All Lined Up

Epilogue

Six months later

Dallas

I love the silence before the music starts.

There’s potential in the quiet, an opening for something new and beautiful to enter the world. I close my eyes, relaxing my muscles, and think back to that moment at the beginning of the year when I’d been so sure that this place would only hold misery for me.

I remember the way it had felt when I saw Carson at Dad’s practice. Even then, I think a part of me knew how perfect we would be together. That’s why it hurt so badly.

It’s easy to tap back into that feeling now as the music starts, and I begin the dance I choreographed that night as I sat in my car trying not to cry.

It’s still angry and raw, but there’s softness in it now, too. The happiness I’ve found has crept in, and rather than just being about pain and loss, it’s a story about what can grow out of that.

I’ll always be the girl who grew up without a mom. I’ll never forget what it was like to grow up sharing my dad with football. I’ll remember forever how I almost let my bitterness and my fear keep me from moving on.

Those things will always be in me, but they no longer feel like separate pieces or different versions of myself. Somewhere along the way those things were stitched together, and I no longer need to hold myself together by holding other people at bay.

It wasn’t the prettiest journey.

Sometimes I was stupid, and I let my anger get the better of me too often. But if there’s anything I’ve learned from creating this dance, it’s that sometimes mistakes bloom into the most colorful moments. They’re unexpected and different, and that’s where the character of the dance lives.

I relive the last year through my movements, and I know that every single moment was worth it.

It got me into the summer program in San Francisco, and on the choreography track, too.

And more important, it got me to a point where I’m at peace with the past and a little less scared of the future.

Dance fixed me. As it always does.

I’m the last performance of the end-of-the-year recital, and when the music ends, and I look out at the applauding crowd, I find Dad and Carson standing together, clapping.

Carson winks at me, and Dad’s clapping so hard, you’d think I’d just brought home the Heisman. The season didn’t end up exactly how they both wanted. There were too many other tough teams in the conference, but a solid 6–6 record was still a vast improvement over the years before. But Carson got his scholarship, and Dad’s contract was renewed.

And as Dad told Carson at the end of the season, “We’re just getting started.”

I feel that way, too . . . like my life has just really begun.

I exit the stage, in a hurry to change out of my costume and go meet them. I don’t bother messing with the hair that’s twisted into a tight chignon at the back of my head. Nor do I bother removing the dark eye makeup; I’m too impatient.

I pull on a skirt, a tank top, and some flip-flops, and find Carson waiting for me in the hallway that connects the dressing rooms to the auditorium.

I throw myself into his arms, and he catches me, swinging me around once before letting my toes rest on the floor again.

“You are amazing,” he breathes into my ear. “I love you. So much.”

I’m still breathing heavy from the dance and my mad dash to get changed, but that doesn’t stop me from pulling him down for a kiss.

He cups my neck, kissing me slowly until my breathing settles and it’s my heart’s turn to race out of control.

“Your dad will want to see you,” Carson mumbles against my mouth.

“He can wait. I’m not quite done here.”

He laughs. “We’ve got plenty of time tonight.”

“Shut up and kiss me, quarterback.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

It’s another five minutes before I’m willing to part with Carson and our isolated hallway to join the other dancers and the lingering crowd out in the auditorium.

The rumor about Carson’s ill treatment of me hadn’t lasted more than a week or two after we made our relationship public at homecoming. He was too sweet for anybody to believe it for long, and now we’ve traded out that nasty gossip for the unending attention of being the school’s golden couple.

Maybe it’s because most of the athletes don’t stick with one girl long enough for people to know they’re a couple. Or maybe it’s because the quarterback and the coach’s daughter just make a good story. Either way, I cherish every second of alone time we can get before we’re back under the watchful eye of the gossip mongers . . . and my father.

Though when we enter the auditorium, he’s not waiting for me like I expected. I scan the room, waiting for him to come striding out of the crowds, but I don’t see him. I’m just about to tell Carson that maybe I shouldn’t have made him wait quite so long, when I catch sight of his familiar hulking back.

