Hunter was out there, somewhere, watching me walk, watching me strut my stuff, as he called it. I smiled to myself. He’d have his camera to his eye, and just knowing that made everything more potent. I flicked my hip a little more, kind of my signature, set my feet, cheated a smidge to the right to adjust my line, hit the turn, paused, and sent a look somewhere into the audience just for him. Two hundred pairs of eyes on me and only his mattered. Because his made me better. His made me happy. His made me burn.
