Pointe of Breaking Page 4

  “They come off,” I shot back but left it at that. There was no point in further explanation. He was clearly put off by my confession. Translation: he was Team Blake. So, my defense didn’t really matter, did it? I raised his glass. “To bad decisions!”

  After swallowing the last of the contents, I tipped it upside-down next to my collection of shot glasses. Masking my hurt, I glanced back at… Shit, I really need to figure out his name. I was met with a gaze of mixed reaction—anger, concern and that ever-daunting lustful stare. However, all of them were glossed over with an air of judgment.

  Why was he just sitting at the edge of his seat? Why wasn’t he doing anything? Why wasn’t he speaking? Oh hell, he was studying me like all my secrets would unravel the longer he stared. What the heck did he find so intriguing about me? Dread washed over me. He was probably sent here to collect as much information about me so he could report back to Blak—

  He brought his hand up and wiped away a tear on my cheek, catching me off guard. I rubbed my damp cheek. When the hell did I start crying?

  His hand fell to my legs. Until then, I hadn’t realized I’d been shivering. I was shocked. High quality material like fishnet stockings should really keep in more warmth. He lifted my chin so that I would focus on his face. He seemed to have picked up on the fact that I was losing pieces of the night.

  “Blake did a number on you, didn’t he,” he stated more than asked.

  My lip trembled. “I was just a number to him.”

  Suddenly, he moved his hand from my chin, but he didn’t completely back off. From the darkness in his gaze, I got the impression he was sick of talking about my ex. I was too.

  Idly tracing my fishnet stockings, he moved his leg over to my stool’s foot rest. His empathy was unexpected. I didn’t even know him. Yet, he seemed engrossed with my well-being. If he wasn’t, why would he stick around? Nevertheless, I couldn’t decipher his complex facial expressions anymore. Well, other than the obvious resounding attraction he shared with me.

  Additionally, I couldn’t predict the movement of his thumb on my leg. I found it unnerving. I was trained to anticipate another person’s movement, yet he was a mystery. He had a stare that demanded absolute attention. His hands traced up and down my thigh. I trembled, but it had nothing to do with me being cold. It encouraged him. His fingers lingered lower under my knee, inching closer to that spot—that sweet spot that assaulted my senses and slammed me into full blown aroused. My eyes fluttered closed. When I managed to open them again, I found myself staring into the reflection of my desire. I wanted him—wanted him.

  “I should go before I make my third bad decision tonight.” I grabbed his hand so he’d stop making me wet in public.

  “Third? You banged another dude tonight?” He released me like he’d catch an STD just by being near me.

  Of course, my drunken stupor might have been misinterpreting his reactions. Conversely, I let him think that I was just a common whore. It was better this way. That way he wouldn’t be tempted to touch me anymore nor I him. He’d just break my heart like the other one. I slid off my barstool and leaned in close enough to whisper in his ear. Goosebumps trailed up his neck when I caught my breath.

  “You aren’t the only guy who has bang a ballerina on his bucket list,” I said and turned away.

  I forgot that he’d been resting his big dopy foot on my footstool. I tripped over his leg. The last thing I remembered was catching my fall via my face.

  CHAPTER 8 ~ Leo

  Fuck me. This had to be some kind of sick, twisted joke. I couldn’t be carrying Blake’s fucking secret ex-fiancé in my God damned arms right now. The brothers and I were the only ones that even knew about Blake and Adeline, but none of us had ever actually met her. He always kept her well hidden, like she was his dirty little mistress.

  I clenched my jaw in sheer frustration. Then I clenched my fists at the irritating fact that the one girl I actually get a hard-on for has to be connected to that dick sack of a douche.

  Not just connected. Engaged.

  Shit, how was I going to deal with this? I shifted her over my shoulder, attempting to shove the tutu fringe out of my face. It itched like hell. She weighed nothing. I supposed carrying her in my arms would have been the more gentlemanly way to escort her home whereas throwing her over my shoulder like a fireman allowed me to fondle those sexy as hell legs I’d been dying to touch all night.

  Fuck she was gorgeous.

  Fuck! She was Blake’s ex!

