Dear Valentine: A Gay Romance Story (Opposites Attract Series Book 2) Page 3

  “Oh, yeah. Sorry. I think a mixed dance. A little classy, a little freestyle.”

  “Sound like a solid plan. Well, I’ll see you around,” he murmurs and turns in the other direction, heading for his group of friends who are waiting for him. I notice the guy that had been whispering in his ear glare at me from over his shoulder. I turn and walk away toward the dining hall, completely perplexed as to what that was all about. In all this past year, Gregor had never once shown an interest in me. Nevermind a desire to chat me up in the hall before. I had seen him around last year, but figured he was running with his crowd and wouldn’t give me the time of day. Not that I was, or am, looking for anyone right now. I have to give my focus completely over to the dance if I ever want a shot at the lead role.

  When I enter the dining hall, I find Katarina in our usual corner. The black and gray plastic seats are scattered around, as we are the only two who sit in this corner of the dining hall. I get in line and load up my tray as I look around to wait for Gregor and his friends to come into the dining hall, but they don’t show up.

  “What was that all about?” Katarina asks.

  “What do you mean?” I startle and look over at her.

  “Just that, in all this time, Gregor has never talked to you before. Did he ask you out?” She nudges my shoulder as I shove her playfully back.

  “No. He just wanted to know what part I am trying out for.”

  “That’s it? That’s all he wanted to know?” Her tone is dry.

  “Yeah, why?” I ask through a mouthful of kale.

  “Because, he can easily figure that out at tryouts, silly.” She sighs in exasperation.

  “So?”

  “So, you think he took the time out of his schedule to come talk to you about what everyone around here talks about? School and performances? He never once spoke to you before and now all of a sudden, it’s so important for him to know your thoughts. You really are dense sometimes Colin.”

  “I…I…well why didn’t he say he was interested in talking about something else then?” I demand. She rolls her eyes at me.

  “You’re a guy. You know how you all roll. Very rarely do you actually say you’re interested in something. Sometimes you point and grunt, other times you purposefully ignore the very thing you are interested in. Don’t ask me to understand the macho man thing, because I don’t. But yeah. He was trying to tell you he was interested.”

  “Well, I don’t get it either. But there you have it. I blew it. So, can we move on? I want to try out a couple of moves before class this afternoon.”

  “You go ahead. I’m going to continue enjoying this nice, cheesy piece of pizza.”

  “Yeah you do that. I’ll leave you to the love of your life then.” I give her cheek a peck and she punches my shoulder, but looks happily back at her pizza. I roll my eyes in turn and head to the studio.

  Chapter Three

  That afternoon, the session goes by at a snail’s pace. Madame has us begin with the basics for Swan Lake, which everyone knows but she puts us through the paces anyway. When it is time for the run-throughs, it is evident who she has decided are the leads, because she places Angela and Eric in the front of the class to take position.

  I watch as the two of them move around one another with a fluidity that can only be described as singular. Even though they are two separate bodies, they move as one. It is apparent why Madame prefers them to any other, because there is something more to the way they dance with each other, an understanding of some kind that links them in a way that just performing the moves doesn’t. If it weren’t for the fact that everyone knows Eric is openly gay, I would guess that the understanding or emotion in the way they dance together is passion, but it is something altogether and entirely different.

  When the class is over, it feels strange to me to have an entire evening of free time. I meet with Katarina in the dining hall for dinner and she eats quickly, taking off without explaining where she is going. Like most people, she is probably going to prepare a dance and wants to be alone to think it through.

  When I get back to the studio, there are several students already working and I realize I am never going to be able to focus in there, so I go in search of another empty studio.

  As I walk through the hallways, I hear a number of different songs playing from the rooms and occasionally glance at snippets from the choreography they are putting together. I hear and see a lot of different styles and suddenly I am wondering if mine will be good enough.

