Locking your knees was dangerous at any time, but while you were dancing? That could result in twisted angles or head injuries from collapsing.
"You know what?" the blond boy said, right before the professor could fail her on the spot. "I think I'll go over that with her. Don't worry, sir."
His hand was like a heated blade as he led Sophie out of the room, fingers lingering at the small of her back. She couldn't breathe.
"Where are we going?" Sophie asked, following him as he headed out of the building and toward a collection of trees.
"Outside. I like to keep my lessons fun."
"I've never seen anyone practice out here."
"Then you've never met me." Grinning, he pulled her down a smooth concrete path. She knew, from experience, that this path led past the university's Visitor Center and toward the dorms.
"Hey!" Sophie grabbed his hand, turning him to face her. "Whatever your name is —"
"Keefe."
She grit her teeth. "Fine — Keefe. I need you to know right now that I despise dancing."
He laughed. "Why are you taking this class, then?"
"I don't know." She threw her hands up. "My parents thought it would be good for me."
"Probably is." Keefe mussed his ridiculously perfect hair. "I mean, you get private lessons from the hottest boy in New York."
"You're ridiculous," she said.
"Thank you for noticing," Keefe said. "In case you'd like to expand your vocabulary further, I'm also incredibly gorgeous, talented, and intelligent."
Sophie fought a smile. "Really? I'm not seeing any of those."
"Maybe you need a closer look."
Her heart erupted into butterflies as his hands found her waist, leading her right up to his chest.
"Don't lock your knees, love," he reminded her, and Sophie corrected her mistake.
"I have a name, you know."
"You do," he agreed. "A pretty one too. But that doesn't mean I'm going to use it."
Sophie blushed. No one ever called her "love." It was kind of cute.
"Sooo," Keefe drew out, stopping them beneath an oak tree throwing shade over the concrete, "what exactly do you need help with?
"Um . . . everything?"
He snorted. "You don't know how to do anything? The semester's halfway over!"
"I know," she growled. "I just have very uncoordinated feet."
"That's an understatement."
As Keefe's lips pulled into a smirk, Sophie placed her hands on her hips. "I may not be able to dance, but I'm very skilled in the art of shoving."
"Do it," he dared.
Sophie stared, dumbfounded. For a teacher who was barely older than her — and not getting paid a penny to teach — he was taking this remarkably well.
"Of course not," she mumbled. "I was kidding."
"Oh, so you do have a sense of humor."
"Don't sound surprised."
"I'm afraid," Keefe said, "many things about you already surprise me."
Her eyebrows pinched together. "Like what?"
"You're eighteen —"
"Nineteen," Sophie corrected.
"Nineteen," he amended, "and not wearing a drop of makeup. You, Sophie Foster, are a rare species."
"You don't strike me as average yourself."
Keefe grinned, his lightest of blue eyes dancing with sunlight. "You're cute."
"Huh?"
"You're cute, Foster. Has anyone ever told you that?"
A flush crept up Sophie's neck and proceeded to touch her cheeks, then her forehead.
"Aww," Keefe said. "You're blushing."
"Can we get to the lesson, please?"
"Maybe tomorrow. I'm too busy studying my new prodigy."
"Prodigy? I can't dance, Sencen."
He smirked, his eyes focusing on her lips a moment too long. "You will when I'm done with you."
《 dancing lessons 》
Start from the beginning
