Haymitch had me start working out with the other girls right away. Like them, I received a membership to a premier gym, a diet regimen to supplement the workout, and dance training so I could actually learn moves and "body awareness." Five days a week, three to four hours a day, I ran, boxed, lifted weights, swam, did boot camp training, anything and everything Atal, our drill sergeant turned personal trainer, barked at me to do. Our only reprieve was on Fridays when we did yoga and Pilates but even then my entire body felt like jelly. Haymitch kept my bartending schedule the same. "It'll prepare you for when you're ready for the stage."

Between workouts and work, I was in town nearly every day and despite Peeta's offering of massages, sleeping on couches was doing nothing to soothe my aching body so begrudgingly, I started apartment hunting. I had more than enough saved up at that point to live just about anywhere, but the one building I wanted - the homey, rustic one Peeta lived in - was completely full. Luckily, a few days later, a top floor suite in the building across from his opened up. Cash in hand, I swept it up hours after it went on the market.

My chest swelled with pride when I signed the lease. It was the first big purchase I ever made and I was proud that I made it all on my own. I invited Peeta over on one of my off days, and he confirmed that it was a good place, which helped me feel better about it.

"Are you bringing your own stuff or…?"

I tried not to let my face show my feelings on the subject. Anything I had at home needed to stay there. But there was no way I could afford an entire apartment's worth of furniture. "I thought I'd go check out the thrift shop."

Peeta laughed. "You don't have to do that. Plutarch will help take care of everything."

"Plutarch?" My eyebrows furrowed. "Who is Plutarch?"

"He's a designer Haymitch knows. He's helped all of us decorate our apartments to our own style."

I shook my head. "I don't have enough saved up for that." That and the idea of spending even more money on myself that I should be saving for Prim made my stomach turn.

Peeta smiled. "He works on payment plans, whatever you can afford. I don't know what kind of friendship he and Haymitch have but he's been taking care of all of us. He's a good guy, Katniss, he'll make sure you're completely comfortable in your space. Haymitch...he's rough, right, but he cares about us all in his own way. Trust him when he sends people your way. He's only trying to help you like he's been helping us all."

I worried my bottom lip, still not sure it was the right thing to do, but Peeta's smile and earnest blue eyes wore me down and I agreed to meet with this Plutarch guy. "I suppose it'll be nice to have a real bed again."

Plutarch Heavensbee was a rotund man with thinning blonde hair and a deep laugh that made his entire body shake. He walked through my apartment with me, stroking his thick mustache when I told him about my hobbies and interests. He asked me questions that I didn't really understand what they had to do with decorating, but Peeta warned me about Plutarch's eccentric style so I bit my tongue and went along with him. Sometimes he'd walk into a room and just stop. I was never sure what exactly I was supposed to do, so I ended up just hanging out against a wall until he asked me a question.

"Give me two days, Miss Everdeen," he announced. "This place will just scream you." With a smile and a wink, he exited my new apartment in a whirlwind of confusion and style. Odd as he was, when he was finally done, I had to admit his methods worked. Without being aware of it, because I certainly never told him, he made my new apartment look remarkably like the cabin my family used to go to in the summers. It even smelled like I remembered, thanks to the candles Plutarch thought to set on my counter. My bed had a pine wood frame with natural knots and lines, as if it were actually set from trees and not mass produced in a factory.

For the first time since my father died, I actually felt at home someplace. It should have had some ghosts, I thought, since it reminded me so much of those happy summers where life seemed to just stop, but it didn't. This place was light and airy; not like my home in District 12 which still felt suffocating and cold. I sat back on the couch Plutarch found and closed my eyes. Yes. This felt right.

I didn't meet my pole dance instructor until I had survived three weeks of training. The woman in charge was fairly demanding in that she would only work with those who had the stamina and strength to make it worth her time. That's what Haymitch told me in a hoity, exaggerated accent that made me roll my eyes in disgust. Turned it out, the accent wasn't all that exaggerated. To this day, I don't know where Miss Effie Trinket originated from except maybe some cotton candy colored bowel of dancing hell.

"Welcome, welcome," she greeted me on the day of our first lesson. I met her at a dance studio in the gym that was set up specifically for pole dancing. She was wearing mile high, bright pink heels that matched her barely-there workout clothes. Her face was impeccably made up and her bleach blonde hair was piled atop her head. "You must be Katniss Everdeen."

I nodded, wondering just how dangerous this perky woman in her mile high, bright pink heels was.

