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  Leap by Dylan Allen

  Louis was Cara’s dream man.

  She thought she was his dream, too.

  Until he walked away from her.

  Now he’s back and asking for another chance.

  But last time she fell, he wasn’t there to catch her.

  Louis let Cara go once. Now, he’s determined to win her back and to show her he’s here to stay.

  But Cara’s going to need to believe that, this time, the leap will be worth the fall.

  September 2015

  London

  CARA

  Today is the best day of my life. I am about to tell the man of my dreams that I just got the job of my dreams.

  I’m standing outside of Louis’ apartment; trying to prepare myself to tell him that I’m moving to Paris in six weeks. I’m not sure how he’ll react, but I hope this won’t change things between us.

  I take one last deep breath and knock on the door.

  It swings open less than a minute later and the man I have fallen head over heels in love with greets me with a searing kiss that tells me, every time I see him, that he’s falling for me, too.

  My hands dive into his dark blonde hair. He wears it long and at work, he always has it tied back. But at home, it flows, loose, brushing his shoulders, always falling into his eyes and is as soft as feathers.

  His face, broad and rugged, is a portrait of handsome. His eyes are a crystal blue and he looks at me as if I hung the moon. He has fine lines that radiate from the corners of his eyes and right now, as he smiles at me they are pronounced in a way that tells everyone who looks at him that he laughs often.

  “Hey blondie,” he says as he pulls away from our embrace.

  “Hey blondie,” I respond.

  We are both blonde, my hair an almost platinum shade, while his is a dark blonde and “blondie” has become his nickname for me. Sometimes, I return the favor.

  I step inside. He pulls me into an embrace again and whispers “I missed you, baby,” into the top of my head.

  “I missed you, too,” I return. And I did. It’s only been two days, but it’s feels like forever.

  “I have news.” I say with a coy smile as I pull him towards his sofa.

  “Oh, do tell,” he prompts.

  I am bursting to share. I wasn’t expecting to get the role. I know I danced the best ballet of my career for those auditions, but I also knew the odds were stacked against me.

  The Paris Ballet is a coveted corps in the ballet world. That I’ve never danced on “The Continent” was a strike against me. I’m also closer to thirty than I am to twenty and have had many injuries. I have a permanent plate supporting my left shin.

  Despite all of that, they selected me and there is not a chance I would say no. I am more proud of myself than I’ve ever been in my life and can’t wait to tell the man that has completely captured my heart.

  “I got the role in Paris,” I say excitedly, squeezing his hands, grinning so widely, and waiting for him to smile back at me.

  Instead, whatever anticipation and excitement his expression held when I arrived, extinguishes. He drops my hands and sits down on the sofa, leaving me standing, suddenly bereft, and alone in front of his plush, heather blue sofa.

  I feel tears prick my eyes as the silence extends and it became clear that Louis isn’t going to be the one to break it.

  “Did you hear me, Louis?” I asked rhetorically, knowing that he did, but hoping he will pretend he didn’t.

  “Yes, Cara, I heard you.” I am taken aback by his use of my full name, it’s something he hasn’t done since our first night together.

  “And … don’t you have anything to say?” I prod, aware that I’m wringing my hands. I can’t believe this is happening. It’s not what I’d expected when I came to his flat today.

  He looks up at me and he smiles, wanly, and says, “Congratulations, Cara. That’s wonderful news,” in a tone so flat and devoid of emotion that I wished he hadn’t said anything at all.

  “Louis, what’s going on? Why are you acting like this?” I sit down next to him and put my hand on his arm.

  He looks down at my hand and then up at me. Then he gives his head an almost imperceptible shake that is only discernible because his hair moves slightly. His expression brightens and he brings his hand up to cover mine. He smiles, a smile that reaches his eyes.

  “I’m sorry, blondie, really.” he says earnestly. I believe him because even though he’s smiling, I see contrition in his eyes. So, I return his smile and say, “It’s okay. It’s shocking news, right? Them picking an older American with no Continental experience and no connections.”

  He smiles and says, “They are lucky to have you. You are a talented and unique dancer. It would have been shocking for them not to pick you. I’m happy for you.” He gives me a quick peck before standing up again. It feels very detached and lacking in the passion that imbues every other kiss we have ever shared.

  He heads to his kitchen, but calls over his shoulder,

  “So, when do you leave?”

  I stand up to follow him. When I get to the kitchen his head is in the fridge and I see his profile. His eyes are scanning, looking for something and I wait for him to stand up before I respond.

  He startles to see me standing in the room with him and quickly covers up his look of surprise with a quick smile. He raises an eyebrow, as if to ask, “What are you doing here?”

  “Can I have some water?” I ask. My throat feels dry and hot and the atmosphere feels tense.

  “Of course,” he reaches back into the fridge and hands me a bottle of water, but hasn’t pulled out anything for himself.

  “Louis, are you okay?” I ask him, tentative because I am completely unsure about what’s going through his head.

  “I’m fine. Did you hear me ask when you’re leaving?” he answers, a little curtly and my hackles rise, but I try to tamp them back down.

