Pointe of Breaking (2 page)

I fucking hate the ballet.

Like…hate hate.

Like…imagine a unicorn dressed in a Technicolor dream coat, singing about flowers and sunshine. Then picture me putting a bullet in my head.

Like I said. I hate the fucking ballet.

I would even consider kicking a puppy to get out of the ballet. Okay fine, I wouldn’t kick a puppy.

Growing up, my parents were huge supporters of the Joffrey Ballet. They even had a student scholarship program for it. It’s kind of ironic really considering their only son would actually eat a handful of peanuts just to avoid attending a performance.

I’m really allergic to peanuts. Like EpiPen allergic.

I had managed to hide out behind a giant pillar in the lobby of the Joffrey Auditorium for the whole first dance. I mindlessly scrolled through my Facebook feed on my phone, imagining myself inside the random pictures because I would literally rather be anywhere than here.
Where’s a damn peanut when you need one?

Suddenly a voice broke into my internal brooding and my head snapped to attention. “Leo! What is going on? Why aren’t you in there? You missed the whole opening act!” Sasha huffed, crossing her boney arms across her artificially filled breasts. Her bleach blonde hair shimmered in the dimmed house lighting.

“I had a call from one of the guys…” I mumbled half-heartedly. I didn’t even care about coming up with a believable excuse. I knew how this was going to go down. Sasha was going to act all pissed, throw a mini tantrum, and then suck up to me like a Hoover vacuum.

“My sister, Felicia, arranged this whole night for all of us, the least you could do is be present,” she bit out, smoothing her hands down her little black dress.

Looking at her right now, I couldn’t help but think of the first time she strode into one of our fraternity parties and all but threw herself at me. I used to live for her in little black dresses. She was hot, in the enhanced sort of way. But her need to climb the social ladder made my skin crawl. As soon as she found out my last name was Richards, she became even more persistent.

Being a Richards meant I was a
legacy
at the prestigious Columbia fraternity, Gamma Phi. Both my father and grandfather were members, so I was an automatic in—thus labeled, a
legacy
. There are even a couple of buildings at Columbia with my family name on them. That shit mattered to people like Sasha. It didn’t matter a spec to me.

I squinted at Sasha in a blatant challenge. She honestly expected me to play Ken?

“You had another guy lined up to come with you tonight before me, Sasha.” I raked my hands through my mussed brown hair. “He bailed and now I’m doing you a favor. Let’s not mention the fact that you roped me into this before I knew what we were even doing. You know how I feel about the ballet.”

And your sister’s fucking husband, Blake.

Being born into this life and forced to hang out with pricks was one thing. But Blake Rossi seriously took the cake.

“No matter!” she sang in a fake voice. Her challenging demeanor from before instantly vanished. “You had a call! I’m sure it was important. Can we go in now,
Leonardo
? Are you all done, babe?”

I rolled my eyes at her endearment. Her desperation was just so unattractive.

With a heavy sigh, I begrudgingly let her lead me back into the auditorium. We walked in just at the start of the next dance number and made our way up to our front and center seats. As we slid into our seats, Sasha turned back and mumbled a quiet apology to Blake and Felicia seated directly behind us.

I glanced back and caught a glimpse of Blake’s expression. He looked more evil than normal. His normally smooth black hair was slightly tousled and a salacious grin spread across his face. God, he and Felicia could be really nauseating sometimes.

Blake was four years older than me and an alumnus at my fraternity, Gamma Phi. He was known for being a royal prick and unfortunately, we had a history that connected us forever. Never mind the fact that he married Sasha’s sister out of nowhere and really fucked up my fuck buddy situation.

I squinted as Felicia’s diamond caught the stage light and sparkled brightly. The fucker was huge…well above five karats. I think Sasha thought that Blake marrying Felicia would give me a push to want to pop the question to her. She was so wrong.

