I was elated. I’d soaked up every second of the Peasant pas de deux with the blinding spotlight set on my partner and me as we danced in circles around the stage. I loved it. I’d almost forgotten the thrill of having a solo role. My dance with Étienne in the first act was less than ten minutes long, but it was on opening night and it felt amazing. In the hair and makeup room, after the performance, I could practically feel the adrenaline pumping through my veins. I sat in front of the mirror for a long time, just settling down, before I started wiping off my stage makeup.

In the theatre lobby, after the ballet, it wasn’t difficult to find the group that had shown up to see me: a vibrant bunch in their early twenties. Luke and Kris had landed on a completely different planet. They were bigwigs out on the streets of Toronto—because they played for the Maple Leafs—but not at the Canadian National Ballet’s season opening night. Their celebrity didn’t carry any weight in the dance world. No one was fawning over them or asking for pictures. Actually, they probably blended in the most, compared to my friends Sarah and Matt, and Gavin. The two hockey players were just like all the other millionaires that had been in the audience, right down to their $2000 suits.

Just like it was standard for them to wear suits pre- and post-game on game days, it was tradition to get dressed up to go see a ballet. I’d shed some light on them when, a week ago over at my place, they’d both said they wanted to be part of my big night. The opening night performance had fallen in the middle of a 2-game Leafs home stand and they had the night off. Beyond explaining to them that my demi-soloist role was only 10 minutes long and that Giselle was a full-length ballet that lasted about two hours with only one intermission, I’d told them to expect an older and well-refined crowd.

The performing arts survived on sponsors, donations, government funding, and season ticket holders. Ballet was an old art and young people weren’t exactly dying to pay for an opera house ticket (even a subsidized one) to see an adaptation of Othello or The Sleeping Beauty. As dancers, we in the company were ever so thankful for the support that allowed us to live our dreams. In fact, with opening night also being the opening of the season, the company was hosting a party. It would be a few hours of hors d’oeuvres and champagne for the dancers, families, friends, season ticket holders—anyone and everyone that supported our craft was extended an invitation.

I knew I was going to need a fair amount of champagne to even myself out of my dance high.

Sarah was the first person to greet me in the lobby. “You killed it,” she said, shaking me a bit by the shoulders. “You’re going to get an honorable mention in the Star for sure.”

With a laugh, I hugged her, then hugged Matt, her boyfriend, thanking them for coming.

Old art or not, the Toronto Star did cover opening night of every ballet we performed throughout the season in the Entertainment section of the newspaper. For the most part the focus was on the principals and established soloists. But up and comers who didn’t fall flat could, on occasion, be lucky enough to get a sentence with their name written in it by the reviewer.

I moved on to the next closest person, Gavin. He kissed me on the cheek. “Congratulations. I hope that tonight is a stepping stone and you get promoted before the beginning of next season. I look forward to collecting more rent money from you in the future.”

A couple of years had passed since my brother last attended one of my performances. I was pretty sure the only thing he liked about ballet was the flexibility of all the women. He would always show up to provide his older brother support when warranted, but I’d danced strictly in the corps de ballet the last two seasons. Those of us in the corps served as understudies to the soloists, and the soloists served as understudies to the principals because as they say, the show must go on. There were two kinds of programs that the company performed: mixed repertoires and full-lengths. Mixed repertoires were usually the newer, innovative, contemporary works that were only one act long. During the weeks that we performed mixed repertoires, three short individual ballets were performed a night.

So I’d learned a lot of soloist roles. But since joining the corps, all of the dancers that I’d been an understudy for had been healthy and uninjured for performance nights in the past two years. It meant that Gavin hadn’t had to sit in an opera house since I was an apprentice.

“Here,” my brother held out a mixed flower bouquet of pinks and purples, “these are from both of us.”

The other half of ‘us’ was Kris. He was at Gavin’s side. He looked good in his fancy suit and shiny shoes. He was even wearing a tie. Kris had sat through a nearly two-hour long ballet for me. His pointy hair made him stand out a little bit in the lobby crowd, but he didn’t look uncomfortable. Actually he looked kind of bored. We locked eyes when I stepped in front of him.

“Thanks, Kris,” I gave him a nod.

His response was in his typical, loud, and boastful way. “I want you to know that my contribution to those roses is way more than Gavin’s.”

There weren’t even any roses in the bouquet. I cracked a smile.

“Anyway, it was cool,” his tone changed. I expected him to continue in his usual Kris way but instead he was nonchalant. Subdued, even. “I obviously don’t know anything about ballet but Sarah here tells me you were really good.”

No comments about how bendy everyone was. Nothing about being bored to tears. Not a single word about seeing the outline of other men’s junk through their Lycra tights. Then he really surprised me when he raised his palm in the air. “So…up top.”

