My body remembers when all I want is to forget.
“Earth to Poppy.” I turn and find Casey staring at me with a smile. I bite the inside of my cheek to keep the blush from rising to my face. “I was just wondering if you’re going to put the shoe on or hold it all day?”
Looking down my body, I realize I’ve changed into my leo and tights without conscious thought. One ballet shoe is on while the other dangles from my fingers. And my core is throbbing.
Get a damn grip, you little slut. Jagger is not what you want or need in your life.
“I’ve got a lot on my mind,” I say as I slip my other shoe on. It’s the truth, right? Everything is chaos for me right now. Even if that wasn’t where my head was at. Which proves Jagger is a problem. I need to focus on what’s important.
But it’s hard to forget him when a reminder is sitting next to me.
“Anything you want to talk about?” she asks as she redoes her bun. “I’m an excellent listener. It would give us an excuse to grab lunch or something.” Her blue eyes shine, radiating hope.
I doubt I’ll share anything, but I really could use a moment to breathe. Time isn’t my friend, but so far, I haven’t been asked to work at the restaurant today. It’s been months since I stopped long enough to engage with other people—Jagger does not count. And Casey might not seem like the best choice if I want to avoid him, but I don’t think she’d invite him along. She never has before.
But I can’t afford it. If not for Jagger, my breakfast this morning would’ve been breathing the pastries at the café, not eating them. A heavy sigh passes my lips, and I shake my head. “I can’t, Case. I wish I could, but I—” Dammit, I don’t want to admit I can’t afford to have lunch, and she doesn’t know I have another job. “I have a date.”
The disappointment that flashed in her blue eyes when I turned her down vanishes, getting replaced with excitement. “Your boyfriend?”
“Um, yeah, my boyfriend.” I should’ve just said no, but now the lie is rolling. Again. My smile matches hers, but inside I’m cringing so hard, I’m surprised I haven’t shriveled up. One day, all these lies I never meant to tell will drown me.
Like now.
“You’ve got to introduce me.” She looks so eager at the prospect. “I know we haven’t known each other long, but I’ve never even seen you with a guy. Oh! We could double date. It would be fun. I’ve never been on a double date before. It’s too weird because both of my friends are with my dad and uncle.”
Great.The guilt keeps growing because she only hastwofriends? I knew she struggled to make them, but I didn’t expect her to say that. My reaction must be on my face because she quickly raises her hand, waving it in the air, playing off her embarrassment despite her flushed cheeks. “I mean, the wives of Sons of Sin members are nice to me,” she continues with a smile. “They call themselves my friends, but if it weren’t for my dad, they wouldn’t know I existed.”
Not helping, Casey.
“What about…um…What about Jagger? No double dates with him?”
“Ha! Most girls were only friends with me to get to him. As soon as they thought they had his attention, they forgot about me.” Her face blanches a bit, and suddenly I feel more connected to her. We’re just two girls trying not to get left behind. I’ve never struggled to make friends. But maintaining relationships? Yeah, that’s not as easy..
She continues with a shrug. “Or when he inevitably pissed them off, they took it out on me.” That angers me, and I’m about to blast him for not protecting her, but she keeps going. “Of course, when he found out, he made their lives miserable.” She grins widely. “But no, no double dates with Jagger, and the last girl he dated off and on, I felt so sorry for because he would spend nights at my apartment to avoid her. But between you and me, they were toxic together. All they did was fight or party. Nothing substantial.”
It feels awful to hear about my sister through Casey, and hers is a second-hand observation. I’ve got to get off the topic of Jagger, my sister, and even this stupid lie I’ve created because it’s all making me nauseous.
“Yeah, I’ll see if he would want to double.” The hole I’ve dug keeps growing. Right along with the shame bubbling in my gut. “We better get to class.” Or off a bridge to stop the bullshit I continue to spew.
I pull on an oversized sweatshirt, knowing I’ll freeze to death in the class if I don’t. Miss Dumond, the owner and instructor, keeps the building as cold as a meat locker because most girls break a decent sweat as they dance. I’m not most girls.
Casey and I walk out of the changing room together, making our way toward the large dance space. Other girls are already in the class, doing warm-ups when we arrive.
We go to a vacant spot against the wall and begin our turnout stretches. Several minutes later, after we’ve all warmed our muscles and joints, Miss Dumond enters. Her claps echo off the mirrored walls. “All right, ladies. Into position.”
She leads us through a set of intricate moves utilizing her own choreography. For months, she’s been teaching us the steps, changing them as she sees fit. She’s using us to orchestrate her Spring showcase, which will premiere in April.
We won’t be part of it—or at least not all of us. Miss Dumond is an efficient instructor. She uses her students to craft herchoreography while teaching us and helping us become the best dancers we can be. It benefits all of us by strengthening our skills, refining our technique, and challenging our endurance. However, lately, I wish she’d omit the endurance part because mine is floundering.
“Poppy, can you run through the first dance for me, please?” She gestures for the rest of the group to take a break.
While they take their positions on the floor, I get into position. This isn’t a ballet. This is a contemporary piece arranged to be powerful and dramatic. But I can’t keep the surprise off my face when the music starts. I expected Requiem by Mozart. Instead, haunting guitars come through the speakers, followed by the steady thrum of drums and bass.
The song is deep and thoughtful, full of drama, but the lyrics control my movements—pull the strings of my body across the room, but my mind? Every word makes me think of the mysterious man that I can’t stop thinking about.
My left leg lifts high, and I rotate, creating an illusion, then doing the same on the next leg before I bend backward, throwing one leg over, followed by the next. When I’m back upright, I go straight into multiple fouettés, then finish with an arched back and my arms stretched behind me.
Every move was some strange homage to green eyes, long, dark hair, and brooding intensity. I felt it with every move. Every breath.
