Rival: A Feuds Novella (The Feuds Series) by Hastings Avery

Author:Hastings, Avery [Hastings, Avery]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: St. Martin's Press
Published: 2015-04-07T07:00:00+00:00

Chapter 8

Davis was pulling on her pale pink leg warmers—classy, classic, she always thought—over black tights when her DirecTalk pinged with a message: Skip Apex, it read. Come to my studios on MacKenzie.

What’s the address? Davis typed back. Seth probably made such a great living as a trainer that he was able to keep a few separate empty studios for private lessons on the side. It made him all the more attractive—like he’d already “made it” at such a young age. How old was he? Davis wondered while she waited for his reply. Nineteen? Twenty? He’d gone straight into training after high school; it had made sense. He was an amazing dancer.

Davis was so distracted by her thoughts of Seth’s body—the way it looked weightless in the air and yet strong enough to lift any ballerina—that she almost missed the ping of her phone.

317.

That was it. Not even a smiley. Davis frowned. Was Seth not as excited about seeing her as she’d thought he’d be? Maybe their kiss had meant nothing to him. She deflected the wave of embarrassment that swept over her. No. She was not one of those insecure girls who fluttered around worrying what boys thought. Davis took a huge breath and pulled on a light silk bomber-style jacket over her tutu. If she was going to break the rules, she was going to look damn good while doing so.

***

Davis didn’t know what to expect, but the studio space was bare-bones. Only the floors were shiny and new, constructed from high-quality engineered wood. The rest was very industrial and made of concrete blocks, aside from the large glass panes that bordered each of three studio rooms. All the other studios she’d been to were sleek and luxurious and full of comforts, as if they were showing off their talent without their talent needing to actually be there. This was so minimalist, so void of frills. Davis felt a little like a fish in a bowl as she stood there, staring into the rooms. One of them was empty—was Seth inside?, she wondered, feeling her chest tighten. Inside the second, a young boy of about twelve was practicing. She found Seth and a young dancer in the third. Davis approached the glass and Seth held up his palm, fingers spread. Five minutes.

Davis waited, scrolling through her DirecTalk a dozen times for new messages. Finally, she went inside the empty studio to check things out. It was a big space—and for the millionth time she wondered how it was that Seth was so successful. How could he own all this space? She began flexing her toes instinctively. The walls were soundproof; she couldn’t even hear the smallest hint of music from the other rooms.

Eager to banish all thoughts of the previous night’s message from her mind, Davis began her basic warm-up, stretching while she waited. She moved her legs into a split, and she felt a twinge in her ankle where she’d twisted it, but the pain wasn’t that bad.

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