Aster wanted the new kid more than he’d ever want air to pierce his lungs.

The distance between them was excruciating, like a knife forever lodged in his chest. Having Lyre so close, yet a million miles away, was akin to being held underwater, chained to his own death. And sleeping at night?

Just as easy as doing cartwheels in a wheelchair.

What was Lyre to him, anyway? Just a mere friend? Another dancer that set him on fire, every waking moment of the day?

All of the above.

How could it be otherwise, when the new kid on the block was hotter than steak on a plate? Aster spent a lot of time around the city’s slickest dancers, each one a pretty hot ticket, but the eighteen year old Lyre was a gorgeous package. Something slick and beautiful, like fireworks piercing the skies.

Aster had been around the block, with guys in his own age bracket. But compared to all of the thirty and even the forty somethings, no dancer could hope to hold a candle to the new kid. The beauty with black hair and raging green eyes. There was something about the way he moved, something in the way he moved, that caught Aster’s attention and held it. Was he made of magic, the dancing beauty that won every competition he hit up? Was it possible to capture and tame such music, as every note plunged into the skies with vicious vengeance? It was excruciating, watching Lyre dominate the dance floor.