The Way We Dance by Katie Rae

5

Ty

Isat in my car outside of Brisé that next Thursday, mentally preparing myself to give Miss Priss a second chance. Something I learned early on was the importance of a second chance and I owed it to Coach to try again. He had been a father figure since I got in the league and without him, I would probably be headed down the path my brother took.

Trouble.

I was in the same spot I was in on Tuesday and had a clear view of Brisé. I waited as everyone filed out of the studio, hoping I could get in there after everyone else left.

Less witnesses.

The image of Giselle sprinting across the park the other night flashed in my head. I had been sitting in my car, wrapping my head around her holier than thou persona, when I saw her emerge from the studio and lock the door.

She didn’t know I was watching, she couldn’t have seen me from where I was parked, but I watched on as she tried looking calm and collected. But once she passed the small group of people lingering on the sidewalks, she ran.

Fast.

It was as if all the grace she exuded was dropped and replaced with fear. She ran like she was being chased, fearful of what was behind her. There was not another soul around but I kept my eye on her as long as I could to be sure.

I even got out of my car and walked a little to make sure she had gotten as far as she could, safely. When I started my car, it still took me a bit to pull away.

The mindfuck of seeing her so studious and poised, to manic and undone, was confusing. Yet, exciting.

I wasn’t mean enough to wish she lived in fear, but I was man enough to love seeing a woman like her completely unraveled. That had been twice in one night and both showing her in fear. Not surprised or stunned.

Fear.

I focused back on the door and wondered if everyone had left yet. Thinking back to a few nights before had gotten me off my focus and now I wasn’t sure if the place was empty.

But another one of the many things Coach taught me was that being punctual was a life skill. Being late was for the weak. So with that in mind, I glanced at the clock and got out of my car, jogging across the street until I was in front of Brisé.

I opened the door, trying to be louder than last time so I didn’t take anyone by surprise. Again, Coach taught me the importance of not repeating past mistakes.

“Hello?” I yelled when I didn’t see anyone in the lobby. I walked in a little further and looked through the big window where I assumed the parents sat and watched their kids do ballet. I could see the studio on the other side and I wondered if it was a two-way window or if there was a mirror on the other side.

I was so flustered on Tuesday that I hadn’t even noticed.

Giselle had her back to the window and her head down, chin to chest. Her arms were dangling by her sides loosely before she started spinning them around. I was both curious and intrigued at what she was doing, so I sat down in one of the chairs and mindlessly propped my legs up on the chair in front of me.

There was no doubt that Giselle was as uptight as the PR department at an after party. She was hard to talk to and hard to connect with. At least in the fourteen minutes I had been here the other day, she was.

Still, there was also no doubt that her body was fervent and dedicated. She walked her walk and talked her talk. Her curves and muscles were indicative of a perfect ballerina and it had me entranced.

That is, until she tilted her head up, turned, and narrowed her eyes at me. Definitely not a mirror window.

Knowing it would piss her off, and still not being able to help it, I lifted my hand and wiggled my fingers in a coquettish wave. I even managed a real smile when I could tell that she was physically trying not to roll her eyes. That would have been very unprofessional.

She didn’t come to the lobby, and she didn’t exactly invite me into the studio, but when her hands found her hips and one eye brow shot up, I took that as a sign she was waiting for me to get started.

I stood up as nonchalantly as I could, not wanting her to know that for five seconds, she kind of scared me. I opened the door and remembered to remove my shoes before walking closer to where she was still standing.

“You came,” she said flatly.

“I told you I would be back to start over.”

“I was not sure you meant that,” she sighed and walked over to a small table she had in the corner of the studio. She grabbed a phone off the table and thumbed around for a moment before music came over the speakers in the studio.

It was a soft and whimsical song. Something I could picture at a ballet, not that I had ever been to one.

Giselle walked back to me and clapped her hands in that way she did to get my attention.

“Back into the same pose we ended with the other night.”

I had no idea what she meant because the other night was nothing but insults and confusion. My face must have spoken for me.

"Stand straight and pull your feet together, both facing the mirror," she added, not sounding as put off as I thought she would when she had to remind me.

I did what I was told and looked at myself through the mirror. I had a cut off shirt on again, so my arms were on full display. Instead of shorts, I wore sweatpants, and I made sure to have a decent pair of socks on. I also had my hat on backward and I honestly thought she would ask me to take it off, but she never did.

