The hotel was nothing fancy, but the buzz in the air was electric. Dancers from all over Greece—and some international guests—filled the lobby, headphones in, muscles stretched, egos prepped. Eleni and Marco's crew was registered for the hip hop division. All they had to do was not mess up.
Easy… right?
"Okay, room assignments!" called their team manager. "Double occupancy. Budget cuts. Don't complain!"
Lena had just taken a bite of her protein bar when she heard it—
> "Room 409: Marco and Lena."
She choked.
Marco didn't.
He just grinned slowly. "Guess we're roomies."
Lena turned crimson. "This is a bad idea."
Later That Night
After the chaos of rehearsal, dinner, and team briefings, the room was finally quiet. Their bags were tossed in the corner, and Lena was in the bathroom changing into sleepwear.
Marco sat on his bed, scrolling through TikTok with a hoodie on, trying to act calm. Keyword: trying.
When Lena stepped out, his jaw almost unhinged.
She was wearing one of those oversized band tees and a pair of black cotton shorts—tiny, soft, sleep-shorts that rode high on her long dancer legs.
Marco looked up—and blinked.
Hard.
She didn't notice right away, fumbling with her glasses.
"What?" she asked, casually walking over to plug in her phone.
"Nothing. Just…" He coughed into his sleeve. "Wow."
She raised a brow, amused. "Wow?"
He scratched the back of his neck. "Shorts. Legs. You. You're gonna give me a heart attack."
Lena smirked, pleased. "They're comfortable."
"They're dangerous."