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“Do tell.”

I do my best to cover the strain in my voice. I can’t help but be distracted by how her skirt keeps trialing higher the more she settles into her seat. I’d give my last life to feel her soft skin under my fingers again.

“Haven asked me to choreograph her new single.” She beams with pride, but there’s a hint of something else floating around in her head. I see it written all over her face.

“Sounds fun. What’s the hesitation for?”

I’ve only seen her dance once, but once was all it took for me to know how talented she is.

“There isn’t any hesitation,” she falters, looking down her long legs and toward her swollen, red-rimmed toes. “I just have some logistics to work out.”

“What’s there to figure out?”

“None of the other dancers know. They can’t know. If they did…”

Before she can get too deep, she stops, but I already see where this is going. They don’t just dislike her outside of work because they’re bratty mean girls.

They’re fucking jealous of her.

“You’re worried about them seeing you?” I try to make sense of where she’s going with all of this.

“I guess that could be part of it. Haven told me to make sure to keep it under wraps. I’m trying to figure out what that looks like.”

“Are you going to have extra practices with Haven?”

“No, I’ll have to do all of this in my downtime.”

For the first time since the trip began, Fia doesn’t bicker with me. I may not be the sounding board she was hoping for, but she’s not fighting my curiosity, and that alone is a win.

“Do you need help with managing your time?” My comment isn’t meant to come out snarky, but she takes it that way when her eyebrow lifts.

“No, I manage my time just fine. I just need to figure out how to get away from the rest of the dancers long enough, without raising suspicion.”

“So you need an alibi?”

“Essentially, yes. And somewhere to practice. We only rehearse together, and if I stayed after, I’d only have about thirty minutes to work before the arena closed, and I can’t run the risk of playing her song in a hotel ballroom or something.”

Her frustration peaks as she smooths her hands over her shimmery dress and stands. Shaking her head like she’s disappointed in herself at the secret she just told me, she steps in the direction of the door, but not before giving me a stern look that makes my skin prickle.

“I’ll figure it out. You better not tell anyone I told you this.”

When I rise to meet her where she’s at, we’re ready to spar once again. Eye to eye, toe to toe, not a word passing between us.

She’s in no rush to leave, and I’m in no position to let her. Dancing with her, when her foot moves backwards, mine follows, until her back is only inches from the wall.

“What if I could help you?” I ask before I get too close.

“I don’t want your help,” she clips.

“Well, of course you don’t want my help, but it sounds like you may need it.”

Her lips pucker as a loud, over-exaggerated laugh bursts from them. “I’d take help from a felon before I let you help me.”

A smile curls my lips. Her insult falls flat, because the thought of my help is pulsing through her brain.

“How do you know I don’t have a criminal record?”

“Because you’re too mouthy to be a convict.”