..Out of the Blue ..💙

30.Dance

Zoya's POV

It's been two days. Two whole days of awkward silence, of stolen glances and conversations that only exist when Athena is present. Neither of us wants to talk, because we both know we'd be forced to acknowledge the elephant in the room.

And to be frank, neither of us knows what to say.

But there's no avoiding it forever. Athena's school function is coming up, and we haven't planned anything. How can I even dance with Monica? Can she even dance? I don't know.

I take a deep breath, gathering my courage, and knock on her door. As I wait, flashes of that night flicker through my mind, making my skin prickle with heat.

Then, the door swings open.

And my eyes land on her chest.

That damn robe isn't helping. It hangs loosely over her frame, exposing smooth skin and just enough of her collarbone to make my throat dry. Fuck. It's suddenly too warm.

She catches me staring. I don't even try to hide it.

Her lips twitch slightly, amusement dancing in her eyes.

Well, isn't this unfair? She's seen all of me, yet here I am, barely getting scraps in return.

I shake my head, pushing those thoughts away. "Athena's school function is coming up."

She hums, lazily leaning against the doorframe. "What about it?"

I blink. Is she serious?

"You told me not to cancel," I remind her.

She furrows her brows. "Cancel what?"

"The dance, Monica. We have to dance together.*"

Her lips curl into a smirk. "Why not just dance in a strip club then? What's so hard about doing it on a stage?"

Her bitchiness hasn't improved, but I've grown immune to it. It's practically routine at this point.

I cross my arms. "I think the program also includes you, and since you don't have experience dancing on tables—" I raise an eyebrow, "—do I have to train you?"

She lets out a low chuckle. "Zoya, are you suggesting I can't dance?"

I shrug. "Well, have you?"

"Not on tables, no. But on stages?" Her smirk deepens. "That's a different story."

My lips part slightly. "Oh, is that so?"

She steps aside, gesturing for me to come in. "Why don't I show you?"

I hesitate for a second before stepping inside. The moment I sit down on the bed, a rush of memories slams into me.

This bed. Where it happened.

It's been days, but the feeling is still there. Lingering. Clinging.

"Remembering something?" she teases, raising an eyebrow.

My face heats up. "No."

Her smirk grows. "No?"

"No!" I snap, turning away too quickly.

She hums, unconvinced. "Then I guess I'll have to step up my game."

I blink. "What does that even mean?"

Before I can make sense of it, she disappears into the closet. My mind races. Step up her game? Does that mean she's looking forward to it again? Was it just a one-time thing to her?