  In some ways, I was glad she’d passed out because now I had time to come up with an explanation for how I knew Blake. I couldn’t tell her the truth, or I’d be breaking code for sure. And she seems like the type with a big mouth. Hell, I’d have a big mouth too if that dick took off his wedding ring, screwed me, and then left me high and dry.

  God, Blake was such a douche ringer. Like so many of the other guys in my circle. I hated even calling it my circle. Too many of them were cheating bastards that’d normally I’d never give the time of day to. But being a legacy didn’t leave me much of a choice.

  I finally reached my Ducati crotch rocket, and it dawned on me that I had no clue where this girl lived, much less how she was going to ride on my bike passed-the-fuck-out.

  I shuffled her small body down my chest and gently lowered her onto a set of concrete steps. I’d parked right in front of a classic New York brownstone, but hopefully the owners hadn’t noticed. I inspected the tiny goose egg forming at her hairline and felt relieved to see it that hadn’t grown any bigger. Damn she went down hard. How many shots had she downed?

  I pulled her pointe shoes off of my shoulder and dangled them dumbly from my fingers. A shiver rose up my spine thinking back to her on that stage and how utterly raw and beautiful she was. The fact that she was a ballerina was almost laughable. I wasn’t sure if my mother would love or hate this.

  “A fucking ballerina.” I huffed out a disparaging laugh and squatted down in front of her. As I attempted to gently rouse her I said, “Adeline.”

  She frowned. But didn’t move otherwise.

  “Adeline!” I shouted louder this time.

  Her eyes flew wide open. “Stop talking. What are you doing to me?”

  Her hand went instantly to the bump on her head. She flinched. I had to bite my tongue to hide my growing amusement at her grizzly bear expression.

  “I’m taking you home,” I answered. “You need to tell me where you live and to stay awake long enough for me to get you there.”

  “No way, I’ll get a cab,” she groaned and shoved me backwards.

  I nearly landed on my ass. I caught myself and stood quickly when she moved up off the step.

  “I’m taking you home,” I said, grabbing her arm softly. “We can do this the easy way…or the hard way. You pick.”

  I glanced down and realized I was pointing at her with her shoes. She scowled and snatched them out of my hand.

  “I’ve been picking the hard way my whole life—” She stopped suddenly. Her jaw rocked to the side as some type of realization hit her all at once. “What is your damn name?”

  “It’s Leo.”

  “How do you know my ex?” She looked up and down the street for a cab. “You guys are best friends aren’t you?” she added with a gasp, “Brothers? Oh my God, he has another brother! I’ve never even heard of you!”

  “Blake. And. I. Are. Not. Related,” I ground out, feeling a desperate ache to tell her what I really thought of him. “Just let me take you home so I can actually sleep tonight and not think of you barefoot and half naked traipsing all over Manhattan in a God damned tutu.”

  Suddenly her eyes grew wide. “Shiiiiit!”

  “What?”

  “Shit!” she cried again.

  “What!” I yelled, exasperated by her mood swings.

  “I left my damn purse back at Joffrey. Now I have to face Higgins again, and she’s really PO’d at me.” She hiccupped on the last word and then giggled.

  Fuck he
r hiccups were cute. I tried my damndest to conceal my smirk.

  “What about my bar tab?” she screeched, looking suddenly serious again. “Oh my gosh! I drank and dashed!”

  “I took care of it,” I shook my head dismissively. I clutched her arm and pulled her away from the curb. “I’m hoping that means you’ll let me take you home.”

  She sighed heavily. “I have no choice I guess. I am trapped. I will accept your ride, kind sir.” She finished her sentence with a cute little bow and a giggle.

  I chuckled and walked over to my bike, grabbing the helmet off the back. She strode over to my Ducati and looked like she might be sick.

  “This is yours?” she asked.

  “Yes, why?”

  “God, you’re loaded…just like him,” she sneered.

  That sobered me. This Blake talk was getting on my last nerve. I turned to face her straight on, shoving my helmet into her hands and said, “I am nothing like him. Will you just get on the fucking bike?”

  “Will you stop swearing at me?” she ferociously snapped back.

  That knocked me right down a peg. I momentarily paused, stunned by my own behavior. Damn this chick got under my skin. I was usually so level headed!

