Rebound, Boundless Series, Book 1

Chapter Three

At the conclusion of the forty-five-minute Latin class on Wednesday evening, I remained in the fitness room. I usually stayed behind with the music blaring as the women trickled out, chatting, laughing, and toweling themselves. Under the dim lighting, I listened to the heart-pumping music as I swayed to the beat. I rarely listened to music, especially Salsa or Merengue, when I was alone. It reminded me too much of my late mother. Toward the end of her life, the radio blared Spanish songs on a loop. We had hoped it brought her some comfort.

Sniffling at the memory, I drank from my water bottle.

When hands snaked across my hips, I tore myself away, frightened and ready to battle with whoever had dared touch me. To my relief, my best friend, Carson, who was my Conservatory dance partner, stood in front of me, chuckling. I clutched my throat in both fear and surprise. I hadn't seen him in a long time. He had been away for three long months. A beautiful smile appeared on his handsome face. With a sigh, I grinned, matching his enthusiasm. Carson was perpetually touring nationally with his dance troop.

"You're back!" I screamed, grabbing and pulling him into my arms. Carson and I secretly maintained our friendship over the years contrary to Ben's objections to my spending time with other men. It hadn't mattered that Carson was gay and in a committed relationship with his longtime partner. In an effort to respect Ben's wishes, I spent less and less time with Carson, which broke his heart. And shattered mine. Ben's rejection of my best friend was another red flag.

Carson was definitely my physical type: tall, muscular, and impossibly attractive. His body was a work of art—ultra-masculine, strong and flexible. He moved like a soft breeze. And no matter how heavy I was, he would pick me up without much effort, as if I was an errant plume.

Despite our platonic relationship, in my youth, I had been confused by our sensual dancing. The lack of male attention as a blossoming woman decimated my fragile ego. My feelings for him had affected our practices and performances. In time, I taught myself to compartmentalize our sexual chemistry from our unwavering friendship.

Regardless of our strong emotional attachment, Carson would never be in love with me.

Releasing his grip on me, he said, "I got back in town on Monday. I needed a couple of days to veg out at home with Turner."

When Carson had met Turner, I saw how he regarded his boyfriend. Carson was different with Turner as he had been with women. Strong energy emanated between them—a lust and longing that couldn't be duplicated, not even while dancing. There was pure love with an extra dose of ardor. The fiery looks they gave each other confirmed Carson would never want me in that way. I had only imagined he wanted me because I was desperate for love and affection until I had met Ben.

Carson emitted a very heterosexual vibe so I understood how women could fall in love with gay men. He flirted with women, knowing the right things to say, listening intently, and offering advice when necessary. When dancing with a woman, he knew how to hold her—using the right amount of grip, pressing every hard and soft edge of himself against her. Sometimes he'd get aroused but explained it was human nature.

Carson wanted a man the way I had once wanted him.

"I've missed you." My hands held his jaw. "How's Turner?"

The gleam in his blue eyes was as brilliant as ever. "He's good. Glad to have me home." He looked down "I'm thinking of staying home for a while... I have an interview to teach at the Conservatory."

I jumped up, my heart thumping faster. "You do?" I clapped my hands together. "Oh, Carson. I'm so happy for you. I'll keep my fingers crossed."

His cheeks bloomed pink. "Thanks." An audible sigh escaped him and he looked grim. "I'm hopeful. I want to be home with Turner. We're thinking of adopting . . . After we get married." He pulled away to show me a very masculine diamond-encrusted platinum band.