  I can’t find an empty classroom, so I try the auditorium one last time before deciding on my back up plan. When I enter the large room, I'm relieved to see no one in there. I hurry down to the stage and hop up. It feels massive to me with no one else present, and no other dancers performing with me. The wooden floor is scuffed and marked from hundreds of performances being done.

  I circle the stage a few times, trying to get a feel for the atmosphere. I haven’t chosen a song yet, but I drop my bag and quickly pull on my jazz shoes. I pirouette a few times across the stage, allowing my body to loosen up and for inspiration to come over me. I notice a folding chair stage left behind the curtain, where someone in charge of dropping the curtains had been sitting. I pick it up and set it in the middle of the stage, allowing the vision of a bench in the city to cloud my mind. I fuse the fantasy with the reality of the chair being there. I imagine that like so many benches around New York, this is the one I will be interacting with and this is the one that will be an obstacle for me.

  I dance around the chair, spinning faster and faster and then pull out so that I grab the chair by its back and sit down, exhausted. I’ve seen this pose by so many strangers throughout the city. The benches in the park, the bus stop benches, the benches on the streets. So many people have sat on them, unaware of the lives that have come and gone from that one spot. I let my weight fall away as my feet pick me up from my perch. I let the dance communicate that I am leaving my trials and worries behind. The freestyle, I let my body move into turns, into something that is about freeing myself. The anger towards my family for not allowing me to be open about who I am. The anger at how grueling and hard it is to shine brightly as the best dancer, but only to be shown up by Eric again and again. And finally, all of the emotions that come with openly admitting that I am gay, all come pouring out of my body as I dance.

  I reach the edge of the stage and stop, holding my arms up and backing away on pointed, arched feet. I shuffle backwards as if I had just cast it all from the stage and there is a new feeling that enters me as I sashay backwards. Elation, happiness and wonder begin to enter my dance. I picture Katarina’s face in my mind, and I perform a Batterie. I feel warm and welcome as I think of our candor and honesty with one another. I feel love for having a best friend who brings humor and fun to my life.

  Then I think of Gregor. I don’t know why, but his face enters my mind. I perform a Déboulé. As I hurtle my way up the stage, I wonder if I am trying to flee from the image of him in my mind, or if I am performing the move because with the thought of him, my heart races and I feel my spirit lift and take flight. I stop at the edge of the stage again. I shake my head, trying to clear it of thoughts of Gregor. He can’t be a factor in this dance. It needs to be about interacting with the environment and battling the will. I snort at the irony of that thought, because it is a battle of my will to get him from my mind. I bend, taking in a few deep breaths and wipe the sweat from my brow. I circle the stage one more time, but freeze when I come back around, and the very person I was trying not to think about, is leaning on his forearms at the base of the stage in the center. Gregor’s eyes bore into mine as I stare at him. It takes me a few moments to think of something to say.

  “Did you need the stage? I’m sorry, I couldn’t find a quiet place to practice and think, but if you need the stage to practice…”

  He doesn’t say a word, but puts both hands flat on the stage and uses his muscles to hoist himself up. I look stage left and right, subconsciously s
eeking an escape. I have never been alone with him. What could he possibly want? As he walks closer to me, I am unaware at first that I am walking backward, trying to escape his advance. I force myself to hold still as he draws nearer.

  “Sorry,” I say again. “Did I do something wrong? I didn’t think there were school rules about not using the stage. Is it drama practice tonight?” I realize I am babbling but he just smiles.

  “Calm down.” His voice is like rich, smooth, honey. I stop talking as he finally stops walking toward me, only inches from me. I inhale, without realizing. His aftershave is musky and rich. I sway on my feet. It must be the blood flowing so swiftly through my body from the exercise. I look around for my water bottle and spot it at the far end of the stage. It looks so far but it would definitely be seen as me running away if I walk toward it. I take a few deep breaths, calming myself down. “You’ve got some intense moves. I was watching the dance,” he says in a low voice.

  I stare up at him, not sure how to respond to the fact that he has been watching me. “Um, thanks?” I try.