She smiled and clapped her hands together and walked over to her as if she were walking barefoot. I had never seen anyone so comfortable in what had to be the most uncomfortable shoes in existence. "Excellent. We'll get started then. I do have a few ground rules for all the girls I teach. Rule one - you will not eat fewer than three hours before my classes. I won't have you throwing up all over my floor. Rule two - you will smile anytime you do any spins or pole moves. None of this…" she waved her hand in my face, "glaring thing you're doing now. That's not attractive and will not win you any favors. Rule three - do not, under any circumstances, attempt any moves I have not taught you. There is no place for rebels in here and I won't have you hurting yourself because you think you know better." She smiled at me with that one, as if she had seen her own share of girls doing what they wanted instead of listening to her, which wouldn't surprise me. "And finally. For the entire time you are in my studio, you will walk on the balls of your toes. I hear you have some dance experience?"

Turns out, the perky woman with the ridiculous accent in the mile high, bright pink heels was the most evil woman I ever encountered. By the end of our first session, I knew how to do a multitude of spins and flying pole moves at the cost of blisters on my feet and hands, cramps in my legs from constantly pointing my toes, and arms that felt like they might fall out of their sockets.

"I suppose that will have to do for your first lesson. We'll meet again in a couple days," she told me, chipper as ever, without a speck of makeup out of place. I glared at her, my face red and drenched in sweat. "Next time you'll learn how to climb so please wear the appropriate attire." She pointed to her own get up. "You'll need skin to stick to the pole."

Calluses and blisters on my hands and feet were nothing compared to the bruises and pole burn that accented my olive toned legs after learning to climb. Yellow and purple spots all over my knees and feet and arms. Bruises I was keen to show off to Peeta at the bar on slow nights. I turned to the side and pushed my thigh out. "See? This one's a few days old."

"You are so strange," he laughed. "You like your bruises?"

I shrugged. "Yeah. I dunno, they're like badges of honor or something. Effie says -"

"I'm surprised Effie let you back into her studio like that," he snorted. "Johanna says she's a bit of a tight-ass perfectionist."

I rolled my eyes. "She's kind of ridiculous. And between you and me, she doesn't look like she's qualified to do anything. But I watched her do a routine once before class and...she's good. Even in those stupid heels."

He reached down and poked a particularly large bruise with his finger. "Doesn't it hurt?"

I winced. "A little. But I heal pretty quickly."

"Hm."

"What?" I asked, laughing and going back to stocking the bar.

He was silent for a moment and when I looked back over at him, he was leaning against the bar, watching me, eyes darker than expected, even in the dim lighting. "Nothing. Have a good night, Katniss."

Something was different about him, about how he acted around me. I noticed it for the first time at the party in the club, after my dance. I would catch him watching me more than usual and his eyes took on that dark hue. He would watch me as a predator watches her prey, but it was fleeting. A blink and he was back to his normal, sunshine state, leaving me anxious and uncertain in his wake.

Effie had given me an assignment during my shifts, to observe - as much as possible - the other girls and what they were doing. I was to identify the moves I knew and make note of what I wanted to learn. It was slightly easier now than when I first started, since I knew the bar like the back of my hand and had trained my eyes to move much faster. Whiskey and cola, Guinness, modified ballerina to basket, four shots of tequila, candy cane to back arch, always with toes pointed. The climbs of course were more impressive than my beginner attempts and most could flip themselves upside down, sliding down to the floor and stopping themselves right as their head was about to smack the stage. It didn't matter how many times I had seen them do that, my breath caught in my throat. For the first time, however, my heart fluttered with the idea that maybe, someday, I could do that. It was a strange thought, I realized, to be excited about dancing again. Especially this kind of dancing.

Twice a week, I worked with Effie, learning and perfecting moves and lines and flow. Twice a week for what felt like forever but was probably only six weeks, I walked on the balls of my feet until I felt like they would bleed. Twice a week for six weeks and Effie finally pronounced that I was as good as I was going to get. Apparently that was her stamp of approval but it felt like a punch to the gut.

Annie laughed and told me Effie told that to all the girls when they were deemed fit for the stage.

"Well she sure knows how to make a girl feel special," I mumbled.

"It gets easier," she promised. "Effie and Atala are intense, yes, but now that you're ready, you'll get to meet Cinna. And I think you're going to like Cinna."