“Now, the idea of a physical athlete, such as yourself, taking ballet is to…”

“Hold up,” I interrupted her, bringing a hand up to cut into her words. “Coach told me we were exercising, not taking ballet lessons.”

“You are exercising, but I teach ballet exercises and that is what he asked me to help you with. I am afraid I do not teach Zumba or pilates.”

I cringed because both of those sounded just as bad. I was a man, a dude’s dude. It was bad enough I was even here, but actually learning ballet? Fuck no.

“Listen, lady. Coach hasn’t been right, kinda losing it a little. Can you go over for me how the hell he made you think I needed ballet lessons?”

Her lips pinched together in frustration but she nodded. “He and I live in the same building and when we ran into one another in the lobby, he kindly asked me to give one of his players ballet lessons. I agreed, thinking that he was sending me someone that was less of a neanderthal than he did, but the more you are here, the more I understand why this is what he chose.”

“Are you insulting me again?”

“Are you insulted again?”

“You just called me a neanderthal.”

“Honestly, Mr. Black, I couldn’t help it. You seem to get your ‘panties’ in quite a twist rather easily.” She air quoted panties and I was surprised she could keep a straight face while she did it. Air quotes didn’t suit her and I wondered if they were for my benefit or deeply seeded into her uptight demeanor and accidentally slipped.

Despite her bitchy attitude, I liked her bite. She seemed to be torn between uptight and savage. Some part of me wanted her to stay uptight and the other part of me wanted to push the savage side out of her. I loved pushing people’s buttons and seeing how far over I could get them to fall.

Probably wasn’t my finest attribute.

But if I was going to play that game, I had to play hers for a minute. If I mouthed off before I could get ingrained, then I wouldn’t have a leg to stand on.

“You know what?” I clapped and rubbed my hands together. “You win. Let’s just do this.”

I pointed my feet forward and lifted my chin. I could see her unbelieving eyes in the mirror but I kept steadfast waiting for her to give me more instructions.

After a minute, she shook her head and decided that she would take the peace I gave her. She stood a few feet away and positioned herself the same as I was.

“There are six basic benefits of ballet that we can use to improve your football game.”

Doubtful but ok.

“Focus, flexibility, speed, strength, endurance, and balance. We will go over each in the coming weeks as we practice different poses and positions.”

“Weeks?”

“Or however long it takes,” she added. “But Mr. Peyton asked me to meet with you for a couple of weeks, if not longer.”

"Mr. Peyton," I air-quoted, "Is out of his goddamn mind."

She sighed and I knew she wanted to come back at me with something, but she took a minute to recompose herself and kept going.

"When we are looking toward the mirror, we are looking at our audience. We are our audience. So we will call this our en face position. There are four corners to our box….."

Not going to lie, I zoned out. I cared very little about my personal dancing box, what facing the audience was called, and only when she mentioned the word derrière did I tune back in. Of course, that was followed with a wave of disappointment when I realized she wasn't talking about her ass, but the back position of my feet.

I let her talk it out though. I did an Emmy award winning performance that made her think I was listening and before I knew it, time was up.

"Ok, wow," she huffed a small laugh that was actually genuine and a little bashful. "Time flies when I talk about body positions."

"I enjoy talking about body positions, too," I smirked, making it obvious that I was not talking about ballet.

She fought an eye roll and turned around but I did see a hint of a smile trying to creep on her face. I was a little more excited about that half-smile than I thought I would be. Who knew she was even capable of a real smile?

"We are done for the night." Her back was still to me and she was throwing some things in a bag. "I can follow you out."

I went to get my shoes and started toeing them on and by the time I did that and got my keys and wallet from the reception area, she was standing by the door waiting to lock up. She looked nervous, all of a sudden, and she didn't bother changing from her tights and small skirt. It was exactly how she left when I saw her leave Tuesday but I thought maybe she had been in a hurry since she ran. Her clothes didn't seem suited for the sidewalks.

"You gonna change?" I asked, her face morphing back into annoyance. I guess I did sound a little judgmental but I seriously didn't think she should be walking home in that, especially this late. Since I knew she lived in the same building as Coach, I knew she lived across the park and most likely didn't drive. I also knew that was where she must have been running on Tuesday.

"No time," she quipped. "I have to hurry home."

