The Girl Next Door
The Boy Next Door Chapter 11

There's a gentle tap on my arm. "Lys?"

I blink out of my thoughts and refocus my attention on Mia. "Hmmm?" If she asked a question, I have no idea what it was. I really need to snap out of this funk.

Sympathy flashes across her face as she loops her arm through mine and tugs me to her. "Aww, girl. I'm sorry. I know this must be tough." There's a pause. "You want me to beat Colton's a*s? For you, I'll do it."

Even though it takes effort, I force out a snort. "Nah. He's not worth it." My lips quirk at the corners at the idea of Mia getting into any kind of physical altercation. She's never so much as had a disagreement. She's always walked the straight and narrow, but that behavior intensified after her sister, Brianne, died in a car accident. Sometimes I get the feeling that Mia is trying to distract her parents with all of her accomplishments. Straight A's, tennis tournaments, squeaky clean image and reputation. It must be exhausting to be so perfect.

I wouldn't know. I'm far from it. More than that, I have zero inclination to pretend I am.

"Damn right, he's not," she agrees.

I glance up at the sun as it shines brightly in the cerulean-colored sky. There's not a cloud in sight. Even through my sunglasses, the harsh illumination hurts my eyes. It's beautiful out. Normally, a day like this, even in the winter, would make me want to tip my face to the sky and soak up all the rays.

That's not the case today.

If I didn't have dance class, I would be buried beneath a mound of blankets in my bed. It's been more than a week since Colton blew apart my whole world. I still replace it hard to believe that he broke up with me. Through text.

Text!

The lousy bastard.

Who the hell does that?

Colton Montgomery, that's who.

I give my head a vigorous shake, attempting to knock those insidious thoughts loose. Dwelling on the situation won't do any good. And it won't make the pain magically disappear. Although, it would be kind of nice if it did. I'm tired of thinking about it. Tired of feeling depressed and pissed off.

Mia squeezes my arm and I realize that I've once again become trapped in my thoughts. "Sorry," I mutter, embarrassed by my own inability to pull myself out of this depression, "what did you say?"

"I asked if you want to grab dinner tonight. Maybe pizza?" Her voice escalates with excitement. "Oh! There's a new Thai restaurant downtown that just opened. I've been dying to try it out."

I grimace at the idea of eating either. It's enough to make my belly revolt.

"No." Instead of admitting that I don't have much of an appetite, I say, "I'll probably hang out at the studio for a while and work on choreography. The showcase will be here before you know it and I need all the extra practice I can squeeze in."

It doesn't escape me that without dance, there wouldn't be a reason to drag my a*s out of bed in the morning.

Or ever.

Am I being a tad melodramatic?

Perhaps. Unfortunately, it's the truth.

"Listen," Mia's voice turns hesitant, "I know you said you didn't want to talk about the breakup-"

"Good," I cut in promptly, before she can meander too far down this pain-ridden road, "then we understand each other perfectly."

Her face falls and her shoulders wilt. A heavy silence descends as we continue along the cement path that winds through campus.

It's on the tip of my tongue to apologize when she murmurs, "It might help you get over the breakup if you talk about it." Absolutely not.

I shake my head. Revealing just how much Colton hurt me won't do a damn bit of good. It'll only make me look like an i***t for believing he was anything other than a player. Mia is my closest friend and I usually tell her everything, but I couldn't bring myself to share his parting words with her. It was way too humiliating.

f**k him and his unicorn p***y comment.

Even the memory is enough to bring a hot sting of embarrassment to my cheeks.

Relief floods through me as the fine arts building comes into view. I appreciate Mia trying to be there for me, but all I want to do is forget about Colton. I want to forget we were ever together or that I gave him the time of day. The only way that will happen is to stop talking about him. Or even thinking about him. I want to focus all of my energies on things that matter. Like dance. Even the thought of losing myself in the choreography and movement is enough to loosen the constriction around my chest, making it easier to breathe.

I keep my attention locked on the brick building. "I appreciate the offer, but I'm good."

"Okay," she mutters, not sounding the least bit convinced. "If you're sure."

"I am." Somehow, I even manage to hoist my lips into some semblance of a smile. It's not one that stretches across my face, but still, I deserve credit for the effort.

A sigh escapes from Mia's lips before she shrugs. "If you change your mind, know that I'm here to listen." Just when I think that we've put the whole ugly matter behind us, she adds, "Bottling all that emotion up inside isn't healthy."

"Maybe not, but it's a hell of a lot better than sitting around and crying over a guy who isn't worth one damn tear."

I wouldn't mind keeping you in my back pocket and having a taste of it every once in a while. No strings attached, of course.

"That's not what I learned from Dr. Haskel."

Those quietly spoken words have everything inside me softening. Mia attended therapy with her parents after Brianne's death. Even though I would never ask Mia, I can't help but wonder what good it did. It sure as hell didn't bring Brianne back. And her family, for all their plastic smiles and pretending, are still fractured. Her dad works a gazillion hours a week and is barely around. Julia, her mother, drowns herself in alcohol, anti-depressants, and shops like there's no tomorrow. Maybe she secretly wishes that there wouldn't be. I can't necessarily blame her for that. What could be worse than losing a child?