Cinna was in charge of costuming. He worked with an assistant, Portia, out of the studio he built in the basement of the club. Despite being in the basement, and the basement of this club, everything about the studio was calm, simple, and, if I was being honest, plain compared the opulence upstairs. Similar to his space, Cinna was dressed in a black button down and dark jeans, with a single hoop earring in his left ear and a thin line of gold eyeliner, which stood out against his dark skin. He was simple and sophisticated, long and lean, handsome but humble looking. "Hello. You must be Katniss," he welcomed me with a warm smile. "I'm Cinna."

He was one of the rare people who could draw a smile out of me instantly.

Cinna sat me down in a plush chair and poured me a glass of red wine. "Relax, Katniss, this is just a consultation. I'm just going to get to know you, get some measurements, and that's it. Nothing to be nervous about."

I accepted the glass and took a tentative sip. I had never been much of a wine drinker, except for the cheap Boone's Farm shit after high school because it was all I could afford. But that wine had hints of berries and chocolate and I found myself able to swallow a sip without grimacing. "So," I started, trying to smile at Cinna, "you're the costume guy?"

He nodded. "I suppose that's the simple way to view what Portia and I do. Victor's Village, as you've learned by now, is not about stripping or getting naked. It's about the illusion presented. Yes, there is exposed skin and clear sex appeal, but what sets us apart from the other clubs is that all the employees, especially the dancers, engage in fantasy fulfillment. These men can see naked women anytime they want; they don't come here to pay to see what they can have. They want what they can't have, what they don't know they want. And I help you become that fantasy for them."

I snorted. "I don't think there's much about me that's anyone's fantasy." I don't say it to get a response, I say it because it's true. Men don't exactly salivate over me like I've seen them do the other girls at the club. Or other girls in general. I'm plain, small, and not all that pretty and it's something that never really bothered me before. But this idea that somehow I'm supposed to be this fantasy for a bunch of strangers makes me stomach twist. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea, agreeing to be a dancer instead of just saving extra from the bartending gig. "I may be the wrong girl for this."

Cinna didn't say anything for a long time. He simply looked at me with a watchful eye, taking slow sips of his own wine. Then he leans forward and smiles. "I think, Katniss Everdeen, that you may be the absolute perfect girl for this. Do you trust me?"

He took my measurements, a pathetically small 32-24-34. My size never seemed at all relevant until this job but Cinna reassured me that, given my height, my proportions were nearly perfect. "Your proportions would be perfect no matter your height," he said with a wink. It made me wonder just how many of these girls felt inadequate about their bodies at some point. It seemed impossible that anyone like Cashmere, who was the epitome of classic beauty, or even Johanna, who was toned but still extremely feminine, ever questioned if anyone would find them attractive enough. I wanted to ask but it felt far too personal a question.

"Go take a look around at the studio," he told me after he finished writing down his notes. "I'll need to meet with Portia to go over a few things and then we'll both sit down with you and show you our ideas." He pointed to a back room where racks and racks of clothing, ranging from corsets and tutus to various shades of flesh toned g-strings and bras. There were boots and heels and shirts and skirts; all custom made for each girl as indicated by the name on the rack. I ran my fingertips along the fabrics, wondering if the customers knew how much work went into creating their fantasies. Or if they even cared. I lost myself in the work room, surrounded by such creativity and imagination that I could never have created in my wildest dreams.

"The difference is in the details," a woman's voice cut through my thoughts. "Anyone can create lingerie, which is why we work so hard to set ours apart."

I looked up to see Cinna and a woman I didn't recognize by sight but assumed to be the Portia he referred to. They were an odd pairing, similar in skin tone and stature but where Cinna was simple, Portia was outlandish. Not as extreme as Effie Trinket, but it was clear this woman had a deep and passionate love of fashion that I didn't understand and normally wouldn't like. But there was something about the way she carried herself made me appreciate her aesthetic. "They're all beautiful."

"Glad you think so," Cinna said, beckoning me toward him. "I've got some drawings we'd like to show you."

The three of us sat at one of the worktables while Cinna flipped through his portfolio of rough drawings he created for me. "I figured you'd be more comfortable if your...modesty...was still covered," Cinna said, pointing to drawings of undergarments. "Portia had the idea of dying the bottom layer to match your skin tone so you'll still have that illusion of nudity. Then, what we'll do is design around that."

I'm in awe of his designs, but quickly figure out his concept. Innocent. Naive. New. Fresh. There are flowing skirts and floral accessories in soft pastels and soft colors. They aren't really my style, but at this point in my life, I'm not sure that I have any real style other than jeans and a t-shirt, which clearly wasn't acceptable in this environment. I don't want to doubt him or his experience; he and Portia had been designing outfits since Haymitch took over the club. They knew the ins and outs of everyone who worked there, who frequented there, and what would and wouldn't work. But something about the simple designs made me wonder, "Is it enough of a fantasy?"

