My left eye twitches. I rake my fingers through my hair, wishing it could rip the request out of my brain. Copper explodes in my mouth as I bite back the venom-laced fury blistering my tongue. Lashes sweep against my cheeks as my eyes squeeze shut, and I remind myself it’s not her fault. Orhis. And turning her down when she looks like that is almost impossible. Shattering her hope kills me.
I promised her months ago I would try, and I have. But the consequences of trying meant I’ve had to deal with another festering resentment.It’s not his faulthas been my mantra for a while. But the anger grows every time I’m in the same room as him. The urge to run far and fast from the reminder of how badly I fucked up rears its head, followed by the need to bury all the emotions that come with it. Even the times I make it through an entire afternoon don’t leave me unscathed. Those are usually the days when the nightmares are the hardest, and the shame and guilt threaten to tear me in two.
And none of that is the worst part.
Suddenly, that itch I had last night returns full force.
But like I said. There’s not much I won’t do for my little sister. “I’ll be there, Case. At least for a minute.”
“Yay,” she hugs me again, then claps. “Thank you!”
I nod, ready to move on. “You did well out there.” I jerk my head toward the stage.
“She wasn’t good. She was spectacular.” A half-pint with hazel eyes appears out of nowhere dressed in a thick, beige cable-knit sweater, heavy leggings the same color clinging to her spectacular body, and boots a few shades darker than the rest of her attire. She rakes her fingers through a mass of wild copper waves that hang over her shoulders, her lips stretched, revealing an insane smile and the cutest dimple in both cheeks.
And the curiosity—and attraction—return, slamming into me like a hurricane.
“You’re either stupid or blind if you saw anything but perfection,” she finishes, smirking at me.
I tilt my head, brow quirking, as I take in the mouthy redhead. I shake her hand, making heavy eye contact. Hard enough, she quirks a brow, challenging me.
The confidence in her smirk tells me she knows exactly who I am. But I wonder if she knows I know her, too. Knows that I remember the taste of her breath, the dig of her nails, the way she almost came apart on my lap. “I’m neither. Unfortunately, what I am is unsophisticated. My idea of fun has never been watching a fluff of pink dance to the dull rendering of Tchaikovsky.” Even though I enjoyed every second of watchingher.
She eyes me up and down as she clucks her tongue. “Let me guess. You prefer your dancers on a pole?”
“Or my lap.” Her cheeks turn to cherries at the subtle reminder of last night, but she recovers quickly.
“Jagger.” Casey slaps my chest, her cheeks turning pink. “Behave yourself.”
“He doesn’t bother me. I’m used to asshole men that believe the only worthwhile dance is one they can get off to.” She winks, and my smirk turns into a full grin because she doesn’t realize I know her secret.
I let my eyes wander over her, appreciating her small curves and tight body. “What can I say? All my tastes lead to my dick. I bet you’d look great on my lap,” I taunt once more, wondering if she’ll take the bait.
As the innuendos continue, a thought crosses my mind. If she works The 7th Circle, does that mean she works the top floor of the club as well? If she does, why haven’t I seen her before? Unless she is one of the ones…I shake that thought off quickly because, for some reason, the thought of hertheremakes the violent urges I had moments ago grow stronger.
She grins as she walks forward, getting on her toes to get closer to my ear. And being the gentleman I am, I bend my knees to close the distance between my six-three frame and her barely five-feet. I can be a gentleman if I want. “You’ll never know, now will you?”
I laugh, resisting the urge to tell her I already do. And strangely, I want to know more about the tiny enigma wrapped in enough layers for an Arctic expedition. Even though Casey’s friends are firmly off-limits.
She turns to Casey, pulling her into a hug. “I’ll see you tomorrow for the matinee, okay? I’ve got to run.”
Casey nods and tells her goodbye, then we watch her disappear in a rush, and I want to know where she’s going.
I pretend to check my watch as if I have somewhere I need to be. If I hurry, I can catch up with her. Or follow her. Probably the latter. “I’ve got to head out too,” I tell them, ignoring Graham’s scowl. “You did good, Case.” I hug her and nod to my brother as if I don’t see the daggers he’s shooting at me, then turn and walk toward the exit. I’ve got a mystery to chase, walking away in boots and wild copper hair.
Poppy
Performances are always bittersweet.
I’ve danced in small venues in SoHo and Midtown. Performed in front of captivated audiences at Lincoln Center. I’ve been part of ensembles and even been a principal dancer. I’m proud that the time and money my family invested in me haven’t been wasted. Maybe one day, I’ll become a Prima Ballerina. It was my mom’s dream for me, and I keep working hard to make that dream a reality.
But when I step out on that stage and see no one in the audience for me or walk out of the dressing room, knowing all my colleagues will be with their friends and family, I wonder if it was worth it. I love dancing, but I don’t love dancing professionally. I always wanted to do something else. I’m not sure if it involves dancing or not, but because all of my time and energy have been put into classes and rehearsals, I don’t even know what I would like to do. It feels like duty at this point.
It’s why I couldn’t get away from Casey fast enough. I keep breaking my promise, but seeing her with her family was just too hard.
Most days, I don’t linger on the sadder parts of my life. I have plenty of wonderful memories to remind me I was loved and wanted. Some people don’t get that much. But in moments like these, when I should be soaring from the rush of performing, all I feel is bone-deep loneliness.
The blistering cold slaps me in the face when I burst through the heavy doors. I tug my coat tighter around my shoulders and retrieve my hat and scarf from my pocket, putting them on as I walk through the crowd of people trying to get to their cars or grab a taxi.
