"What's<em>that</em>supposed to mean?" she snapped, glaring at him. "I've been there before, remember? I'm just as good as you. If my partner hadn't been such an idiot and-"<br/><br/>She broke off and looked down at her sandwich. It hurt. She and Ben had made a wonderful team, and she had never danced with anyone quite as perfectly as she did with him. They fit. There was no replacing that sort of compatibility.<br/><br/>Until Max...<br/><br/>Somehow, dancing with Max was like dancing with Ben. But better. How was that possible. It almost felt as though they were made to go together. Each fit the other in size, style, movement, and interpretation. It truly was infuriating. Why did it have to be this man!? Of all the dancers in the world, it had to be her worst enemy.<br/><br/>With a heavy sigh, she pushed herself to her feet and walked to the centre of the dance floor. "We should get started. We've got a lot of catching up to do," she muttered. "Let's start with waltz. We need to get those chainé turns in shape." She carefully avoided the fact that she was the one who caused the problem in the first place.