He and Portia shared a look. "This is just the wrapping, Katniss. It's what's underneath that will make you memorable." My confusion must register on my face because Cinna leans in close with a conspiratorial grin. "You're not the typical girl, are you? You're feisty and ballsy and determined, especially when you're proving yourself. I've seen that when you're behind the bar and I believe that will come across again on stage. That is the fantasy. Innocence undressed to expose that fire. You'll be…"

"A girl on fire," I finished, connecting the dots he started.

"A girl on fire," he agreed. "And you're not afraid of a little fire are you, Katniss?"

I felt like my stomach was going to drop out of my butt. It was my first night as a dancer and even though I was assigned to be one of the middle dancers I was absolutely petrified. One of the girls said they always start the new girls in the middle because the customers were less likely to remember them there, something about psychology and memory or something like that. I think it was supposed to be supportive but I still couldn't be sure. I'd get two different performances while the rest of the girls did at least three, which I was more than okay with. I must have washed my hands about a hundred times and I still worried I'd slip all over the pole.

Johanna found me right before I was supposed to go on and stepped right in my path, effectively blocking me. She had an eyebrow cocked as she scanned me up and down. "Make 'em pay for you," she said casually, adjusting a strap on my top. She grabbed my hands and rubbed on some sort of paste and sauntered off.

I was pretty sure she was trying to psych me out and if I was being honest, it worked. I heard my name announced as the lights dropped and it took a few heartbeats to force myself onstage. I kept my eyes on the floor, too scared to look out at who could be watching me. Effie would have a fit if she knew I had no plans of engaging the audience but she wasn't here to bitch at me.

The start of the pop-techno song that was selected for me started and I had just enough time to think about the first move - walking to the pole. I've done the routine more times than I can remember. As I reached the pole, I twisted so my back was against it and pumped my body down twice. I realized the stuff Johanna put on my hands was a gripping agent and I silently thanked her for the insight. On the third, I lifted my left leg straight and pumped down to the floor, rolling to my stomach, and rising up ass first. I crawled to the front of the stage, which was the first time I realized I'd actually have to look at someone at this point. I nervously glanced into the audience and only saw swarms of colors and shapes, though nothing recognizable. Until I caught a flash of blue. He was supposed to be keeping an eye on the customers, but it was clear that Peeta was watching me. And instantly I felt more confident. More comfortable. If he was going to watch me then I would watch him back. I crawled to the edge of the stage, mermaid my legs around to my elbow. Two rounds of dancer feet, a big rainbow arch with my legs and a roll onto my stomach. Another cat-pounce up with what Effie called a "peek a boo" rise because my legs worked to give the audience just a "peek" of what was under my skirt. I walked back to the pole to wrap my feet around the pole for a basic spin, shifting my legs to be on the same side of the pole and twisting up to a standing position. I walked around the pole and turned so my chest was facing it. "Personal flair" was another one of Effie's words that basically just meant shake your hips and ass in time to the music. Hand up on the pole, turn underneath, slither down to the floor, push knees down, hair flip. I could do the routine in my sleep, but I kept my eyes locked on Peeta's. I was doing this for him. It was the only way I could get through it without the slightest sense of degradation - especially when I caught the first glimpse of green paper landing on the edge of the stage. Even in the back of the room, I could see his Adam's apple bob when I ladder-climbed up the pole and struggled to catch up with my own racing heart.

I played with my shirt, the first indication to the crowd that I was going to actually expose skin. Gone, in theory, was the girl dancing in a long flowing skirt and in her place was the woman underneath, waiting to come out. It sounded so ridiculous when Effie explained it to me, but I had to admit that in the moment, I got it. Not that I'd ever tell her that.

Knowing Peeta was watching made me nervous and aroused at the same time. I imagined him being the only one in the crowd, the only one who got to see the rest of me. Lifting the shirt over my head, I leaned forward and pulled my body back, taking the top off in the process. I gave a wink and tossed the shirt into the audience, grinning for the first time as they all cheered wildly. Portia had done an amazing job dying the bra to match my olive tone, hand painting freckles on where they would naturally be if I was naked. Cinna had included dim flames over the rest of me, like a flickering light, to symbolize my initial coming out. Or...something. I still didn't really understand his image but he said it would make more sense over time.