I dipped my chin and accepted her answer. Not my place, not my problem. I walked toward the door and gave her a curt nod goodbye. She left right behind me and locked the door quickly. As I walked to my car, I noticed her walking fast and looking around. As much as I was keeping an eye on her, she was keeping an eye on me.

I got to the point where I was going behind a building and she was continuing through the park so I lifted my hand in a lazy wave, acknowledging that I saw her and was bidding her goodbye. She did the same right before I disappeared behind the building.

Something made me stop, though. I worked my way back the six steps past the building that I had taken and peeked around to look toward the park. Sure enough, Giselle was sprinting down the sidewalk and looking over her shoulders to make sure no one was following her.

She definitely had to hurry home, but she was scared. This was a fairly safe part of town but I guess walking alone and late was daunting. Especially for a woman and especially one wearing as little as she was.

Once again, I had to repeat in my head that it wasn't my problem. I barely even liked the woman so I definitely didn't need to concern myself with whatever spooked her.

The thing was, I wasn't a cold-hearted jerk, despite what most women believed of me. If Giselle was spooked, then who was I to not believe she had a legit reason to be.

With that being said, I walked the long route to my car, jogging a little to catch up to where I could keep an eye on Giselle until she got to her building. Then I would double back around to my car. I knew I wouldn't be able to keep an eye on her every night, and I knew it wasn’t my job to do so, but just this one time, I was going to be sure.

Once I saw her open the glass doors to her building, I started backing away and heading back toward my car. I grabbed my phone and started thumbing through it, ready to call Coach and tell him I was not going to be his fucking ballerina for weeks on end.

Just as I hit call, I ran into someone and I dropped my phone to the ground.

"What the—" but I stopped, realizing I was looking at my brother in the fucking face.

"Hey little bro," he laughed.

"What the hell are you doing here?"

"You mean here on this street?" he looked and pointed around aimlessly.

"No, I mean here in Atlanta. Didn't I kick you out?"

"Just because you told us to leave your apartment, doesn't mean you get to decide where we do business."

I cringed at his words because I knew what his business was and I didn't want any part of it. I didn't even want to know what he was up to. "You better have left my fucking apartment."

I told them to fucking leave before I got back from camp, they should have been long gone. Staying in Atlanta wasn’t part of the plan. Not my plan and Atlanta was my city now. I didn't want my name or family attached to any bullshit on the streets here.

In Atlanta, I was a God. I wasn’t going to do anything or risk anything to screw that up. Not deal with my brother. Not get caught taking ballet lessons. Not sticking my nose where it didn't belong.

"We got a couple weeks," my brother goaded, almost looking for a fight. The crazy thing is, I loved my brother. We didn't have a bad relationship, at least not when he did his bullshit somewhere else. He and I had an awesome summer hanging out and clubbing.

"Please don't do your shit here in Atlanta," I begged. I even took the liberty of weakening my voice to plead. He knew how much I loved it here, why couldn't he leave my area alone?

"No can do, money is flowing here, LB. Me and the boys claimed these streets and there is no going back. You aren't the only Black that loves A.T.L."

I ran a hand over my face and shook my head. I picked up my phone, not even bothering to look at it, and started walking toward my car again. There was nothing I could tell Mike. He would do whatever he wanted to do. My only hope was he got ran off, got caught, or got bored before something major happened.

"Ty… Ty…. hello…." I heard my name being repeated, faintly, almost as if I imagined it. I looked around but didn't see anyone else. Only my brother thumbing on his phone and leaning against the wall where we had been standing.

I looked down at my phone to see if he was messaging me. That is when I realized I fucked up. I connected the call with Coach and dropped my phone. He stayed on the line and heard the whole conversation I had just had with Mike.

Coach knew the deal with Mike, he knew he was bad news. I had promised him a million times that I had nothing to do with Mike. Now he most likely knew Mike was not only in town, but he had been staying with me. He also knew Mike was getting himself into some bullshit here in Atlanta.

He was going to think I was getting reeled back into that life and I had to do everything I could to prove to him that I wasn’t nor would I. I wasn’t going to risk my throne in this town and on this team for anyone.

I pulled the phone up to my ear and decided to act like nothing had happened. There was a chance Coach didn't hear anything and I wasn't going to incriminate myself.

"Hey Coach, sorry. I hit call and got distracted," I cringed at my lie that wasn’t a lie. "Just wanted to tell you how good…." That was as far as I made it.

"What the fuck are you doing with your brother?" Coach yelled, cutting off my words.