  “I need to be there by the first week of November, so not a lot of time left,” I say as I take a cautious step towards him. He stays where he is, leaning back against the edge of counter top and watches me, almost warily as I approach. Our usually easy banter and interaction is completely gone. I’ve never seen this side of Louis. So guarded and remote.

  I step even closer and wrap my arms around his waist. Instead of embracing me, too, he unhooks my arms, disentangling himself before he steps away.

  “So, this has been great, Cara. I’m glad we got to hook up before you left,” he says, looking at the ground. I feel like he has just thrown boiling water into my face. My stomach lurches and my heart starts to beat a wild beat of panic.

  I stare at him, willing him to meet my eyes, but he doesn’t. The silence that stretches between us feels interminable. We stand there like two people frozen in time and it could be minutes or hours that pass before I finally find my voice.

  “A hook up? Is that what this was to you?” I ask him, my voice barely a whisper.

  His head comes up slowly and I see a mixture of regret and annoyance in his eyes. His voice though, only conveys the annoyance when he speaks.

  “You’ve been applying for a job in another country. I knew you’d be leaving. I thought we were having a good time,” he says hotly.

  “Wow. Really? A good time? Is that what you call spending every waking moment of every day with each other? You let me think that this meant someth
ing to you and you were just here for a good time,” I say flatly. My heart feels like it is crumbling in my chest. And now I am the one unable to maintain eye contact.

  “Cara, it was great getting to know you, but I’ve always known you were going to leave and I wasn’t going let myself fall in love with you, just so that I’d have to pick up the pieces once you were gone,” he says, his annoyance seeming to ratchet up in intensity.

  I turn around and walk back to his living room. My brain has taken over and it’s telling me to flee. And I’m obeying. I know if I stay, I will be nothing but a pile of dust when this conversation ends.

  “Hey, where are you going?” He asks as he follows me into the living room.

  “I’m leaving, Louis. I clearly misunderstood everything and now I just want to leave,” I snap at him. I find my voice, but can hear the quaver in it as I speak. I won’t be able to hold my tears much longer and I know that if I cry in front of him, this man who is clearly unworthy of my tears, I won’t ever forgive myself.

  He grabs my hand as it is reaching for my bag. “Wait, you’re mad? At me? I don’t understand. You’re the one who’s leaving, “ he says as he spins me around to face him.

  I make myself look him in the eye and immediately regret it. These are the eyes that I love. That is the face I’ve been fantasizing about waking up to every day. How can it be that he is telling me that my fantasy is unrequited? Looking at him only makes my heartbreak feel more profound. I’ve just lost someone who I thought would be a part of my future. I pull my hand out of his grasp, put my bag onto my shoulder and head towards the door. Louis grabs my hand again. “So, you’re just leaving? Just like that?”

  “Yes, Louis, just like that. This is how hookups end,” I snap at him; I can feel my lip curl with disdain.

  He actually pales a little, but only presses his point.

  “Cara, you’re being unfair. You’re the one who is forcing this to end.”

  “How am I forcing it to end?” I look at him, letting my exasperation show. “I’ll be two hours away by train, we could have made this work. But now, I don’t want to. I would never have called what we had a hook-up, Louis,” I say as I snatch my hand back. His touch hurts as much as his words.

  “Thanks for making sure I didn’t waste any more time. Have a nice life, you asshole.” I growl and then I open the door and leave, shutting it hard behind me. A part of me is disappointed when I don’t hear a howl of pain from his fingers being caught in the door and the other part of me is heartbroken again because I know he is not going to try to stop me from leaving.

  As soon as I exit the lobby of his building and step out onto his street, to my make my way to the Barron’s Court metro, I lose the battle with my tears and they run freely down my face as I begin to cry

  I get home less than ten minutes later and bypass my normal “How was your day” chat with my housemates. I head straight for my bedroom and call my mother. She doesn’t answer, so I leave a message for her to call me back.

  I start to call my best friend, Addie, but I decide against it. Addie will lose it if she knows what he said. She has a very fraught and emotional relationship with Louis’ best friend Simon, and I am afraid this might just push her over the edge. I put my earphones in and open my Spotify playlist to my favorite station. Even though I dance professionally, music is my first love. I can always count on it to transport me when I need to escape a painful situation.

  I lay back on my bed, close my eyes and try to let the music take me away. It doesn’t work, and lying there, all I can think about is Louis. How we met. How we were blissfully happy when I saw just him two days ago. How now, everything is over.

  Falling for Louis has been the biggest surprise of my life. He’s our lead set designer at the London Ballet, where I dance as a member of their corps. He’s gorgeous. A walking doppelgänger of the guy who plays Thor in the Avenger’s movies, except Louis is covered in ink. I’ve had a crush on him for three years. And for three years he kept me solidly in the friend zone. But, when his best friend started pursuing my best friend, something changed and he suddenly looked at me with flirtatious mischief in his eyes. I thought we were going to have a fling.

