Page 33 of Movers and Fakers

“Have I ever asked you why you’re in these classes?”

She shrugs. “If you did, I can’t remember. I’m a CompSci major.”

“I know that much, but why? Do you not want to be a pro ballerina or whatever?”

Her lips twitch. “Principal dancer,” she corrects. “And I do want to be one, but the chances of becoming one are incredibly low. Even if I do, it may be years after I graduate. So, I need a practical job. I chose this major because I can work with computers from anywhere, possibly alongside dancing if I get smaller or seasonal contracts with a company.”

I nod as I take in the new information.

“That makes sense, but I think you’ll become a principal dancer.”

A faint smile touches her lips.

“You’ve never seen me dance, and even if you had, you know nothing about ballet.”

I shrug. “I’ve got good instincts.”

“We should get back to work. I’m not losing money because you can’t pay attention.” Her words have a teasing tone, even as she’s directing us away from personal conversation.

“Will I get to see you dance?” I ask, ignoring her efforts. “Do you have a performance soon?”

Aurora tugs on the sleeves of her hoodie and averts her gaze.

“There’s a winter recital toward the end of the semester, but I don’t have any performances until then, just rehearsals.”

“Are they open to the public?”

Her eyes widen. “N-no. Not usually. Sometimes people bring family members who can’t make it to the recital, but that’s rare.”

“I guess I’ll have to wait until the recital, then.” I bite back a smile at the blush she’s wearing. It’s almost as dark as her hoodie. “A good boyfriend wouldn’t miss something like that.”

“I suppose,” she whispers, staring at her textbook.

“You know, you should probably come to the next Shadow Ring fight, if you’re not busy,” I muse.

Her head pops up. “What? Why?”

“No one is going to think we’re actually together if you don’t come to my fights. At least a few of them.”

Her brow pinches. “I guess that makes sense. They’re on Friday nights?”

I nod. “There’s one this Friday. I’ll even let your little journalist friend back in, if she actually leaves her phone at the door.”

I found out not long after kicking the redhead and her hockey-playing boyfriend out that they both wrote for the Thrasher, the school newspaper.

“She’s not a journalist anymore,” Aurora says, her eyes a little dazed like she’s thinking of something else.

“Invite all your friends, if you want. I’ll let my bouncer know to expect you.”

“Okay,” she murmurs.

Excitement spreads through my body. I grin.

“Okay as in you’ll come?”

“Yes, but I don’t want to be stuck at some long, late-night party,” she says, strength coming back to her voice.

“I told you, my offer of escape is always on the table. When you want to go, we’ll go. Provided I’m not in the middle of a fight.” I laugh.