  He chuckles and continues. “Any idea what you’re going to use for music?”

  “I was thinking Beethoven’s 5th Symphony,” I supply. I had been wondering myself. I know it needs to be something intense, angry and fast paced.

  “I’ve heard it,” he says. “Can I offer some advice though?”

  “Yeah sure, what’s that?” I ask. It takes me by surprise that he knows the classical genre. I wonder where he has heard it.

  “Don’t choose music that you normally dance to,” he offers. I crinkle my brow, curious and confused as to why he’d say that.

  “What do you mean?” I wonder.

  “It’s just, I watch you dancer types sometimes. I could never be a dancer like that, but I love to dance, you know what I’m saying.”

  “You want to be a Danseur?” I can’t keep the incredulity out of my voice.

  “Not necessarily, but I do love to dance. The thing is, you always go for classical pieces. I know Madame Roussou is classically trained, but that’s not what is going to make you stand out. I chose drama because there are so many different styles you can choose from when auditioning for plays and musicals. There’s so many variations of music and pieces that can speak to a person, you know?”

  I nod, as understanding begins to dawn on me. “I wasn’t picked because of ballet,” I explain. “I was the lead in The Lord of the Dance. Madame Roussou happened to be in attendance with a recruiter from the admissions department, and they approached me after. But the piece is performed with tap dancing.”

  He shakes his head. “Alright, alright. See, that’s what you need to focus on: what made you stand out. I’ve been walking around the school, thinking about what I could do to have the same effect for myself, and all I see is dancers performing traditional pieces. Those aren’t going to be the ones to get the roles. Eric and Angela, they’ll be cast into leads automatically because they look the part of the ballet people. But if you want a real shot at getting the lead role in the musical, you have to stand out and not in your appearance. I imagine you get a lot of flack for that red hair,” he grins at me.

  “Yeah, I do,” I agree.

  “You need to make your dance stand out man.”

  “Thanks for the advice.” I look up at him from under my lashes. I hadn’t realized how tall he is until I am standing next to him. He’s at least a few inches taller than I am, but his height and more pronounced muscle mass are sexy. My brain kicks into overdrive and I suddenly envision what it would be like to be held in his arms.

  “No problem,” he murmurs. I feel him rather than see him take a step closer to me as he says it. I had quickly glanced back at the floor after staring too long at him. I feel my pulse quicken and I rub my palms on my sweatpants. I work to control the urge to step back.

  “Can I give you another piece of advice?” he asks. His voice is almost a whisper near my ear and I swallow hard as I try not to turn my head and steal a quick kiss. “Don’t apologize all the time for being around. If I didn’t want to be near you, I wouldn’t have come to find you,” he murmurs. I feel the brush of his lips against my ear and I shudder, unable to repress the electric jolt that even the softest contact had sent shooting through my body. I squeeze my eyes shut as I sway on my feet.

  “I’ve been watching you for a while now,” he confesses and my eyes pop open.

  “You have?” I squeak and clear my throat.

  “Yeah, and then I decided to come talk to you after I caught you staring at me this morning.” He smiles as he admits this to me. Before I can pull away, his arm shoots up and he cups the back of my head as he draws me in for a kiss. Being encased in his arms is just as I had fantasized, and his kiss is even more intoxicating as he lowers his head to mine. His lips are large and soft, and I feel completely engulfed in him as his tongue slips out and touches my lips. I cling to his hoodie and tilt my head back, allowing him to dominate the situation and control the kiss. I try to arch my back to hold the erection that had thickened the length of me in my fitted sweatpants. There’s no denying that it is there. I had gotten hard the second his lips touched my ear, and the kiss is driving my arousal into a frenzied state.

  He senses my hesitation and uses his other arm to wrap around my waist, drawing me flush against him. I jump in surprise when I feel the thick length of him pressed against me through his own jeans. He groans as we come in contact and I quiver as he deepens the kiss. We stand there, pressed together and grinding against one another.