Guilt explodes in me like a gunshot as I pull Mia into my arms and hug her tight. She's like my sister from another mister and nothing will ever change that. Not time, distance, or assholes masquerading as boys. "I realize you're trying to help, I really do, but I don't want to talk about Colton. Like at all. Let me process this breakup in my own way."

Her muscles loosen and I feel the precise moment she reluctantly relents. "But you're not working through anything. All you're doing is pretending that Colt-"

When I give her a hard look, she rolls her eyes and flattens her lips. "All you're doing is pretending that the jerk who shall not be named was never in your life. How is that healthy?" Healthy?

I want to laugh. Or maybe cry.

Processing this breakup in a healthy manner is the least of my worries. I'm more concerned about spiraling into a deep depression that I won't be able to claw my way out of. The truth of the matter is that I'm hanging on by my fingernails. I've crushed hard on Colton for years. What he did was devastating. Toward the end, I'd given him my love and it hadn't been enough. Instead, he'd tossed it back in my face and decided that he'd rather screw as many girls as possible.

Yesterday, I'd spotted him across campus by the Union, surrounded by a fawning crowd of groupies. Clearly, they were all rejoicing his newly minted single status. I'm sure panties have been dropping left and right in celebration.

I'd caught him mid-laugh with a smile curving his lips. Unconsciously, my feet had stopped moving as my heart cracked wide open. For the briefest of moments, our gazes had collided before he glanced away, dismissing me on the spot. The rejection, along with the way he'd moved on so effortlessly, cut right to the bone. How I'll get through the rest of this year-not to mention the next two-I have no idea.

I never thought I'd say this, but graduation can't come fast enough. I need to get as far away from him as possible. I'd briefly flirted with the idea of transferring universities, but that's not really feasible. Wesley has the best dance program in the state, and I don't want to leave Mia. More than that, I refuse to let him chase me away.

So, for the foreseeable future, I'm stuck here with the jerk who shall remain nameless.

"I'm not pretending," I mutter. "I'm choosing to move on and forget about him."

"Same thing."

"Not at all." Before she can argue, I add, "I really need to get moving." I give her a quick kiss on the cheek. "I'll see you tonight, all right?"

She nods. "Yup. Whatever I end up ordering, I'll make sure there's enough for you."

"You're the best." With that, I haul a*s toward the fine arts building. Mia might think that I'm running away from my feelings, but she's mistaken. I'm simply putting them behind me and moving forward. Nothing wrong with that, is there?

Once inside the studio, a puff of air leaves my lips, and my shoulders relax from around my ears. I don't realize how tight my muscles had become until they loosen. I drop my bag along the wall and peel off the scarf and jacket. I'm twenty minutes early and there are only a few other students in the room warming up at the barre or stretching on the floor.

The next to come off are the leggings and shirt until I'm stripped down to a black leotard and tights. I grab my shoes from my bag and slip them on my feet before settling on the floor and stretching. There's something comforting about the routine. Sunlight pours through the floor-to-ceiling windows as a tinge of sweat hangs in the air.

"Bonjour," Monsieur Dupre says as he saunters through the entryway. He's dressed entirely from head to toe in black. And yes, he looks hot as f**k in a way that only attractive European men with an overabundance of confidence can pull off.

My hand rises in a wave as a smile trembles across my face when I think about Zoe propositioning him.

And his partner.

One of the girls on the floor hisses my name and I blink back to awareness. She jerks her head toward the corner of the studio where our instructor waits. "Sorry." I press a hand to my chest. "Did you call me?"

"A word, s'il vous plaît."

"Of course." I pop to my feet and pad over to him.

A slight frown tugs at the corners of his lips as he takes me in. "You are well?"

I shift uncomfortably under his relentless stare. "Umm, yes." I'd rather shove bamboo beneath my fingernails than admit that I'm upset over a guy. The number one rule in the studio is that outside bullshit stays where it belongs. Outside. We don't bring it into this space. "Excellente." Before I can return the question-Monsieur Dupre is a stickler for etiquette-he says, "I assume you have submitted an application for the London Contemporary Dance School study program."

I suck my bottom lip between my teeth and give my head a little shake. "No, I didn't." When he had first mentioned the highly sought-after program a few months ago, I'd kicked around the idea but never applied. I'd been drunk on my relationship with Colton and the idea of leaving Wesley for an entire year hadn't been high on my priority list. I'm embarrassed to admit that I'd prioritized him above dance. Clearly, that had been a mistake.

Especially since all I'd been to him was unicorn p***y.

My nails bite into my palms as I straighten my shoulders. That's a costly mistake that I will never make again.

His perfectly sculpted brows pinch together. "Why not?"

There's no way I can tell him the truth. The man would probably mutter in French before banishing me from the program all together. "I didn't think I stood much of a chance against the competition." Which is somewhat true.

"The deadline is next week," he clips out with a glare that makes me feel three inches tall. "Turn your application in."

Properly chastised, I bob my head. "Yes, Monsieur."

When he remains silent, I scurry back to my spot on the floor. My heart pounds a steady tempo as I give serious consideration to the program in London.

Do I really have anything to lose by throwing my hat into the ring?

Not really. The odds of me actually making it through the selection process is miniscule and it'll give me something to focus on.

So...I guess it's a win-win.

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