  “I’m sorry. You’re right. That was rude. Adeline, would you please allow me to drive you to your house?” I eyed her thoughtfully. She was standing on a dirty NYC sidewalk, barefoot, rumpled and absolutely fucking gorgeous. The pang I felt on my insides at her connection to Blake stung. Why did she have to be connected to him of all people?

  “Much better,” she replied sweetly. “I thank you for the offer.”

  She pushed my helmet down over her head, and my heart constricted at how utterly adorable she looked. Ivory tutu, black fishnets, and that wild mane of chestnut hair sticking out beneath the helmet. Her clear eyes were surprisingly bright, considering she was passed out only a second ago.

  “You good?” I asked as I threw my leg over the bike and then held my hand out to help her on.

  She slid in snug behind me and pushed her ballet shoes up on her shoulder. My hand released hers and instinctively went to touch her leg.

  “I’m good. But let’s keep your hands on the handlebars alright? I’ve been messed with enough for one night.” Her voice trembled slightly.

  I shook my head trying to stifle my elevating aggravation. How could he seriously fuck his ex while his wife sat in the damn audience? God, that prick had some nerve! I wasn’t sure what kind of fire Adeline still held for him, but I hoped tonight’s performance snuffed it out for good.

  CHAPTER 9 ~ Adeline

  The noise MUST DIE!

  The piercing buzz of an alarm jolted me awake. I shot up and, flailing my hand in the direction of my nightstand, smacked at the snooze button. However the damn clock was MIA. Pushing my sleeping mask up, I squinted. My room was bright as hell!

  Why were my curtains ripped down?

  Shit. I couldn’t deal with sunlight right now. I had to stop that painful, unrelenting shrill! My head throbbed—worse than most hangover headaches. I rubbed my temple and immediately wished I hadn’t. A goose egg? A fucking goose egg! How the hell did that happen?

  Oh damn it all to hell! I had an alarm to kill!

  …which was on the floor, next to my broken lamp. Broken? I didn’t have the patience to deal with this right now! Tangled in my sheets, I slid off of my futon to silence the Godforsaken alarm. After smacking it stupid, I rolled onto my back and pulled my sleeping mask back over my eyes so I could concentrate on what had happened last night and not the blazing sun.

  Taking a deep breath, I caught the faint scent of Leo’s cologne. Two thoughts simultaneous hit me:

  Yes! To be with Leo: have him looking at me with perfect chocolate brown eyes as he worked me between the sheets; to drag my nails down his muscular body like he was gift-wrapped to womankind; him pushing deep within me, forcing screams from my throat as he showed me the uncomplicated bliss of a one-night-stand.

  And then a far more complicated: No! Please tell me that I hadn’t completely ruined my life by sleeping with one of Blake’s entourage! If a man—any man—had been in my room there was sure to be evidence since I hadn’t had a male visitor since…since well, Blake.

  Pushing up my sleeping mask, I peeked under my sheets and hoped that I wasn’t stark naked. I’d never been so happy to see a damn leotard in my life. Even so, I needed to shower and scrub his scent off of every single inch of my body.

  I slowly stood up, bracing myself against my futon. The corner slipped out from under my hand. Nothing supported it. It was off its frame. My dresser drawers were pulled out. My underwear was sprayed everywhere. My ballet awards were thrown about. An old picture frame with Blake and I stuck into the wall.

  I didn’t bother freeing it from the sheetrock.

  Instead I stumbled into my bathroom, turned the light on, looked at the mirror, and turned the light off. I didn’t need her reflection staring back at me. My sister’s presences haunted me through the mirror’s reflection.

  Besides, peeing was something I could do without lights. Before I sat down, I caught sight of something sparkling in the bottom of the toilet. The dim light was just enough to make it glisten. My gut knotted. It was the engagement ring Blake had given me. After fishing it out with the toilet plunger, I rinsed it off and put it alongside the rest of my costume jewelry in the medicine cabinet.

  After scrubbing the vile taste in my mouth with a toothbrush, complete pieces of last night surfaced. I’d rather they’d stay buried.

  I swallowed what felt like an entire bottle of Tylenol. After self-medicating, I had just thrown on a T-shirt and shorts when I heard a knock at my door. I hesitated to open it. What if it was Blake…or the guy from the bar? A smile spread across my face after the last thought.