Something was going on with him. He wasn’t himself. He wasn’t the Kris that I had a crush on. With a skeptical look, I high-fived him with my free hand before moving on. My other hand was holding the bouquet he’d split with Gavin. I was completely sure that it had been my brother’s idea, something Gavin remembered from my recitals when he’d been dragged along by my parents, but it was a nice gesture on Kris’ part anyway. It was nice of him to notice enough to be involved.

“Hey.”

The last person standing in the half circle of my friends was Luke. He looked like the prototypical version of the boy next door, but grown up. His suit was pinstriped and his grey collared, button-down shirt matched his eyes. Luke’s hair was gelled but instead of the tousled look he’d been going with lately, it was parted to the side and combed down. He sported dimples in his cheeks and a smile on his lips.

“Hi,” I answered.

He leaned in close to me and stroked my cheek with the pad of his thumb. “You were beautiful,” he said just loud enough so everyone in the group could hear him.

It was too sweet, along with his actions, for someone who wasn’t my boyfriend, or at least dating me, to say. He said it with so much conviction that I actually believed him. His smile had enough confidence in it for the both of us and I felt beautiful even then, offstage, standing in front of him. After the stage makeup was gone from my face, I’d re-moisturized and prepared for the party. I re-did my makeup in more neutral tones: brown eyeliner just on the top lids, a hint of blush, and coral lips. My dress was structured and form-fitting, a nice shade of copper that complimented my golden locks falling in soft curls around my face.

“Thank you,” I responded, touching his arm.

“For you,” were his next words.

Luke had his own flower bouquet for me. It was just on the verge of being obnoxious. If Gavin and Kris had picked a standard sized bunch of mixed flowers, well, Luke had gone above and beyond. He’d chosen white lilies and gone with a deluxe size. Around the theatre lobby, most of the soloists hadn’t even gotten two bouquets, much less one that dwarfed another. I certainly wasn’t uniform with the corps after the first performance of Giselle, not when I’d performed my own dance and not when I had such amazing, supportive friends all standing in front of me.

“I’m not even going to ask how you managed to fit this under your seat during the show,” I told him as he set the lilies into my arms.

After several more minutes of chatting in the lobby with my group, I settled into step with Luke for the short walk to the party. Kris and Gavin were in front of us, conversing. It looked like it was a continuation of a conversation. Something serious. The object of my affection wasn’t animated as he spoke to my brother. I didn’t even see a smile.

“What’s up with him?” I asked Luke.

He answered, “You remember Rissa?”

“How could I forget?” I stifled a groan.

My response earned a low chuckle from Luke. He knew exactly how I felt about ‘that Rissa girl’, as I liked to refer to her. She was so much taller and so much more brunette than me. Luke had had to talk me down from the ledge and reassure me that she was just a pawn more than a few times.

“Anyway, she thought that she and Steeger were headed towards being more than…you know,” Luke omitted the words ‘bed buddies’ but I knew what he meant. “But he broke it off with her today.”

“He did?” A hopeful pang thudded in my chest.

“Yeah,” Luke confirmed. “She didn’t take it well. The reason he’s so blue is because he feels bad about it. I don’t think he was prepared for her to start crying.”

“Shouldn’t he be used to that by now?”

Luke scoffed. “Wow, heartless much?”

“I’m just saying,” I retorted with a shrug.

There were puck bunnies with devil-may-care attitudes that slept with Kris just to say that they’d fucked an NHL player in their glory days. But there was another kind of girl: they were the ones who put out as soon as they met him, hoping that it would lead to something more. They were sensitive and when he told them that he couldn’t see them anymore, they got their feelings and their pride hurt. I was sure that after being part of a popular team in Chicago and winning the Stanley Cup he’d broken more than a few hearts.

“I can practically see the gears turning in your head,” Luke told me as we reached our destination. The National Ballet opening night party was in one of the Sony Centre’s ballrooms.

“Does it make me a bad person if I’m happy that he’s never going to see her again?” I wondered as I dropped my flowers off with the coat check.

Need I remind anyone that I hated her from the moment I met her?

“Maybe,” Luke took my hand as we walked through the threshold of the double doors and fell into step beside Sarah and Matt, “but I won’t hold it against you.”

Unfortunately for me, that was the happiest I would get about Kris for the rest of the night. It was like his entire attitude changed with the first canapé he ate. By the end of his second, he probably didn’t even remember Rissa’s name, or that he’d made her cry. He started flirting with one of the corps members who clearly knew who he was. But of course she didn’t know I was the reason he was there. Of course he didn’t mention it either. I lost my composure fast.

The event was meant to have an intimate feel and promote mingling so there was no formal dinner. There was no seating arrangement and the white tablecloth-covered tables were half the size of banquet tables, cocktail height, no chairs around. Twenty feet away from me, Kris was mingling alright. I trained and danced with the corps de ballet for the better part of the calendar year—the girl he’d chosen to flirt with was my friend. I wasn’t sure if I started drinking too early or too late because I couldn’t ignore them. Luke advised me to slow down but I didn’t listen.

