Pointe of Breaking (3 page)

After sitting through two more painful numbers, where all I did was obsess over fishnet girl, finally the last bow had taken place. Christ, I had to get out of here. I was practically vibrating with the desire to get back stage and figure out what her name was.

Sasha slowly dragged her acrylic nails up and down my forearm as we waited for people to funnel out of our row. Her sultry pout made her intentions very clear of what she hoped to happen tonight.

Coming here with Sasha was a mistake.
In the past, we’d been a tangled mess of on-again, off-again. We hadn’t slept together in months, but I could tell she was hoping to change that this evening. I needed to make it very clear to her that I intended to stay permanently off, especially now that her sister was married to Blake.

“Coming, Leo?” Sasha asked expectantly; her hand stretched out to me from the middle of the isle.

“Uh, yeah…just gonna run to the bathroom,” I gestured to the side exit. “I’ll meet you out front, ‘k?”

I scuffed the back of my neck casually and walked backwards away from her. She looked irritated but nodded and made her way toward Blake and Felicia who were already on their way out.

I ducked past the crowds and launched myself out of the side exit and into the hallway. Just as I made my way toward the back stage area, I was smacked in the shoulder by a mess of hair and tutu. I twirled on my heels, reaching out to catch her but she scampered away without a second look. Sure enough, it was fishnets girl. She was barefoot and still in full costume with her toe shoes tossed haphazardly over her shoulder.
Sexy fishnet tights still very much intact.
I stood in shock as I watched her run down the hallway and out the nearby exit.

I rushed to the door and hesitated, trying to figure out how big of a dick I would be if I just texted Sasha that I had left. I watched Fishnets carefully as she swiped angrily at her eyes. My heart lurched at her obvious display of emotion. She ran across the street and down the sidewalk, and then suddenly stopped. She twirled on her barefoot toes and without hesitation, darted into Shooters, a small local pub.

“Did you find it?” Sasha asked, appearing out of nowhere.
Christ, I just left her!
Her face was pinched with tension as she stood tapping her toe in annoyance. “Felicia and Blake are waiting, Leonardo. We have reservations.”

No fucking way.
I wasn’t sitting through a meal with that prick. I glanced over my shoulder towards Shooters where I knew fishnets girl was inside. Suddenly, a drink at a pub sounded really damn good.

“Yeah, um…actually, I have to go to the New York Public Library. Didn’t I tell you?” I rocked back only my heels, nervously buttoning and unbuttoning my suit coat. “My psyche study group is meeting there for that special assignment we’re working on.”

I willed my hands to stop messing with my jacket as I waited for the imminent rage coming my way. Sasha looked momentarily stunned, blinking her long fake lashes several times. When she recovered, she stepped toward me and flicked her blonde hair over her shoulder. Her voice was menacing, “The
Columbia Library
doesn’t have what you need?”

“‘Fraid not.” I tsked, casually meeting her glower without hesitation. “It’s a special project. Our professor said we needed to go there to find the articles. Blake and Felicia can drop you back at your place on their way home. Plus, I drove the bike here anyways… I’m sure you wouldn’t want to mess up your dress.”

I leaned in and pressed a chaste kiss to her forehead. Her body tensed with rage.

“Leonardo, do not tell me you are—”

“Gotta go Sash,” I said and darted out the exit.

I made my way across the street, swerving past the clusters of people who were talking and not fucking moving.
I quickly glanced back to see Sasha turn to storm off in a huge huff, and I sighed with relief. I did not want her to see where I was really going!

My blow off might have been cold. But I was a man on a mission. And my mission was wearing sexy as fuck fishnet tights.

Dive bars were special places. This particular one, Shooters, would have few overlaps in upper-class ballet attendees and blue-collar bar patrons. Thus, few people would recognize me from the show even though I was still sporting my tutu and fishnet stockings—a major no-no. It was so risky, but my dance career was probably already ruined by being late to the show. How could I have been so stupid to have let Blake sidetrack me minutes before I was due onstage? How could I have let him—

I caught sight of myself in a bar sign mirror, sidetracking my thoughts. Mascara ran down my cheeks. My brown, ratted hair flowed onto my shoulders. I couldn’t look more like my twin sister, Zoey,
if I tried
.

Fighting the urge to smash the mirror, I stumbled into Shooters barefoot. The bloody cracks on my feet were likely a code violation, but the bar tender took one look at me and decided not to enforce the
no shirt, no shoes, no service
policy
.

I ordered a round of shots and made a nice place for myself at the very end of the bar.

“Want to talk about it?” The bartender filled the shot with whiskey.

“Not even a little bit.”

