is blustery cold. I keep my head down, trying to shield my face from it. I can barely see the sidewalk as the snow is still falling and drifting faster than anyone’s shovels can keep up with it. Thank God I’ve got a warm jacket and good boots. I become entranced by the sidewalk, or at least the ground where I think the sidewalk is. Suddenly, a horn honks from behind me, and I snap back to reality. As I whip my head up and around, I lose my balance and start falling. I manage to catch myself but not until I’m in a full and awkward squatting surfer position. I look up to see what asshole thought honking at me would be a good idea. It’s Logan, and he is amused. He’s smiling at me and laughing. I can’t help but smirk back at him with my best “eat shit” look. After getting myself upright and standing again, I wade through the high drifts of snow to his passenger door as he lowers the window.

“Get in.”

I open the door and climb in, thankful for the warmth of his car. “Do you always honk at young women on the street?”

“Do you always put on such a good show when you are honked at? Hell, if memory serves, it didn’t even take a horn the last time you put on a show like that.” I flush with embarrassment, remembering the stepstool incident at the lake house only a month or so ago. Damn him and his ever-quick comebacks. “Where are you going in this weather?”

“I have a dance lesson with Anthony.”

“I see, and how is it Anthony’s managed to stay open when the rest of the town is closed down?”

“He’s technically closed, but I agreed to come in anyway. It’s my weekly private lesson, and I didn’t want to miss it.”

“Huh. That’s devotion, isn’t it? I’ll take you. You shouldn’t be out walking around, even in that adorable polar bear get-up you’ve got on.”

I blush. I must look pretty ridiculous. We pull up to the studio within a few moments, and I thank him for the ride. He asks how long I will be, and I assure him it will not be more than an hour. As I start to climb out, he catches my arm. “Why don’t I stay and take you home after. I have some research material I need to look through, and I can start on it here. I don’t want you walking home. It’s supposed to keep snowing, and it’ll get a lot colder when the sun goes down.”

“You don’t have to do that. I’ll be fine.”

“You always say that, but you rarely are. You seem to enjoy making reckless decisions—like venturing out in this weather for one.”

I smile at the smirk on his face and shake my arm free from his clutches. “Fine, come in. There’s a couch in the studio you can use.”

He follows me into the building and into the studio where I meet Anthony. Anthony knows Logan well from the years Sara and I have been coming and is happy to see him. Logan makes himself comfortable on the couch with a book while I begin my lesson. I’m nervous about Logan being in the room during my appointment. I’m usually never nervous when I dance, the one thing in life that doesn’t terrify me completely, but I’m nervous nonetheless with him here. I try my best to put Logan out of mind and begin stripping off the layers of clothing I’ve got on down to my leotard and tights.

* * *

I beg my brain to concentrate on my book but can’t seem to keep my eyes where they should be. I keep looking up and watching Rowan. She’s pulling off her clothes, and I almost choke until I realize she has her dance clothes on underneath. She is sitting spread eagle on the floor, her back to me, lacing her toe shoes up her ankles. I can’t take my gaze away from her. She looks up to the wall of mirrors in front of her and catches me watching her from behind. She smiles shyly, and I smile back. I sit with my book open on my lap for the entire hour but don’t manage to make it past the first page.

I watch her as she stretches. I watch her as she goes through positions. She is beautiful—her lines so elegant. She may look small and unobtrusive at any other time, but when she’s in her element, she radiates and takes over the room. Her face is confident and calm, seductive but not intentionally so. The way she moves is so effortless, and her body is so amazingly balanced as she easily forces her body into positions that would make the average person groan in pain. I almost burst out laughing as I remember the acrobatics she attempted just shortly ago outside on the sidewalk.

Watching her body move is mesmerizing and does nothing for my vow to control my desire for her. Gay as Anthony most definitely is, I’m unrealistically jealous of the way he is allowed to touch her, pushing her legs into exactly the position he wants, turning and spreading her hips at his leisure, even sliding his hand around her firm buttocks to catch the back of her thigh and lift her leg at just the right angle. I catch myself holding my breath on more than one occasion, and by the time her hour is up, I’m her number one fan. I love ballet. She strolls over to me and sits down. She looks down before I even notice and sees just how far I’ve not made it in my book. I’m still on page one.

She smiles shyly before commenting. “Must be a boring book.” She has no idea…

“In comparison to other things, yeah, you could say that. Are you ready?”

We say our good-byes to Anthony and head back out into the frigid Michigan weather. I don’t want to take her home, and in a moment of weakness that has been building for weeks, I break my own rule by asking her to stay with me. The moment the question comes out of my mouth, I know I’ve made a mistake, but I’ve denied myself with her for so long I can hardly bear it. I can see her looking at me from the passenger seat, and I resist the urge to look back, afraid she’ll see the desperation in my eyes. She finally says sure, and we say nothing on our way back to my place. I know full well I’ve broken the rules and have no good justification for doing so.

When we return to my place, we set about making dinner. I love being in the kitchen with her. Cooking is something I love to do, and I especially love her company when I’m doing it. We talk and laugh the whole time. She tries to help but can’t even manage to cut a carrot without sending it sailing across the kitchen. She resorts to reading some of the research material I’ve brought home to work on out loud to me while I’m working. It is surprisingly helpful, and I absorb far more information than I thought I would. Besides, listening to her talk is a complete turn on, and I’ve given up stifling my desire for the night. I have no intention of acting on my urges, but I won’t deny myself the pleasure of those feelings.