By design, I was a lightweight—literally and figuratively. Two flutes of champagne were enough to get me tipsy. I had five flutes.

Luke hauled me into a cab soon after, before I could make an ass of myself in front of my friends and my colleagues. He’d been drinking, too, but he also outweighed me by more than a hundred pounds. He had too much sense for a 20-year-old. He could never get plastered in public, no matter where he was, out of fear of the Toronto hockey media. Instead, he took care of me. He didn’t even complain when I clung to him for the entire 5-minute ride from the Sony Centre to his condo, not even remembering why I’d gotten plastered in the first place. I was a touchy feely kind of drunk.

Through the lobby, up the elevator, and inside his apartment, I didn’t let go of Luke until he sat me down on the couch, the flowers that I’d received earlier in the night beside me. I examined a picture of him and his brother as children, framed and placed on one of the side tables. The two of them were sitting on steps in hockey pants and socks, each holding a hockey stick, the rest of their gear surrounding them.

His brother, Brayden, was a couple years younger and looked to be average size for his age in the picture. But child Luke looked like he’d been on a diet of cheeseburgers and potato chips, and the smile on his face stated that he had no regrets about it. The champagne bubbles had gone straight to my head and I giggled loudly.

When present day Luke was standing in front of me, I picked up the picture and held it in the air as high as I could, comparing both versions of him. I melted into a fit of giggles and tossed the frame onto the couch. I ran one of my hands over the buttons of Luke’s shirt and asked, “When did you transition into sexy Luke? You were a chunky monkey.”

He stepped back and replaced his chest with a bottle of water, placing it in my palm, the cap already off. Instead of answering my question, he said, “Drink this. It will make you feel better.”

“No.” I held it back out towards him. “I feel great.”

I really did. I felt very relaxed. None of my overworked muscles ached. There was a floaty feeling in the pit of my stomach. I couldn’t wipe the smile off my face. My surroundings all seemed to be in soft focus, the colours earthy toned.

Luke sighed. “You say that now.”

He wasn’t smiling as he retrieved the water bottle and re-capped it. He set it down in the space between the couch cushions and removed his suit jacket before taking a seat on the carpet at my feet.

“Are you mad at me?” I pouted. “Don’t be mad at me.”

“I’m not mad,” he assured me, speaking in an even tone. “Let’s get your shoes off so you can sleep this off.”

The corners of my mouth crept upward further, from a smile into a wide grin. I liked the sound of that. I already felt floaty. The thought of lying down and sinking into a slumber pleased me very much.

“I like sleep,” I mumbled as Luke took one of my ankles in his hands. The nude Mary Janes that I wore slipped off easily once he got the little buckles undone.

“Of course you do,” he chuckled.

“Will you let me sleep in your bed?” I wondered, thinking about pillows and high thread count sheets.

“I certainly can’t leave you here like this.” I knew he meant my intoxication as he shifted onto his knees and then his feet. “Can you stand?”

Quickly, I shot up out of my seat to prove that I could. I’d made it upstairs from the cab, after all. The soft filters of my vision spun and my knees buckled. “Oops,” I laughed as Luke caught me by the elbows and sat me back down again. Those few seconds felt good, like the thrill just before the drop of a roller coaster.

“Okay, just hold this,” Luke placed the water bottle in my hands once more. “I can carry you.”

My giggling rang out against Luke’s chest as he moved me to the bedroom. He carried me, holding me by the undersides of my knees and at my waist. I pointed my toes in the air and then I really did feel like I was floating. He didn’t seem impressed as he set me down on the mattress. I was in the middle of the bed, my legs dangling over the edge, because I was flailing around so much.

“Luke,” I whined, tugging on one of his arms. “Lighten up. I’m just having fun.”

He pried himself from my drunken grip easily and walked over to the open closet, to the dresser, just like the last time I’d been in his room. He pulled out a few garments and tossed one on the bed. I didn’t get a show as he started undressing, facing away from me.

I closed my eyes for what seemed like just a moment and when I opened them again he was walking across the room. I lifted my head. “Where are you going? Don’t leave me.”

“I’m just going to the bathroom, babe,” he answered. “I’ll be right back.”

Babe. I liked the way it sounded rolling off his tongue, directed at me casually. I liked the way he flashed his crooked smile at me sincerely and the way he looked in his underwear and t-shirt. That night, I was pretty sure he was the best thing that ever happened to me, my knight in shining sleep armour.

“You okay?” Luke stood at the edge of the bed, hands on his hips, when he returned. He took the water bottle from where I dropped it on the bed and uncapped it once more, setting it on the nightstand. “You’ll be happy this is here when you wake up in the morning.”