I threw back the shot like it was a dolphin dive and then tipped it upside-down on the wooden countertop. In a matter of minutes, my life, my dreams, were teetering on the brink of failure. Yet, I’d just had the most successful dance of my life moments after sleeping with my ex—my ex that had a wife. I managed to pull it off only to be informed that Joffry’s board of directors was going to be determining my fate. I was on the edge of nowhere and spiraling out of control fast. I had little to no control over my future and I couldn’t change the past. Instead of fighting it, I celebrated my complete lack of control by playing a game. Each time I thought about Blake, I’d take a shot.

A blonde-haired woman sat down beside me like her intentions were to chat. I panicked. Was this Blake’s wife? I did a double take. Her facial features were similar, the high cheek bones and perky breasts. However, it wasn’t until I saw the white and black lettered press badge pinned to her green tailored jacket that I realized I was freaking out for nothing. Even so, I slammed back double shots for A) thinking about Blake and B) overzealous paranoia—for Blake wouldn’t be seen dead in a bar like this.

“You’re that Aerosmith ballerina, aren’t you?” she asked, watching me tip over the shot glasses.

What was your first clue? The tutu?

“Ballet scouts are saying that your career is going to launch after tonight,” she continued while eying the drinks I had yet to throw back. “Are you celebrating?”

“I bombed it tonight.” I left out the tiny detail that I was on probationary-status for the finest ballet school in the nation.

“Because of your late entrance?”

“Pretty much,” I said. “Listen, I don’t want to be rude, but I’m going to say
no comment
to everything else you ask. So can we just speed this along and get to the part where you let me and my…” I counted the filled shots, “six friends celebrate privately.”

“Don’t let me crash the party,” she huffed and got up from her seat. I didn’t watch her leave, but I didn’t care. What she did was her business, and tonight mine consisted of finding out how many shots it took to forget about my ex.

Somewhere between the fourth and fifth shot, a guy sat down beside me. I groaned and propped up my elbow, making an imaginary wall between us. I closed my eyes and prayed that he would take the hint that I wasn’t going to be the best company to keep. Enough ladies were wandering around with belly-showing shirts that he’d find someone to go home with if his game was on. I winced and chastised myself for being so judgey. It wasn’t like I was dressed like a nun. Granted, I didn’t have enough time to change clothes, but one could argue that running straight for a bar scene meant I was asking for attention. Even so, the last thing I wanted was to be seen as another man’s play thing.

I wanted to forget tonight. That’s what the shots were for. I swallowed another.

The guy actually kept his distance. As much as I hated it, I couldn’t
not
notice his inviting cologne. Before I realized what I was doing, I was leaning towards him. That prompted another shot. Men were nothing but lying shits and even though I didn’t know Jack from Daniels about this tit sucker, I knew he’d break me just like…

Blake.

I took another shot.

The guy ordered spiced rum from the bartender and waited. He didn’t make a move, other than rubbing the palms of his hands on his dress pants. I could have dismissed him…if it weren’t for this tiny scar that cut down the middle of his hand that looked identical to Blake’s.

I let my hair fall forward and stole a peek through the strands. I did a double take. Granted my vision had blurred a bit, compliments of the fine whiskey, but I recognized him as the eye-candy who sat in front of Blake during the show.

We locked eyes. My breath caught. It wasn’t that schoolgirl heart flutter that made a girl take in a deep breath whilst appreciating the gorgeous specimen. No, it wasn’t that juvenile. Staring at him was like jumping into a frozen lake and catching one’s breath in preparation of drowning. It was the dangerous curiosity in his russet eyes that compelled me to hold his gaze.
What were the chances that
he’d
come here? I looked away fast, too fast. Oh God, he knew that I knew that we this
optical purple session
less than an hour ago. Crap! I couldn’t not-notice him now! I felt obligated to at least utter a hello. I mean, I had just seduced him with my rock-star dance.

So, I looked back at him just as quickly as I’d glanced away. His dark copper-colored hair fell arbitrarily over his forehead in a way that was too perfect to be coincidental. Three freckles splattered over his tanned cheek. God damn he had a hard jaw line. What the hell was it about the straight jaw line that just made him pre-destined to be an Abercrombie and Finch model? He probably had those abdominal muscles that made a v-cut to the pants like an arrow directing my gaze downward. My mouth parted upon taking in his muscular physique; he obviously clocked hours at the gym. I envisioned pulling off his black suit coat and popping off the plastic buttons of his dress shirt, revealing what had to be one fine body. From his well-groomed hair, to the perfect black suit, to the panty dropping grin: He was the kind of guy I fell for. He was a
Blake
-wannabe. Shit! I grabbed another shot glass and threw it back.

“Tough day at the office?” I asked finally after letting Fishnets eye fuck me for the past five minutes.

She tried to act like she hadn’t noticed me sitting down next to her, but she wasn’t hiding anything with that wall of shiny hair draped along her face. Finally she sat up straight, shoved her chestnut strands back, and gave me the first close look at her face I’d had all night.