It’s not until Carson and I walk up the aisle next to him that I realize who has him deep in conversation.

Annaiss. My dance professor. The one who first mentioned the San Francisco program to me.

She’s dressed in a pretty purple dress, and her dark hair is silky and shiny. She’s smiling, and when dad says something, she laughs and puts a hand on his forearm.

I raise an eyebrow at Carson and he smirks. “Way to go, Coach.”

I flick his shoulder. “Ew. He is my dad. Not Ryan or Silas or Torres. And she’s my teacher.”

He rolls his eyes, and when I go to flick him again, he catches my hand and laces our fingers together. “Come on, Daredevil. Let’s go say hello.” I let him drag me forward and he adds, “Be nice.”

Annaiss spots me first, and she inches back just a hair. “Dallas, I think that might be the best I’ve ever seen you do that routine. You’re going to grow leaps and bounds in San Francisco.”

Carson squeezes my hand, and I smile. “Thanks, Annaiss. I’m looking forward to it.”

I leave in less than a month, right after final exams, and I’m at that point where I’m both wishing for time to speed up so I can leave already, and hoping it will slow down so I can spend a little more time with Carson before I have to leave him for six weeks.

I stand in front of Dad, and we’re both still feeling out how this new supportive version of him works. He’s never going to be the supernice and encouraging kind of father. He shows his support through yelling and making people do sprints and push-ups. I’m a little afraid that one day he’s going to learn enough about dance to actually put me through my paces, and then I’ll definitely be in trouble.

He wraps one arm around my shoulder, and pulls me in for our usual awkward side-hug.

“You were the best one up there, kiddo.”

“It’s not really a competition, but thanks, Dad.”

He gives me a look and I know he’s probably thinking, Everything is a competition.

“You two have big plans tonight?”

I barely restrain my blush, because yeah . . . we’ve definitely got big plans.

“We do,” I say. “Carson’s cooking for me.”

He laughs. “I’m trying to anyway.”

Dad claps Carson on the shoulder. “Good luck. It can’t be any worse than the food she grew up on.”

“That’s for sure,” I mumble.

“Hey, now,” Dad says, and Annaiss laughs, low and throaty, and oh my God, I have to get out of here or I’m going to be sick. I finally understand how Stella feels when she gets all awkward around Carson and me.

“We’re going to go,” I say. “But thanks for coming, Dad. It means a lot.”

He places his usual kiss on my head, which would hurt if I hadn’t inherited his hard head.

I say goodbye, and leave him to do whatever it is that he’s going to do, which I refuse to contemplate for my own sanity.

Even so, I spend the ride to Carson’s complaining.

“She has to be like eight or nine years younger than him. That’s weird, right? I mean . . . weird.”

Carson won’t even reply. He just laughs harder the more worked up I get.

“I mean, that’s the equivalent of me dating some pimply preteen.”

I think Carson might actually be in danger of a collapsed lung from laughter.

“Or that would be like me dating someone in his late twenties. Like Coach Oz.”

Carson pushes his truck into park a second too soon, and the whole thing jerks, sending me into my seat belt.

“Let’s not joke about you dating one of my coaches, hmm?”

Stella always goes on and on about how hot Coach Oz is, and it drives Carson crazy. He slides out of the truck and rounds the front to come open my door.

I unbuckle my seat belt and say, “It’s the same thing, though! Imagine how pissed Dad would be.”

“Yeah, I’m having no issue imagining that kind of anger.”

“I mean, Coach Oz—”

I don’t even manage to finish my sentence before Carson hauls me out of the truck and over his shoulder. He stalks over to the stairs to his apartment, and starts up them with me still in his arms.

“Man, you really don’t like it when I mention Coach—”

Something firm whacks at my backside, and I gasp.

“Carson McClain, did you just spank me?”