One of my more advanced spins was next, a modified ballerina to basket, which had me falling backwards, completely against what my body wanted to do, and lifting my legs up into a sitting position. I did a body wave up to stand and hooked my foot against the pole, leaning backwards so I could see the audience upside down. Rising up, I repositioned my hands to trot around the pole, leaned back and swung my leg between myself and the pole. Anytime I walked around the pole, I popped my head back, making my hair flip around me, to make sure I could see Peeta. I had to hope that he couldn't see I was staring at him as intensely as I was, but I didn't dare look elsewhere. I turned under my arm so my back was against the pole, repositioning my hands into a baseball grip, scissor kicked and slid to the floor. Pulling myself to roll to the other side, I pumped my hips up twice, rolled back to my stomach, and cat pounced up, trying not to grimace at the pain in my knees from too many cat pounces on this hard stage. I rose up and turned again so my chest was pressed against the pole and I was facing the audience. Well, facing Peeta.

I turned so my back was against the pole and hooked my thumbs into the top of my skirt. The catcalls crescendoed and I continued to tease them, making figure eights with my hips while s-l-o-w-l-y lowering the hem of my skirt to expose just my skin-toned thong. As hard as I tried, Cinna said it had to be a thong or a g-string for the bottoms and the thong had slightly more fabric than the alternative. When my skirt reached my knees, I used my feet to finish pulling it down and kicked it off stage with my abandoned shirt.

I walked around the pole, extending my leg and spinning around with the pole squeezed between my bent knees. I rose up, leading with my pelvis, walked around and repeated the move but with my legs straight out in front of me. I crossed my knees on the ground and arched back to the ground, playing with my hair in the process. I ran my bare feet up and down the pole and pushed back so I was a full body length from it. From there, I rolled back to my stomach and crawled to the edge of the stage, trying to avoid the slick spots where the money had landed. I rose to my knees, making full body circles up and back as fluidly as possible. One more peekaboo rise and I was done. I survived. The music, timed perfectly with my routine, came to a close and the lights came back up.

I felt my heart race and my breathing labor, but I couldn't stop the grin on my face. I collected my discarded clothes and all the money, including some that were being held up just for me. I had never been desired in that way before, never been seen as sexual in a stranger's eye. I wondered if I should have been so pleased, was I being objectified by these men or was I being adored by them? Guilt bubbled in my stomach at the conflict but was immediately quelled when a blue eyed, blonde haired bouncer caught my eye again. He wasn't objectifying me. He was devouring me with his eyes. And at that moment, that was all I cared about.

I scurried off stage and rushed past the girls who were finally smiling at me, smiling without looking like they were going to murder me in my sleep, out the back door to where the smokers took their breaks. Luckily, no one was outside so I was able to lean against the wall in peace. I had never experienced a rush like that before. And I knew only part of it was actually being on stage. Something shifted when I found Peeta in the crowd. Something I didn't expect and didn't know what to do with. Peeta and I were friends and that was it. I wasn't looking for a hookup or a relationship and I couldn't do anything that would compromise what we already had. What I was feeling was normal, I told myself. I was just...attributing the rising arousal I felt when I looked at him to the adrenaline surging through my body. Nothing more.

I took a few more deep breaths when the chilly night air started affecting me, given that I was basically naked, and I pushed back into the dressing room. Cinna always made sure we had something to wear if we wanted to walk around the floor after a show that was sexy but comfortable. He and Portia must spend all day in their space designing and creating these ensembles. Haymitch didn't want us to socialize too much after dances, saying was too easy for customers to get out of hand when we were out in the open, but as long as we had the eye of security, we could go out on the slower nights.

I leaned against the bar with a tired smile as Annie jumped up and a down and leaned across to hug me. If there was one thing I had learned about Annie Cresta it was that she was a hugger. And when I told her I wasn't much of a hugger, it only made her hug me more. At least, it did when I always gave in and hugged her back. "You were great!" She exclaimed, pouring me a light beer and a glass of water.

I chugged the water first, not stopping until it was completely gone. "Yeah? I was so nervous. I'm pretty sure I missed a couple spins or something," I admitted, leaving out the part where I knew I missed things because I was too busy staring at and thinking about Peeta. That was too embarrassing to tell even Annie.

"No one out there," she indicated to the customers who were watching the next dancer, "would ever be able to tell. And I didn't notice any glaring mistakes. Did you, Peeta?"

I froze mid-swallow of my beer as I felt his presence behind me. Of course, there are only two guys from security working tonight and someone has to be watching the door, so he's the one who's supposed to keep an eye on me. And the other girls, I hastily remind myself. Not just me. But if he's keeping an eye on me at the bar, it meant he couldn't be watching the other girls dance.

