Page 71 of Liar

But I push aside my worries.

Relax. Breathe. Focus.

I’m lifted and set back on my feet. Next up are a series of sexy, seductively slow, exaggerated movements. Designed to reengage the audience while giving us a chance to catch our breath before the big finale. Eduardo turns away at the last minute of my approach, breaking out of the seductive web I’m casting. My attention is boldly fixed on Eduardo’s profile but the raw emotion in my eyes is for Hayden alone.

But it’s because my gaze is locked on my partner that I notice Eduardo’s mistake. Instead of staring at the judges as practiced, as if daring them to take their eyes off me, his attention is hyper-fixed on someone to our left. Then, ever so quickly it happens. Eduardo nods his head.

Yes.

I wrap myself around him and take the opportunity to hiss in his ear. “What was that?”

He spins out of my clutches and does what he does best, he avoids me.

I snap my fingers and stomp my feet and shake off the feeling of unease. The questions I have can wait. After bulldozing through the obstacles to be here, now isn’t the time to lose focus.

Everything hinges on the final showcase.

The upswing in tempo signals it’s time to conclude our story in a powerful commentary on the ying and yang of wants and desires, disappointments and rejections, shattered hearts and broken trusts.

Knife-sharp movements lead us into it.

I kick high, and the audience gasps.

Eduardo bounds away in a graceful pirouette, and there’s a thunderous applause.

But everyone seems to still in anticipation of our ten-point jump.

I dance like my life depends on it. For the scholarship that’s waiting, for the man in the audience, and for the promise of what can be.

Then, it’s time. Eduardo closes in and lifts me high overhead. I’m flipped then caught with firm hands. I relax every fiber in my body, certain we’re positioned perfectly to execute the next move. I stretch my arms out then I’m tossed high overhead, spinning in rapid rotation for a count of three spins before returning safely to his arms.

“Maravilloso,” I cry out. Halfway there.

I’m set on my feet. He dances away, but I won’t have it.

I dance toward him with fever-pitched movements. Flashing leg at the audience and an evil smile at my reluctant partner.

The audience begins to clap. Thoroughly engaged. Completely entertained.

We did it.

And Hayden witnessed it all.

Eduardo positions himself exactly how we practiced, feet firmly placed and body relaxed. I twirl then leap into him, in a final, desperate act.

I’m hoisted upward so I’m stretched diagonally across his torso.

This. Is. It.

I position my heel in his palm seconds before he thrusts me upward at a ridiculous height, sending me into a mini-cartwheel that takes all my core muscles to control. Upside down, I reach for Eduardo’s shoulders, needing one final push to get the momentum required to complete the ten-pointer.

Instead, I grasp hold of air.

No!

When I was a little girl, my brother brought home a stray cat. He was old, mangy, and had a bit of a temper. I loved him anyway. A few weeks later, I found him with a bullet in his chest. He gave me a sweet lick on my hand, as if to tell me everything would be okay, he’d lived the last of his nine lives well, then curled up in my arms and passed away. In that moment between the lick and his death, I felt like my stomach was full of rocks, weighing me down, pulling me into the ground, beneath the earth, leaving me helplessly gasping for air.

I feel the same pull now, along with the merciless pull of gravity.