I adjusted my suit coat when my attention was pulled to the pit band right in front of us. They repeated a really familiar beat that I couldn’t quite place. The director flailed wildly at the band and craned his neck up to the stage. What the hell was his problem?

He was glaring at a shirtless male dancer covered in tattoos. The dancer stood center stage with his arm outstretched to stage right, like he was waiting for someone. Behind him was a perfect line of prima ballerinas in black leotards and pink tutus. Their formation was flawless as they sat, poised and waiting.

The band repeated the same few bars when a flash of tutu and hair came tearing across the stage and landed smack dab in front of the male ballet dancer.

The guy looked dazed and confused, his eyes roving hurriedly over the new ballerina’s. He appeared to be shocked by her less than perfect appearance. She wore a classic cream leotard with an ivory tutu, but that wasn’t the shocking part. The shocking part was the racy and sexy as hell fishnet tights she had on beneath her pale pink pointe shoes. She was a huge contrast to her partner in traditional black tights and the classical outfits of the dancers behind them.

Fishnets hit her mark and the band finally continued past the repeated measures. She began her routine, and I took my time inspecting every aspect of her. She had medium brown hair swinging thick and tangled across her face—a vast disparity to the prima-bunned backup dancers moving in perfect unison behind her. As she stretched out to her partner, he transformed his befuddled expression into determined focus. He wrapped his large hands around her incredibly small waist and lifted her above his head. Fishnet’s arms outstretched in beautiful curved lines as the primas behind them struck various synchronized poses. The couple fluidly moved across the stage, their motions only highlighted by the dancers behind them.

I shifted nervously in my seat, shocked and confused by my interest in this particular performance. I’d never cared about a single performance in my life…why was this one any different?

It dawned on me when the song the band was playing finally clicked. It was an instrumental version of
Aerosmith, Walk This Way,
but with a romantic violin sound to it. Shaking off my puzzlement over the song choice, I zeroed in on Miss Fishnets.

My eyes were transfixed on her pointe shoes as she moved with explosive power to the classic rock beat. The backup dancers all glided with a lightness and elegance about them. This girl looked like she was one pirouette away from sticking her tongue out and head banging. It was enthralling. I was on the edge of my seat anticipating what might come next.

Eventually, I tore my eyes from her feet and made my way slowly up her endless legs. They were lean but thick with muscle—the fishnet stitching only accentuating every curve and bulge. They were definitely the legs of an athlete. I couldn’t help but imagine how sexy those legs would look wrapped around my waist as I stroked my fingers up every inch of them.

A heaviness settled on my chest as I zeroed in on her eyes. They stood out even in her mess of brown waves and dark stage makeup. The clear blue color pierced right through me. They were resolute and narrowed with a fierce intensity, and portraying every damn emotion in the book of love.

The book of love? Get a hold of yourself, Leo. What the fuck is wrong with you?

My heartbeat picked up speed as I saw her lip tremble ever so slightly. I couldn’t figure out what was affecting her so much. Was it someone in the audience? Was she thinking of something tragic? Her dance partner’s expression looked just as concerned as he moved her body gracefully in his hands. Was he the one that made her upset? I couldn’t tell if he was gay or straight. I’d be lying if I didn’t admit I was hoping for gay because if he was straight then surely they’d been together. I
was
not
a fan of that notion.

Her partner attempted to tenderly pull her closer and suddenly her face alit with renewed strength. Seemingly frustrated by her partner, she gave him a dramatic shove and launched herself away from him with an elegant, but athletic flicker of kicks. Her performance turned menacing and angry as her jaw set into a firm, but gorgeous expression. Every motion, every kick, every tilt of her hand was mesmerizing. Whatever this girl was feeling, she was pouring every damn drop of it into her moves. And it was working. In all my years of my mother dragging me and my father to the ballet, I’d never given two shits about a single performance…until this very minute.