"Nothing wrong at all," he breathed, leaning near me, resting his elbows on the bar. "I thought you looked amazing up there, Katniss."

I laughed, though it came out more like a wheeze because hearing him say my name like that makes my body quake. "Thanks," I mumbled, taking another drink, knowing my warm cheeks weren't from the show. I almost jumped out of my skin when I felt his arm brush against mine. I wouldn't have thought anything of it if I weren't already buzzing in hormonal anticipation. All because of him and those stupid blue eyes that watched me and made me feel desired without even intending to. "Does the money thing get easier?" I asked Annie, willing myself to breathe deeply but being betrayed by the scent that I've grown to recognize as undeniably Peeta. I licked my lips and swear his hips move closer to mine on our side of the bar.

Annie nodded, pouring glasses of beer and setting them on a tray. "It gets less awkward," she admitted, "not sure that makes it easier or not, though. Hold on, I gotta run these."

I grab the tray from her. "I've got it. You're busy and it's my fault you're working tonight. And I won't even charge you for my services." I didn't mean it to be sexual but the way Peeta's breath hitches shoots a shock to my core. "I mean...I won't…"

"I know what you mean," she laughed, "get out of here and bring me my tray back!"

I was aware of Peeta following a few steps behind me, close enough to step in if needed, but far enough away to not look like he was following me. The men I handed the beers off to recognized me instantly as "that new girl who dances" and pulled an empty chair over to their table, insisting I stay and chat with them for a while. I stood, instead, knowing the first rule if you want to avoid being hunted is to leave yourself a clear out.

"You're a good looking girl," one of them said, eyes raking over my body. "And a good dancer."

I ducked my head, remembering the part I'm supposed to play here. "Thank you," I answered. "I'm glad you enjoyed the show."

"Enjoyed?" Another laughed boisterously. "Hell, he more than enjoyed it. If you know what I mean."

My cheeks flushed furiously, which made them laugh harder. "Uh...um...thanks, again? I, um, I need to get this back to the bar but...yeah, thanks. Enjoy the night." I turn on my heels and all but run to the bar, totally forgetting that Peeta was only a few steps behind me and ran face first into his chest. His hands wrapped around my arms to keep me from falling.

"Woah there, no running at the pool," he joked. In a lowered voice, he asked, "Are you okay? Do I need to talk to them?"

I shake my head. "No, I just need to get this tray back to Annie. And I should probably get backstage. To...change…" I shouldn't have looked up at him as I said that. Or bit my lower lip, which was totally a nervous tic and not at all a seduction technique. At least, not to me it wasn't. Based on the deep groan that vibrated through Peeta's body, which was still flush against mine, it apparently had some effect on him. Probably the same effect that vibration had on me.

"Yeah," his voice hoarsely answered. "You should…"

"Yeah."

We stood there, just looking at each other but in a way that we never really have before. At least not mutually. It's a moment we weren't willing to break, despite knowing we should. I had to get ready for my second performance and he should have been keeping an eye on the other girls. And the patrons. This was an odd site for anyone paying attention to us, but it was as if they didn't exist in that moment. It was just us.

And just like that, we were forced back into reality. I don't remember who broke eye contact first, but whoever did was stronger than the other. I smiled softly at him as he released my arms. "I'll see you later, Peeta." I slipped away from him and headed toward the dressing room.

"Yeah. Later," he called after me. If anyone said anything to me while I prepared for my second show, I didn't hear them. I paid no attention to anyone. And when I went out and danced again, my eyes automatically found his and never left. Every hip pump and body wave was punctuated by a lip bite or an inaudible moan because all I could think of was Peeta. Despite having never done drugs, I felt high and carefree and sexual. Was this what Johanna meant? Did I really not understand and appreciate my sexuality and my body until it was exposed in this way?

Right or wrong, it was a completely unfamiliar but not unwelcomed feeling.

Annie wasn't kidding when she said the dancers make more money. I felt guilty, I hadn't worked nearly as hard as she had and here I was, sitting with twice as much cash at the end of the night. But when I tried to offer it to her, she looked at me as if I grew a second head. "You earned it."

Even trying to stay back to help her clean-up was met with what Finnick dubbed the "Annie look." I couldn't help but stifle a laugh whenever I saw it because Finnick's impression was spot on. Instead, I cleaned up my area in the back room, changing out of my tone-colored underwear and into my shorts and tanktop, sans underwear or bra because I stuffed them into my gym bag as soon as I changed and didn't really want to go digging for them at the moment.