He just does it again in response before pushing his front door open and carrying me inside.

“Jeez! It’s not like I’m actually interested in—”

He pulls me back over his shoulder, depositing my feet on the floor, and presses me back against his closed door. He hovers above me, his eyes dark and his chest brushing mine with every breath.

With his arms braced on either side of me, he asks, “Are you done teasing me?”

I smile coyly. “That depends . . .”

“On?”

I duck out from the cage he’s formed around me and take a few steps toward the hallway leading to his bedroom.

“On whether you can wait a little while longer for dinner.”

I don’t actually wait for him to answer before I turn around, peeling off my tank top on the way to his bedroom.

I hear him groan and a thunk that’s most likely his head hitting the door. His quick footsteps follow, and I’ve just pushed open his bedroom door when he overtakes me.

He pulls me up, cradling me in his arms as he steps through the doorway. I squeal in response, and I don’t manage to hook my arms around his neck before he deposits me on the edge of his bed. His room is pristine and smells like vanilla from a candle on his bedside table. His bed is perfectly made, and a bundle of tulips rests against the pillows.

I swallow and turn to face him, but I think I might have pushed him a little beyond his control. He’s kneeling in front of me, and his eyes are fixed on the bare skin of my waist and the strapless blue bra I’ve worn for the occasion.

He removes my flip-flops and tosses them over his shoulder before running hands up the backs of my calves.

I lean back, bracing my hands on the bed, and he follows me forward, placing a hot kiss just above the button on my skirt. My arms shake, and now I’m the one being teased.

“You know,” he says, his voice raspy and deep. “I was actually hungry.”

“You can go start dinner if you want. I’ll wait here.” I reach back and unhook my bra, tossing it over his shoulder like he did my shoes.

He growls low in his throat, standing to lean over me until I lay all the way back. “You’re playing with fire, Daredevil.”

I hook my fingers around his belt buckle and use it to pull him closer.

“Is that why it’s so hot in here?”

I drag my nails lightly down his abdomen until I can slip them just beneath the band of his jeans.

He swallows and closes his eyes, and I can see his arms shaking on either side of my head.

“Still hungry?” I ask.

“Yes.”

He crushes his lips to mine, and then his body follows, pressing down into mine.

His kisses are so hard and fast and desperate that I’m breathing heavy just trying to keep up. I slip my hands up the back of his shirt, digging my fingers into his lower back in the way I know drives him crazy. When I can’t keep up with the punishing pace, he leaves my mouth to drop kisses down my neck and chest. I’ve got his shirt pulled all the way up to his shoulders when he sucks the tip of my breast into his mouth, and I buck beneath him.

He uses his teeth just enough that I break out in goose bumps, and I swear if I could tear his shirt off him I would.

“Off,” I beg, tugging on it, but he ignores me in favor of switching to my other breast.

I let go of his shirt to grip his hair, and I’m gulping in air as fast as I can.

He flicks me with his tongue, and I cry out. Desperate, I reach for his shirt again and say, “Please.”

He lifts up, sliding back until he’s kneeling in front of me again.

“It’s my turn to tease, love.”

And tease he does, the heat of his breath chasing over the sensitive skin of my thighs as he reaches beneath my skirt to tug at the blue panties that soon join their counterpart in being tossed across the room.

In the half a year that we’ve been dating, we’ve taken our time learning each other’s bodies, building up to this night, and when his tongue touches my center, I moan, gripping the comforter and undoing the pristine way he made his bed.

He’s so good at this—dipping and swirling and flicking his tongue in all the right places. His stubble brushes my sensitive skin, and my hips buck up toward him. He alternates among breathing and kissing and sucking, and brings me close to the edge in record time.

Then he pulls back, dragging his lips down my thigh.

I groan in disappointment, and he laughs darkly.

“See? It’s not nice to tease.”

He pulls my skirt down over my hips, leaving me naked and him fully clothed.

