“My contribution was the ticket I bought for tonight.” I stood up, leaving the flower bouquet behind, and walked off in search of Aubrey.

It didn’t take long to find her.

Dressed in a rather revealing silver dress, she was in a corner laughing with her male dancer friend, batting her eyes as he handed her a drink.

“Excuse me, sir?” Someone tapped me on the shoulder.

“Yes?” I kept my eyes on Aubrey.

“Um, if you stay for the after-portion of the event, you have to donate...It’s part of the rules. It was written in bold so—”

“Here.” I handed her whatever bills were left in my wallet.

She disappeared.

Aubrey’s friend kissed her forehead and stepped away, giving me the perfect opportunity to approach, but she was swarmed by a group of other ballerinas.

Friends, it seemed.

I waited for their conversation to end, until she told them she’d join them later, and then I made my move.

As she turned around, I placed my hand on her shoulder—feeling a jolt shoot through my veins. “Good evening, Aubrey...”

She dropped her glass to the floor and slowly turned around.

“Andrew?” She stepped back. “What are you doing here?”

“Does it matter?”

She didn’t answer.

Neither of us said anything further, and that familiar tension that had always existed between us began to thicken with every second that passed.

She looked even more beautiful up close, and I was tempted to push her against the wall and reconnect, but I held back.

“Can I speak with you?” I asked.

She looked me up and down.

“Aubrey...” I looked into her eyes. “Can I speak with you?”

“No.”

“Excuse me?” I raised my eyebrow.

“I said no.” She crossed her arms. “As in, no you may not speak with me, and you can go back to wherever the hell you came from.”

She walked away and headed to the dance floor.

I sighed and went after her, clasping her hand and spinning her around. “It’ll only take five minutes.”

“That’s five more than I’m willing to give you.”

“It’s important.”

“Are you dying?” Her face turned red. “Is it a life or death matter?”

“Does it really have to be?” My hand caressed her cheek, temporarily silencing her. “You look fucking beautiful tonight...”

“Thank you. My boyfriend thinks so, too.”

“Your boyfriend?”

“Yes. You know, that person who doesn’t treat you like shit just because he likes you and you like him back? Interesting concept, isn’t it?”

I didn’t get a chance to respond to that.

The orchestra struck a sudden loud chord that reverberated through the room, and a voice came over the speakers.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” it said. “The Benjamin Wright Orchestra will now play their rendition of one of Tchaikovsky’s most revered pieces. The tempo of this song has a similar pacing for what some of you may know as the waltz. Please join us on the floor for this classic homage...”

I grabbed her hand and entwined it with mine, securing my free hand around her waist.

“What are you doing?” She hissed and tried to pull away. “I’m not dancing with you.”

I tightened my grip around her. “Yes you are.”

“Please don’t make me scream, Andrew...”

“What makes you think I wouldn’t love to hear that?”

She tried to move away from me, but I held her still.

“Five minutes,” I said.

“Three,” she countered.

“Fine.” I loosened my grip and swayed her to the music. “Are you aware that your boyfriend is a male ballerina?”

“The correct term,” she said, rolling her eyes, “is a danseur.”

“He’s a fucking ballerina...” I dipped her to the floor. “Is this what you’ve been doing for the past few months?”

“Living out my dream free from a certain asshole?”

“I expect more from you if you’re going to date someone else.”

“I don’t give a damn what you expect.” She hissed. “He’s everything you’ll never be...”

“Because he kisses you in public?”

“It’s more than that...But that’s on the never-ending list of things he has on you.”

“Does he make you cum?”

“He doesn’t make me cry.”

Silence.

I felt her pulling away from me, but I held her still. “Are you fucking him?”

“Why do you care?”

“I don’t. I just want to know.”

“We haven’t had a conversation in months and you think you’re entitled to know who I’m sleeping with?”

“I wouldn’t necessarily use the term entitled.”

“No.” She pressed her chest against mine. “No, I am not fucking him, but you know what? I will be soon.”

“You have no reason to if I’m here.”

She burst into laughter and stepped back. “You think I would sleep with you? Seriously?”

“Aubrey—”

“Do you really think I’m that stupid?” She cut me off. “I don’t want anything to do with you, Andrew. You’re nothing but a muse for an orgasm, a good visual for a hand-fuck, and I may miss you, but—”

“You miss me?”

“I miss the idea of you—of what you could’ve been.”

“We can’t be friends?”

“We can’t be anything.” Her lips were close to mine.

“Why am I finding that hard to believe?”

“You shouldn’t.” She glared at me. “Because in order for me to ever entertain you outside of this dance, I would have to take you back.”

“Then take me back.”

“Please!” She scoffed, looking angrier than I’d ever seen her before. “You would have to beg me to take you back, Andrew. Fucking beg me...”

“Hey Aubs.” Her ballerina boyfriend interrupted us. “Is everything okay?”

“Yes.” She stepped away from me and kissed his cheek. “Everything is more than okay.”

“Who’s your friend?”

“No one,” she said. “Just some guy who made a donation.”

“Thank you for your donation.” He shook my hand like a woman and turned to Aubrey. “Are you ready to go home?”

“More than ready.” She took his hand and walked away from me without glancing back.

I stood on the balcony of my hotel room, completely confused about what had happened a few hours ago. I was expecting Aubrey to leave with me, to come back to my hotel so we could fuck and catch up.

Unable to stop thinking about it, I sent her an email:

Subject: Your Address.

We need to finish our conversation. Tell me where you live so I can come over and talk.

—Andrew.

Subject: Re: Your Address.

I highly doubt you only want to talk. You just want to fuck.

Nonetheless, I’m pretty sure Brian wouldn’t appreciate you coming over tonight.