I slung my bag over my shoulder and waved at Annie, who looked like she was almost done cleaning. I pushed the front door open and leaned against the wall. Glancing over to where I used to walk to the bus stop, I wondered if I should take tomorrow off at the gym and go home to see my mom and Prim. I hadn't seen my sister in what felt like forever. Even though she told me she understood, the guilt was overwhelming when I let myself fixate on her. At the same time, my bed just sounded heavenly, like a welcoming beacon to relax my aching body. Either way, I'd have to wait for Peeta to let him know.

I heard the door open behind me and saw Peeta saunter out, his shirt untucked and hair unruly. "Hey Katniss," he greeted, smiling at me. "Headin' my way?" It was his favorite joke since we always walked home together.

I rolled my eyes and pushed off the wall. "Let's go, Romeo." At the same time, we turned to face each other with big grins. "Aaaaaye." I laughed and bumped into his side which was a major mistake. The cool night air had done so much to calm my raging hormones, but just the touch of our bodies sent all of my nerves firing at rapid speed.

He felt it too, I was sure of it, given that he had fallen completely silent next to me. Despite being outside, it was as if all the oxygen had been sucked out of the air between us. My skin was on fire and I sincerely questioned my ability to walk the entire way. Someone's hand touched the others. Fingers brushed as our steps mirrored.

"So," I started, my voice quiet.

"So," he answered. "You, uh, you really did look good. Tonight. Um, dancing, I mean."

I grinned, ducking my head. "You noticed?" I wanted to smack myself as soon as the words came out. Of course he noticed. Of course he noticed that I noticed. "Thanks. It was...it was kind of arousing."

"Arousing?" There was that tone again. The one that made my stomach turn and knees wobble.

"Exhausting," I quickly corrected myself. "You know, all those lifts and spins and stuff. Killer on my shoulders." I tried to make a joke of it, hoping to cut the tension between us because this was Peeta, and Peeta was my friend. He was my rock during the show, yes, but whatever I felt for him then was only because of the environment. And, surely, the same had to have been for him.

But then his fingers brushed my shoulders and transferred my gym bag over to his. "Better?"

"I can carry it," I protested, half hoping he'd fight me because I really was that tired and half hoping he'd put it back just to feel his fingers again.

Instead, he just looked at me and shook his head. "No, no, Katniss Everdeen. It is my job to make sure you get home safely. And if that means carrying this ridiculously full bag two more blocks, I will. What do you have in here, anyway? Bricks?"

I shrugged. "You caught me. No, dumbass. I dunno, the usual - clothes I need to wash, a pair of running shoes, my underwear, some water bottles, a granola bar or two...what?"

He had stopped moving entirely, his eyes glancing between my face and my bag. "What?"

It was then that I realized he wasn't looking at my face so much as my shorts. Because. Oh fuck. Did I really tell him what was in my bag? Had some part of me meant to? The part that wanted to jump him as soon as I got off stage, possibly. I damned the floating hormones that still ran through my body and clearly got up into my brain and disabled my filter. But he couldn't know that. I could pass it off, right? Maybe he had just thought he heard something and I could pretend I hadn't said it. "I said some water bottles, a granola bar or two."

He shook his head. "No, before that."

Shit. "A pair of running shoes."

"No."

Had I moved closer to him or had he moved closer to me? Either way, there we were again, just like at the club, standing nearly nose to nose. But this time, neither of us needed to do our job. And there were no patrons there to watch us. We were, literally, alone in the moment. Just our bodies so near I could see the shades of blue in his eyes and the hint of stubble on his chin. I felt his breathing and heard his heartbeat banging through his chest as fast as mine.

My tongue snuck out to wet my lips. Finally I felt his lips against mine as he turned me around and pushed my back up against the wall of a building. I heard the sound of my gym bag thumping on the ground as his hands held my hips and pulled me against him. His lips were determined against mine; his desire coursing through him. I nipped at his bottom lip, eliciting a growl. His lips traced over my skin, from my lips to my neck, leaving behind a coolness that burned into me. He was sloppy and wet, which I normally would find unappealing, yet knowing they were from Peeta, that he was leaving himself on me, only made my stomach tighten further. It made me want him more.

"You're so beautiful," he whispered into my ear, nipping at the lobe and causing me to moan loudly. His hands came down to my hips, gripping the fabric of my thin workout shorts. He groans when one hand comes down to cup me between my legs, no doubt feeling the heat and wetness he has caused. "Fuck, Katniss." His head rests on my shoulder, lips still suckling on whatever skin they can find.

