"Yes, but what we do there is just the tip of the iceberg. I have this idea for a totally interactive show. Something that entertains an audience and doesn't just cater to the old fogies who want to be high-brow and say they went to see the Nutcracker. Something anyone and everyone would like. All ages. All backgrounds."
"Wow."
I steal a glance at Jared to gauge his reaction. I can't believe I've actually expressed the ideas out loud, but now that I have, my excitement rolls behind them like a giant bulldozer. There's no keeping it back. I've been stewing on these ideas since high school, for God's sake.
Jared smiles. "That sounds incredible, baby. What would it take to make it happen?"
And then everything goes flat. That familiar choking heaviness returns.
"Whatever you just thought about, you'd better kick it the fuck out of your head," Jared growls, surprising a laugh out of me.
"I thought about what I'm supposed to be doing when I graduate."
"Which is?"
"My dad's willing to invest in my career, but only to help me open a dance studio. For kids. Which is cool and all. I like teaching okay, but…"
"That isn't your dream."
I have a little more room to breathe just with him saying the words. "Right."
"So the plan is open a ballet studio, teach what you learned from your uptight professors, and be a good little ballerina?"
That laugh-sob is becoming my new go-to reaction. "Pretty much. The thing is-I don't even consider myself a ballerina. If I were a serious ballerina, I'd be at least fifteen pounds lighter and I would've been apprenticed to a professional company by the time I was fourteen. My mom wanted this for me, but not badly enough to ship me off to New York or San Francisco.
"It's probably not too late for a performing career in modern, but it still would involve me going to New York City. The 'ents don't like that."
"Do you want that?"
For some reason, I have the sense Jared's holding his breath.
I consider it. The idea excites me, but it might only be because I want anything different than what I have now. Would I create my company there? It's doubtful. I'd probably get swallowed whole by all the desperate dancers clawing to succeed. Get caught up in waiting tables and going to auditions. Struggling to please a new master. Stuffing this inner voice of mine back down again.
"No. Not really. I still wouldn't be doing what I want to do-choreographing. Creating."
"Okay, so back to my question. What do you need to execute your vision?" There's a determination in Jared's eyes, like he's going to make this happen for me. I shouldn't get excited, but I can't help it. It's the first encouragement I've had, and I'm going to take it and run with it.
"I picture it in a warehouse. Some place we could transform for different shows. I'm picturing silks and trapezes or hoops rigged from the ceiling, dances in water tanks-crazy stuff! The audience would be led through the space-almost like a haunted house. There would be a new performance around every corner. They'd stop and watch and then their host would bring them to the next spot. Maybe six minutes for each piece-everything perfectly timed and coordinated."
"I can get you a warehouse."
I stop and stare at him. "What?"
He rolls his tongue under his lower lip, pushing it out. "I have a warehouse space you can use."
"Are you serious?"
"Yeah. What else do you need?"
I swallow. "Um, I'm not sure. I'd have to trick it out. I don't really have money for that, and my dad would never invest in something that's not a solid business venture, like a ballet studio."
"Why isn't this a solid business-nevermind. Forget your dad. He isn't your only resource. Tell me what you need and we'll figure it out." We've circled around a few blocks by now and are back in front of my place. "Want to do another loop?" he asks.
I grimace at my flip flops, which weren't the best choice for walking. "No, not now. But thanks. You were right, walking helped." We head up the steps to my place. "So you're a runner?"
He unlocks the door and lets me in. "Er, no. I mean yes, but four-legged," he says with the sexy grin that makes my knees go weak.
I stop and face him, tipping my face up with my best puppy eyes. "I want to see. Show me your wolf? Please?"
His arms loop around my waist and he palms my ass, yanking my core up against his jeans, where his very impressive erection bulges. I see indecision dance over his expression. "I can't, baby," he says on an exhale.
I try to hide my disappointment. Try to remember why we can't do this. We aren't a couple. We never can be. We're forbidden to each other.
Romeo and fucking Juliet.
I think I'll make a dance about it when I have my show. Throw myself off a balcony in a dive that makes the audience gasp before the bungee around my ankle picks up the slack.
Oh my God, I can't believe I'm actually thinking like I'm really going to have the performance.
"So I want a list of what you need in the warehouse. The setup-everything."
"Jared-" I take a step back, out of the circle of his arms. We're not even dating. Not a couple. I can hardly ask him to let me use his warehouse for my show. Not when his existence may be wiped from my mind in less than two weeks. "I appreciate your offer, but I can't accept. I need to do this on my own."