  Fresh and rejuvenated, Ivan let himself into my studio apartment bearing gifts of coffee. He gave me a once over. “That explains a lot.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” I asked.

  “We’ll get to your…drunken stupor soon enough.”

  Tucked under his arm were a couple of newspapers. We sat down at my rummage-sale table. The corners were chipped and not all the chairs matched, but it was just fine for me. Taking a sip of his coffee, he slid the newspapers over to me.

  One was a paper that I dreamed of getting into since I was a little girl: the infamous New York Times. The other was Rotten Apples, a tabloid notorious for capturing political and movie-star scandals of New Yorker natives.

  “Read the Times first,” Ivan suggested and took a drink of his coffee.

  The Times spilt quite a bit of ink showcasing our Pas de Deux. A floor-level image of Ivan and I was taken at the climax of the Aerosmith song when I was at the highest point of a catch. My ripped costume, smudged lipstick and fishnet stockings were the highlight of the evening’s performance. NYC was calling the Walk This Way arrangement a must-see.

  However, the caption wasn’t so exhilarating.

  It has been my privilege to work with exceptional primas that performed tonight, said the Master ballet Miss Higgins. However, sheer talent does not drive the Joffrey Ballet Company. Our danseurs are committed to the highest level of dedication. It is unfortunate but those who cannot demonstrate this are cut.

  “The show’s sold out for the next month,” Ivan exclaimed. “People can’t stop talking about you!”

  I didn’t care if the shows were sold out after our performance. Ms. Higgins quote was much more damming. Since I was on probation, I couldn’t slip up once…which made the Rotten Apples paper so poignant.

  Inside the tabloid was another image of Ivan and I; he in mid-lunge and me standing on his hamstring while touching my pointe shoe to the back of my head. It was the most complex movement we’d practice. I had to admit it was impressive imagery, especially since the picture captured my facial expression clearly. Even I was taken aback with the harshness of my stare. Rage, lust, hunger, rebellious, and despondent feelings
were exemplified in the movement.

  My cheeks began to burn, but my embarrassment was due to the other image in the Rotten Apple. Draped over a muscular man, was a passed-out ballerina. Me. It wasn’t even so much that he was carrying me over his shoulder that bothered me. It was that my leotard-covered butt, framed by my tutu, was a huge focal point of the photo.

  I buried my head in my hands, forgetting all about the bump on my head. I winced. The missing pieces of last night were making more sense. If I hadn’t gotten so belligerent and tripped over Leo’s leg, my mortification would have stayed private. Below the image was a picture of the reporter that questioned me at Shooters.

  Oh God! What would the board of directors at Joffrey think?

  How could I have been so careless? I thought having sex with a married man was bad enough!

  “The picture may speak a thousand words, but you might be interested in the caption,” Ivan said sympathetically.

  I split my fingers so that I wouldn’t have to remove my hands from my face. Mortification couldn’t even begin to describe the hell I was living. I was ruined! …So why was Ivan smirking?

  He pressed his finger on the tabloid’s captions. “Just read it.”

  Prima gives Aerosmith’s, Walk This Way, a new meaning to the Ballet World. Pictured here is Joffrey Ballet student, Adeline Parker draped over New York City socialite, Leonardo Richards. Richards is heir to Richards & Brown Advertising Fortune 500 Company.

  “Isn’t that the Richards & Brown Advertising Company that donates a small fortune to Joffrey?” Ivan asked.

  “R&B is my biggest scholarship for school!” I swallowed the lump in my throat. “Oh God, I’m going to lose my funding! I’m going to get kicked out of school! What am I going to do? How am I going to make ends meet?”

  “Stop jumping to conclusions. Higgins has a stick up her ass and the board of directors would be fools to let you go after selling out after our arrangement.” Ivan peeled my hands off of my face. “You were on fire, last night, Addy girl.”

  Just then, my mother’s muffled ringtone echoed from my kitchen. Ivan let go of my hands so I could answer to the two people who’d given up everything for me, and I repaid them by flushing my future down the toilet. I found my phone in the fridge, next to a half a gallon of milk. The battery was close to being dead, but there was still enough juice in it for the caller-id to light up. Surely she’d seen the article of her daughter ruining her ballet career. I silenced it.