“My dress,” I rasped, turning onto my side and stabbing at the zipper that went down the length of my back. “Not comfy. I need help.”

Luke plopped down beside me. He moved the bouncy curls of my hair away from my back and up towards my neck. His fingers were steady and warm at the nape of my neck as he undid the clasp at the top of the dress before gliding the zipper down. Once my skin was exposed down to the small of my back, he stopped. The bed shifted as he reached over me and grabbed the shirt that he’d tossed over earlier.

“Come on,” he told me when he was standing at the foot of the bed again, “sit up.”

Lazily, I rolled onto my back and held my hand out in the air towards him, waiting until he pulled me into a sitting position. I slid the dress off my shoulders and the top part fell to my waist, bunched up, half on and half off. I pulled at the skirt on both sides and, without ever standing up, shimmied it down my hips until the dress was in a heap on the floor.

I was down to my underwear. Wordlessly, Luke slipped the oversized shirt over my head and looked for the armholes. Without thinking, I untucked my hair from inside the shirt and unhooked my bra at my back, tossing it on top of my dress.

Immediately, Luke’s eyes widened as he caught a peek of my bare chest. He stepped back and diverted his gaze. “Jesus, Kaylie. What are you doing?”

“What?” I said innocently. “I can’t sleep with the wire of that bra digging into me.”

I wasn’t lying. I’d been wearing a Calvin Klein push-up bra. Plenty of support and cleavage help in a dress—especially for someone who lacked in the breast department like me—but impossible to get comfortable in bed while wearing.

“Put the shirt on, please,” he gritted his teeth.

“Wassamatter,” I slurred with a smirk. “Don’t like what you see?”

Even drunk, I knew my rack was nothing to brag about. Some people were uncomfortable unless they were dressed up—and covered up—in clothes that highlighted their bodies’ best qualities. As a dancer, my best qualities showed the closer I was down to my underwear. Sometimes I thought I looked sickly or scrawny in street clothes. I felt best in dance leotards and bikinis. My barely-there boobs were offset by a flat stomach and muscle-defined little arms and legs. I wasn’t some skinny, plastic bimbo whose backside wasn’t as good as the front side. I was petite but also completely solid and limber.

Once I managed to find the armholes and my body was swimming in Luke’s shirt, I let myself fall back against the bed. I exhaled, completely relaxed. He groaned, “You are never allowed to drink again. Not under my watch.”

I was back to giggling as he began pulling back the blanket. He had to work around me because I was still in the very center of the bed. He had only exposed a part of one side of the fitted sheet that covered the mattress before he paused.

“Move up,” he nudged my arm, hovering over me.

Stubbornly, I stretched my arms out, then tried to snake them around Luke’s neck. I uttered a single word, “Help.”

“Okay,” Luke sighed one more time and moved onto the bed completely so he could fulfill my request. “Here we go.”

His hands went under my waist and he lifted me easily, just a few inches off the mattress. “You’re so good to me,” I told him honestly when the back of my head met a pillow.

My vision was spinning. I wasn’t quite sure which direction in front of me was left or right or up or down. The only thing in focus was Luke. He was close; I’d gotten my arms around his neck. In the dim light, his eyes were pools of silver that I wanted to get lost in.

I gravitated up towards him and pulled him down towards me until our lips touched. My eyes shut as I kissed him hard. But that was only the first kiss. The ones after were few and so soft that I barely felt them before he created breathing room between us.

“Kaylie,” Luke hissed, still hovering over me on his elbows. “You’re not supposed to do that. Not now.”

His warning sounded right. I knew there was a reason why I wasn’t supposed to just kiss him as I pleased, but my foggy vision clouded my thoughts, so in that moment I couldn’t figure out why. I also knew that I’d already kissed him on several occasions before. My mind was blank on champagne. I didn’t care. I only cared that he was so cute and so close to me and that he was a good guy.

A lock of his hair had fallen out of place and hung forward in his eyes. I touched his forehead and brushed the lock back into his hairline. I asked, “Would it be so bad, you and me?”

“I don’t want us to do something we’re gonna regret,” he replied, without directly answering my question.

Still, I drew a blank in my mind. I thought about running my hands through his hair while we made out. I wanted his hands on me and I was sure I wasn’t going to regret it. I finally let go of his neck with my remaining hand, but I wasn’t done yet.

“When’s the last time you did something just because you wanted to?” I spoke softly, with glassy bedroom eyes, tracing circles on his torso with my finger. “When’s the last time you just had fun?”

He looked down at me for what seemed like eternity. There was an implication in the last thing I said and it was up to him to decide what to do with it. Both of us were silent, just staring at each other and breathing.

The next time I tried to kiss Luke, he let me, and he didn’t try to pull away.

Notes

Extended Chapter Notes