A/N: I just wanted to say that I'm really enjoying writing this fic. This is my first time ever trying so reviews would be very helpful! If you give a review, I will make sure to reply to it in an author's note when I post the next chapter. Thank you all!

Not the Life I Want Ch.2

I was glad to know that even after a couple of weeks away, the dance hall still felt familiar, like being home. I took my usual seat in the back and mused on how good it felt to be back here where I belong. In the back of my mind was that fear of what my dad would do when he found out, but more prominent than that was the dreadful anticipation of actually speaking to Peeta at the end of rehearsal. All of my thoughts were halted, however, when he walked onto the stage, dressed sensually in a half buttoned black shirt and slacks.

Oh God! This was a dress rehearsal, and he was doing a jazz number that I've never seen before. In fact, I've never seen Peeta do jazz at all. His dances are always slow and intricate, showing off his flexibility and expression. The music is always soft, as to not distract the audience from the real centerpiece, Peeta. This music, on the other hand, was loud and in your face. So were Peeta's dance moves. The rapid turns and flowing hips were nearly too much to handle. What was even worse was the look on his face. It was obviously meant to be sexy and hot, and damn! it sure was. My pants were getting uncomfortably tight and the thoughts running through my head soared uncensored by any sort of self-control.

I let myself wonder into a fantasy of me and Peeta after rehearsal. I would walk right up to him and finish unbuttoning that shirt; it was in the way. I would run my fingers across the hard muscles he must have built up from dancing all those years. Then, I would look up and into his eyes. They would be searing blue and determined. Sexy. He would raise my own shirt off me in an almost animalistic fashion before shoving our lips together. While our tongues fought between our two mouths, I could finally bury my fingers into that golden wheat-blonde hair. He would moan a gently when I give it a little tug and I would be determined to make him moan like that and more tonight. When the need for air was at its peak, we would break apart and breathe together, our faces still close and eyes locked, wanting more. I would grab onto his belt loops and pull him into me, our mutual hardness rubbing against each other. I could feel him and he could feel me. His mouth would be open in the hottest way imaginable and while he was distracted I would latch my lips onto his neck, biting and then soothing with my tongue. I know I'm good at this because girls have always said so, so it would be no surprise when he melts into my ministrations. He would grab onto my shoulders for support and cry out "Cato!"

Suddenly, my thoughts were disrupted by the boy on stage. He had just finished his routine and was bent slightly forward in a bow, smiling. Smiling at me! I swear he was staring straight into my eyes knowingly, as if he knew that I was there just to watch him.

Peeta's P.O.V

I smiled right at him. He had come back. I've been working on this jazz routine for weeks in the hopes of letting Cato know that I am interested.

Of course I know Cato. I doubt there are many people in this town who don't. He's basically the king of the school. Despite our difference in social status, there has always been something that attracted me to him. It's probably the books. Cato loves to read, and I don't mean those trashy vampire teen puke-fests. He likes the classics: Paradise Lost, Gulliver's Travels, Heart of Darkness. At any given time he has a free moment, he can always be seen with his nose deep in a book. I admire this mostly because it is a refreshing break from the super-jock stereotype he is placed in. It also says a lot that he doesn't try to hide it. He reads publicly for all to see. Yeah, he gets picked on for it, but he takes it in stride.

I was slightly taken aback the first night that I saw Cato at one of my dance rehearsals. At first I just assumed he had a little sister that was in the junior company or something, but after I asked around, no one knew of any member with a connection to him. I began to let myself think that maybe he was there to see me. Maybe he was noticing me, which would be a first. No one really notices me, and usually I like it that way. I'm not good at hiding my feelings, and I've been bullied my whole life here. The only way I can get away from it all is with dance. I have my own private world on that stage, but that isn't to say that I'm opposed to sharing it with someone one day. Thoughts crept into my head that maybe Cato could be this person, but I hastily dismissed them. I didn't want to make a fool of myself in front of him and become a bigger target for bullies after all this work laying low.

He came for over a month every Tuesday and Thursday. Eventually, I just had to know. That's when I started working on this jazz routine. Jazz was a new thing for me, having never strayed from the contemporary style that I excel at. I stepped out of my comfort zone a little bit because I knew that if Cato was really there to see me, he wouldn't be able to resist the erotic motions of a jazz number. I figured it wouldn't do any harm because even if I was wrong, I would grow as a dancer anyway.

As I walk off stage to the sound of applause from my choreographer, I think it may have worked. I may have just reeled in the possible man of my dreams. I start changing back into casual clothes so that I can go out and watch the other ensembles perform their numbers. What I'm not expecting, is to see Cato backstage.

"Hey Peeta"

"Uh, Hi Cato. What are you doing here?" I hoped I didn't sound too harsh; I was just curious.

"I uh..I just came to watch you. You looked awesome out there."

Holy shit did he just complement me? Gosh Peeta use your words. WORDS!

"Oh. Um…Thanks?" that wasn't supposed to be a question. Why did I say it like a question?!

"So I was wondering if you would maybe like to go out with me some time?"

I'm at him blankly not saying anything. This isn't because I don't want to say anything. All I want to do is say yes and spend a night on a date with Cato, but for some reason, my brain isn't relaying this to my mouth and nothing is coming out. I see a look of devastation on his face due to my hesitation in answering, and my heart breaks. I never want to see him look like that again. Before I can react, he is running out the exit. Fantastic, I blew it.