Fuck she was gorgeous as hell! She was so different from Sasha. Sasha was blonde with a harsh, angular face. This girl was canvas-painting gorgeous. I didn’t even paint, but I couldn’t help thinking about how her smooth facial features would just sing on a canvas. I took a long drink as I appreciated her creamy complexion and full pink lips. As if noticing my eyes on her lips, she pulled her lower one into her mouth to chew on. Damn. My eyes traveled down her arms and appreciated how they were toned and sculpted in the sexiest way a woman could wear muscles. Fuck me. She almost had me at a loss for words. Almost.

“I wouldn’t have taken you for a Daniel’s girl,” I said, glancing down at her sexy legs and lingering on her bare feet. Damn, those feet looked painful after being stuffed into those pointe shoes all night.

“Fruity drinks are for cheerleaders, and I’m not prancing around in bloomers,” she said in monotone while eyeing me seriously with those nearly clear blue eyes.

I actually wanted to laugh considering she was sitting here in a cream leotard and a tutu, but I kept a straight face. She did have a leg up on cheerleaders with the sexy black fishnets, after all.

“Certainly you’re familiar with bloomers,” she added, assuming that my lack of response was because I was dense. She leaned into my space. With sarcasm dripping from her tone she asked, “I’m sure you’ve been with a cheerleader or two, haven’t you
Homecoming King?”

My eyes slanted, and I shifted in my chair. Damn I hated being categorized. I hated it even more when it was spot on.

“Too bad for you because I have bad history with faux kings.” She turned away twiddling with the upturned shot glasses.

Shit, how many of those had she had?

“What kind of history?” I asked, genuinely curious and hoping I could take her attention away from her extra shots sitting wet and ready.

“The kind where I’m the dirty little secret and everyone gets to hate me,” she replied, hitting me with her cold, hard eyes. This girl wasn’t messing around. The crazy hair and fishnets weren’t the only wild thing about her.

All of it only intrigued me more.

“So does that make you the bad girl?” I turned in my seat to face her, propping my head in my hand.

She eyed me suspiciously. “Who’s asking?”

“Maybe a bad boy?” I replied, quirking my eyebrows.

She laughed harshly. “Yeah, I’m pretty sure you are bad. I know the crowd you run with.”

I frowned, wondering if she already knew who I was or if that was just a generalization. It wasn’t uncommon for me to be recognized in public. I preferred to give people their own impression of me and not have the Richards name be all they associated me with.

She downed another shot and faced forward. Even in her obvious inebriated state, her posture was still perfect, and fuck it was sexy. Her little tutu stuck out all around her, covering the barstool she was perched on just perfectly. She was so dainty, but so mighty in her fierce getup.

“You look like you’ve had plenty of shots,” I said, eyeing the empties again. I briefly glared at the bartender, annoyed that he’d given this many shots to such a tiny girl who’s not even wearing any shoes. “I can’t imagine you’re anything but a lightweight.”

“I don’t need a daddy right now! So you can just take your happy ass and move to the other end of the bar if you’re here to tell me how to drink. I don’t care if you are sexy as sin.” She hiccupped on the end.

“Sexy as sin?” I asked and a grin spread across my face.

She rolled her eyes and grabbed her next shot. “Oh damn it, enough with the sexy smirk already! Seriously, you need to move.”

She reached out to shove me off my stool, and I snatched the shot glass out of her other hand while she was distracted. I downed it in one quick drink.

“You did not just shoot my shot!” she cried, looking up at me in shock. She stumbled up off the bar stool and shoved her tiny hands into my chest.

“I did. It was good too.” I grabbed her hands and held them against me to help steady her. I pulled my lower lip into my mouth and murmured, “It’s spicy, just like you.”

She dramatically rolled her eyes. “What was a guy like you doing at a ballet performance tonight anyways? Finding a prima to bang? Got a checkmark on your bucket list to tick?”

She pulled her hands free and climbed her bare feet back up onto her stool. I turned and encased her in between my legs. Her eyes flickered down to my groin and the close proximity of our bodies. She scowled briefly but didn’t shove me away.

“I hate ballet,” I confessed as I took another sip of my drink.

“Me too.” She looked away with a sad faraway expression.

“I saw you leaving in a hurry earlier…What happened?”

She sighed, “I messed up once again.”

“Messed up how?”

She turned and smiled meanly at me. Her eyes roved over all of my features before she replied, “How do you know Blake Rossi?”

I scowled at the sudden change of conversation. “How do
you
know Blake Rossi?”

A fleeting look of remorse tainted her face, but she immediately composed herself. She swallowed hard and replied with a sad laugh. “Other than the fact that he fucked me only two hours ago in the middle of Piano Concerto Number 5?” She shrugged her shoulders nonchalantly. “I might have been engaged to him for like…a hot second.”