  He only breaks the kiss off as his lips trail down over my jaw and neck and I moan as I feel his hot tongue run over my Adam’s apple. The vibrations from his mouth send shivers of pleasure racing along under my skin. I feel the tension begin to throb between my thighs as his touches hit my nerves and shoot through my system, sending signals in a cascade of pleasure downward. I dance and jiggle in his arms when his palms cup me from behind through my sweats and begin to massage. The contact causes us to press harder into one another in the front and I can’t escape the sensations which have started to spiral out of my control.

  A dull ache has begun down below, and the feeling is causing the ache to spread through the length of me as it throbs and tingles. I break off the kiss, afraid I am about to embarrass myself for my lack of control.

  “Gregor!” I surprise myself when it comes out high-pitched and a cry of need. He nips at my earlobe again, having found the spot that is extra sensitive and sets me to jumping in his arms. His teasing is maddening and just as I’m about to lose control and be lost in his arms, a voice calls from the podium area,

  “Not interrupting anything, am I?” Eric’s sneer sounds through the whole stage and I jump back. Gregor is more casual to let go as I struggle breaking free. I notice his eyes are dangerous as he stares at me. Raw lust is shimmering in his gaze, but as he turns to Eric, it changes to something threatening.

  “What do you want, Eric?” he demands. I take the opportunity to dash across the stage and escape. I pick up my water bottle, my bag, jump down off the stage and run up the aisle to the door.

  I jog all the way to my room and slam the door, locking myself in. I pace my room with my arms above my head, afraid to touch my hypersensitive skin as I try to breath some control back into my body. I look around, hating the plain beige walls and navy blue bed set. They offer no visual distraction for me to get caught up in and forget about what had just happened. I spend so little time in here, I hadn’t taken the time to decorate or hang posters or anything. The room is small with a single bed and dresser. I have a small t.v. I never watch on top of it, and a bean bag chair in the corner that Katarina sits on, for the rare times we do have time to just hang out and relax.

  The ache between my thighs is maddening and I usually don’t spend much time thinking about sex or anything like that, because I prefer to focus on more important things like my dancing and college career. Sure, I have the occasional session on my own in the bathroom or i
n bed, but no one has ever made me feel this intensely before, and as I pace, I realize it kind of scares me. I don’t want to lose focus on what’s important. Gregor McCallum is a distraction I don’t need right now.

  When I am finally calmed down enough to sit, I do so gratefully. I lie back on my bed and let my hand trail down the length of my stomach. I’m irritated with him now. Is this a ploy to get me distracted to be able to win the casting role? Anger surges through me as I realize it worked. I’m so hard there is no way that it’s going away unless I do something about it. I turn and punch my pillow in frustration. Maybe that had been his plan all along, to distract me in order to get the stage all to himself. I mean, what do I really know about Gregor except, he’s easy on the eyes and looking at him makes me fantasize about being in a relationship with him. What bugs me is every time I do catch glimpses of him, he’s smiling, and he looks like he is happy. Like being here at school isn’t hard work and he’s just having fun. Maybe that’s the attraction, a man who can just be causal, carefree, and have fun.

  I think about the amount of times I have smiled in Madame Roussou’s class and realize, it isn’t often. The classes are hard and I’m usually so focused and determined to achieve perfection, it isn’t fun, it’s just hard work.

  I cup myself as I fantasize about Gregor’s smile and the feel of being trapped in his arms. It doesn’t take me long to finish. I have never had a boyfriend, despite knowing I’m gay. I’ve kissed a few guys, but nothing ever led to anything because I use my dancing as a way to shut them out, so I don’t have to get involved with anyone. Damn Gregor. He’d used the one thing I used as a shield as a way to get to me.

  When I’m done, I go and shower, letting the hot water clear my mind and relax me so that when I enter my dorm again, I fall asleep almost immediately. I don’t see the light on my phone indicating there is a message for me from Katarina, and it isn’t until the next morning that I find out what she had been trying to get a hold of me for.