“You’re cruel,” I whisper.

He leans down, planting a soft kiss on my lips, and says, “No, I just love you.”

“And I’d love it if I weren’t the only naked one here.”

He hums against my lips and then murmurs, “Soon.”

I groan and then try to bargain. “The shirt, at least. Please?”

He knows how much I like his upper body. It really is cruel and unusual punishment to keep it from me.

He relents, slipping it up and over his head, and then tossing it to join my clothes on the floor.

His lips return to my neck to tease me some more, but when I get to slide my hands over his skin, I don’t mind.

He might think he’s in charge just because he’s on top, but I know enough about him to give a little torture back. I run my fingers softly down his side, and his mouth on my collarbone presses harder. I lean my head up, placing a kiss on his shoulder before dragging my teeth over the same spot. His breath catches, and I use his hesitation to wrap my legs around him and pull until our hips are crushed together.

I roll my hips up into his and sigh. I love everything we do together, but there’s an ache between my legs that’s beyond need.

“Dallas,” he warns.

I do it again, moaning this time because I know he doesn’t like me silent.

“Damn it.”

“Carson, please.”

I’m not even really teasing him with my breathy plea. I can feel him against me, and I am wound so tightly that I can barely think straight. I keep pushing up into him, wanting to be closer, but taking whatever friction I can get.

I don’t even realize that my nails are digging into his shoulders, until Carson pulls my hands away, pinning my wrists above my head.

“You don’t play fair,” he growls.

I drag my heavy lids up and meet his electric gaze. “I’m not playing anymore. I just need you.”

His mouth slams down on mine again, and I do my best to fight his hold as he kisses me. When I can’t get my hands free, I settle for pulling him as close as I can with my legs, arching my body up into his.

When my bare chest brushes his, the tight buds of my nipples dragging over his bare skin, he shudders and pulls away, releasing my hands and unwinding my legs from his waist.

Apparently done teasing, he undoes his belt with quick hands and pushes off his remaining clothes until he matches me. He pauses to grab protection from his bedside table, and then he’s back with me, his face hovering over mine, and his body still not close enough.

“You’re sure?” he asks.

I pause from drinking him in to look up into his eyes, and I know positively that I love him.

“Now that you mention it, I’m a little hungry. Maybe we should break for dinner.”

He kisses me again and lowers his body to cover my own.

“No more jokes for you,” he says.

I don’t even have a reply, too caught up in the feeling of having absolutely nothing between us. He’s like silk and steel against me, and the tip of him brushes the bundle of nerves at my center, tearing another moan from me. I close my eyes, and I want him so badly that I feel weak with it.

Another thrust, the length of him sliding through my folds driving me absolutely mad. He sinks inside me, and even though it’s not my first time, it feels like it is. Because this . . . this is in a whole other world from every other physical experience I’ve ever had.

It burns just a little as he stretches me, but that all disappears behind the myriad of other sensations. A small part of me didn’t believe that things could get better than they already were between us, but I was so very wrong. I can feel him everywhere, and each slow drag of his body against mine has me gasping.

I love you.

I think it over and over again as our bodies come together. He thrusts a little harder, bringing him as deep as he can go. One hand curls possessively around my breast as he grinds down into me. Fire is burning up my spine, and when he plucks at my nipple, I nearly scream.

As usual, I have no filter, so when he moves harder, faster, I cry out, “Oh, yes, that. Like that.”

His lips take mine in a hungry kiss, and he gives me what I want, his muscled body colliding deliciously with mine.

God, I love you, I think again.

Or maybe I say it out loud, because his lips brush over mine, and he replies, “I love you, too.”

And out of all the plans I’ve made for my life, falling in love was the one thing I didn’t envision, the only thing you can’t really plan for.

I don’t know what’s next, not for me or him.

All I know is that Carson McClain came into my life and disrupted absolutely everything, but I wouldn’t have it any other way.