"Peeta." I felt how much he wanted me. Whenever I rotated my hips, I could feel him again and again, faster and faster. He gasped for breath, a sound that I never knew could be so sexy. Or make me so hungry for more.

"We can't," he groaned into my ear, his leg grinding against my aching center. But he felt too good to stop. When I told him, he breathed heavily against my neck, sending goosebumps down my flesh. "Katniss, we have to stop…"

"Why?" I whimpered, my body wound so tight I thought I would burst at any second.

"Because, we're...Katniss, seriously stop, we're outside."

Oh. "Then let's go inside," I instructed, slowly pulling away from him, both of us groaning at loss of contact. I held firmly to one of his hands, though the way he was wrapped around my body, there was no way he was letting me get away from him. "Whose-?"

"Wherever's quickest," he mumbled against my skin. It took us a few pauses to end up at one of our apartment; hurried kisses and scrambling touches of skin pressed against each other continually distracted us from our goal, but the smell of fresh coniferous trees told me it was mine. I pulled him toward my bed, our hands never breaking contact.

He didn't bother to remove my shorts, running his hands up my legs and under the fabric, his fingertips slipped against my core. He trailed his fingers along the outside of my folds, teasing me. I bucked my hips, moaning for more. Needing more. "You're so wet," he marveled.

"Because of you," I panted. "I thought of you, when I was on stage. I thought of only you."

There was that groan again. The one I was beginning to think may make me come just at the sound of it. He slid his fingers all the way up, entering me with ease. My hips rocked into his hand, his heel pressing against my clit. His fingers, bigger and thicker and rougher than mine created a new sensation that filled me with fire. My heart felt as though it was floating in my chest, disconnected from any part of my body. Heat spread through all my limbs until I nearly snapped.

He pawed at my breasts through my shirt with his free hand, pinching one of my nipples through the fabric easily since I had left my bra in the bag with my panties. I reached down to cup his growing erection through his jeans. The angle was awkward but he thrust his hips against my hand, his fingers moving in the same rhythm. "Fuck, Katniss, I gotta take these off." We scrambled to get his jeans unbuttoned and off.

We sat there, me in my barely-there gym shorts and he in his boxers, and a whole new kind of tension filled us. I could see the outline of his thick cock straining through the thin fabric. I felt him before but it was almost misleading without seeing him. He seemed to be of average length but wider girth. Stocky, like him.

"Katniss-"

I wondered what it would feel like to have him inside me, how full I would be, what spot he would hit when he thrusted in and out of me. I could tell he wanted to. It was in his eyes. I wondered if it was in mine, as well. Along with nervousness and hesitation. "No," I whispered, breaking eye contact. "Not now."

He nodded in understanding, yet I couldn't help myself. I still wanted him somehow. My hand slid down under my shorts to alleviate the feeling. He let out a short, breathy sigh and took himself in his hand. I removed my shirt, exposing my breasts to him and he pulled his boxers and t-shirt off. We watched each other as we laid naked on my bed, taking ourselves over the brink. He came first with an extended grunt. Me with a short breathy whimper.

"Are you angry with me?" I asked into the darkness. He cleaned himself up afterwards, taking a wet washcloth to me as well. I changed into clean shorts and a new tank top while he recovered his boxers.

Peeta's fingers were drawing unrecognizable shapes onto my arms and he kissed my bare shoulder. "What about?"

"About not...you know."

I felt him chuckle and pull me closer to him. The warmth radiating from his chest filled me. "You weren't ready. We...we weren't ready. That's not something to be mad about." He began playing with a strand of my hair, rolling it back and forth between his fingers. "You don't, you know, regret anything...right?"

I turned around and look up at his face. His eyes were closed, but his breathing indicated that we wasn't asleep. I didn't regret it, even if it was all done in the heat of the moment, brought on by the rush of hormones and adrenaline. Even though I had never done anything like that with someone I wasn't dating, which Peeta and I definitely weren't doing. We were friends. Friends with sparks and chemistry and...something more I couldn't put my finger on. But friends, nonetheless. How was I supposed to tell him all of that when I wasn't even able to explain it to myself. I was no good with words. Never had been, really.

Instead of saying anything, I stretched up and lightly kissed the corner of his lips. They curled into a smile and he shifted into a more comfortable position. I rested my head on his chest, letting out a content sigh.

AN: Sorry this is a day late...yesterday was super crazy. Chapter 3 will be up on Friday :)