  He is so much more than I expected. My crush on him was based solely on the fact that he was this tall, muscular, blonde with a sexy accent and tattoos. I knew he was talented. He’s the youngest set designer in St. Martin’s Lane, and the sets he has designed are as much a crowd draw as the dancing itself. I knew he was the son of an Earl, but he seemed to have completely thrown that mantle off and was trying very hard to be the exact opposite of “To the manor born”. He was also someone I would classify as a womanizer. He didn’t date anyone who was part of our production, but he was a favorite of the tabloids and was photographed with a different woman every time he appeared in one of their pages.

  But over breakfast that first morning, he asked me about my family, and I told him. Then, he told me about his. Breakfast turned into making out in the kitchen and then watching tele until lunch. We went back to bed and next thing I know it was time for dinner and then he was spending the night. We’ve done this almost every day since that first night. I didn’t set out to fall in love with him, it just happened. I thought he felt the same way. I can’t believe what a fool I’ve been.

  I just need to focus on getting myself ready to leave for Paris and put that heart breaker out of my mind and out of my heart. I just have to figure out how to survive seeing him every day at work for the next three weeks.

  LOUIS

  It’s been two days since Cara stormed out of my flat. Two days since she has been at rehearsal, and two days since I started panicking. I was caught off guard when she announced she got the Paris gig. I thought the next words out of her mouth were going to be “This was fun,” so, I said them for her. I thought she would be relieved. She dates a lot. Even though I knew that I was completely besotted with her, I thought her interest in me wouldn’t last.

  So, when she blew up at me after I said I was glad we’d hooked up, I didn’t know what to do. And I let her walk away. I haven’t asked where she is, because I don’t want to draw attention to how utterly distraught I am. I feel like if I start to talk about Cara, I might cry.

  I don’t know why that little platinum blonde sprite captured me the way she did. The first time I kissed her, I couldn’t get over how soft her mouth was. That kiss in the back of a taxi that we were sharing on our way home from brunch with Simon and Addie, made me feel like I had just discovered something new, something I didn’t even know I was looking for and all I knew was that I wanted more. The way her hand curled around my neck, and the way she crawled into my lap like she had every right to be there, was so hot. And when that soft mouth wrapped around my cock, I thought I had died and gone to heaven. Then, I tasted her, fucked her … and I was a goner. Our chemistry is off the charts. Everything feels unbelievably good. She is tiny, especially compared to me, but she is strong and she is passionate. She fucks like she dances, heart on display, her entire being invested in the act. And she leaves everything on the floor. She fell asleep so quickly, I thought maybe she had hurt herself. But then she started snoring softly and I realized I’d just fucked her to sleep.

  I woke up in her bed the next morning and I didn’t want to leave. And then, she made me breakfast. No one has made me breakfast, unless they were paid to, since I was a child. When I asked her a question about her family, she answered, honestly, thoughtfully and the smile that lit up her face when she talked about them made her more beautiful than she’d ever looked before. So, I told her about my family and we ended up talking all day. And every day since I met her has been like that. Almost a month of pure fun, amazing sex and thoughtful conversation. We also just hang out, watch tv, and talk about life. She is an amazing woman.

  I’ve managed to ruin everything by making assumptions and hurting her in a way that she might not forgive. I’ve texted her twice since that awful afternoon in my apartment and she hasn’
t responded. Desperate times call for desperate measures.

  I decide to go to her flat after rehearsal today to see what’s going on. I’m just praying that I won’t find her gone already.

  As I’m walking out I run into Terese, one of the other corps dancers I know Cara is friendly with, and I make a split second decision. As she approaches me in the hallway, I put myself in her path and she stops in front of me.

  She gives me her trademark, tight smile, the one that never reaches her eyes, and starts to tap her foot impatiently before I start to talk. She was one of the dancers who used to hit on me when I first joined the production. I had a strict no dating any dancers policy that I broke when I started dating Cara. I tried to keep our relationship quiet because I didn’t want it to affect our work. Cara is such a professional. The minute she walks through that side stage door, she is a dancer and nothing else exists. I try to sound casual as I talk to Terese.

  “Hey, T, how are you?” I say lightly.

  “Oh fuck off, Louis. Stop pretending you care how I am,” her tone is bored and she rolls her eyes. Before I can protest, she continues, “I don’t know where Cara is, so save your breath. And you look like shit.” She smiles then, a full on smile that shows her teeth, like she’d just paid me a compliment and was very pleased with herself. Without another word, she walks off.

  I start to call after her, but decide there’s no point. I am even more resolved than ever to stop by Cara’s flat. I walk to the Charring Cross tube and make the short journey to Hammersmith. I practically race down Fulham Palace Road and when I arrive at Cara’s bright blue door, I am out of breath.

  I knock and wait. I can hear music playing from inside the house so I know someone’s home, but have to knock again and more loudly, when no one answers after a minute passes.

  I am about to knock a third time when I hear the dead bolt disengage. The door swings open and a man, one who I know is not one of Cara’s house mates and who I have never seen before stands there, shirtless and reeking of weed.