As if she heard my thoughts, her eyes suddenly locked on mine. Staring into her gaze was like looking at a clear blue calm before a storm. She continued watching me through her moves, and I returned her scrutiny just as fiercely. We were communicating something I couldn’t quite comprehend, but I sure as hell wanted to.

When her partner wrapped her up in an all-consuming embrace, nervous agitation burned within me. I actually feared for the guy’s safety because this girl was clearly not in the mood to be controlled. Suddenly, she pirouetted, using me as her focal point for this incredibly difficult series timed perfectly with the band. Her neck snapped around and returned to my gaze over and over and over. I was transfixed. I’d never felt so affected by a dance before. I couldn’t blink. I couldn’t move. I could not break focus for fear of something bad happening. What? I didn’t know, but she had locked eyes on me like I was her life raft and if I looked away—she’d drown in a sea of crinoline, lace, fishnet, and hair buns.

As she stuck the ending sequence of her pirouette, she finally tore her eyes off of me. I let out a huge gust of air realizing for the first time that I was holding my breath.

Her dance partner lifted her up above his head and her expression appeared shaken, seemingly just as confused as I was by our nonverbal exchange. She gazed down at me, and the desire to be the man holding her in that moment instead of this foo-foo dude that had her now was overwhelming.

Who was this girl?

Sasha twined her fingers into mine, and I blanched because my palms were a sweaty mess. She didn’t seem to notice or care. Damn the girl was eager. I shifted uncomfortably, trying to figure out if the shit I just experienced with Miss Fishnets really happened or if I had made it all up in my head.

“That’s one hot tutu ass,” Blake murmured into my ear. The sensation of his hot breath made my stomach churn.

“Shhh, Blake!” Sasha scolded. I was certain she hadn’t heard what he said, but she still took the opportunity to insert her annoying voice in my face. Sasha turned to address her sister, “Tell Blake to be good, Felicia!”

“Be good, Blakey. We’re at the ballet,” Felicia crooned into his ear.

I cringed as I turned just in time to see her tongue dart out of her mouth and lick his ear lobe. I swerved my attention back forward. Blake chuckled softly. My skin crawled at the sound.

Sasha snuggled in to me, mirroring her sister’s movement and I pulled away feeling suffocated. She was the last person I wanted touching me right now.

“I know you’re not into this date, but I promise to make it up to you tonight. I’m wearing those edible panties again,” Sasha whispered sexily into my ear, her warm breath puffing softly against my neck.

Normally, that comment would get my dick stirring, but not tonight. I glanced back up to the stage just as the song ended. Miss Clear Eyes was looking straight at me with a confused and almost hurt expression on her face. I mirrored her demeanor, trying to get some idea what she was trying to say. Her partner grabbed her hand to lead her to the front of the stage for a bow. Her tiny nostrils flared in anger. She jutted out her chin, staring forward and bowed with a huge sense of determination.

The audience erupted into cheers and several around us began to stand. Sasha stood up next to me and dragged me onto my feet like I was some accessory that she wanted to flaunt.

“God, do I love the ballet.” Blake’s voice dripped with condescension.

Felicia scoffed, “That girl was incredible. I’ve never seen a performance like that. Definitely not classical, but wow.”

As the dancer rose from her second bow, the ballerina angled straight toward me and shot a huge, fake, white-toothed smile my way. It was mean and menacing and I couldn’t figure out why it was directed in my direction?

Seriously, who is this girl?

I decided right then and there that I would find out tonight. It shouldn’t be hard considering I have connections all over town. It was one of those perks of being a
legacy
and all.

But Miss Fishnets just made tonight halfway interesting.

The audience erupted with applause the second the spotlights went dark. Cameras flashed. In the darkness, only flickers from the photographers illuminated Ivan. I caught glimpses of his half concerned, half tormented face. Moving silently, Ivan lifted me off of him and out of our rather provocative position on the wooden floorboards of the stage. My ears pounded in sync with my heartbeat. The deafening noise drowned out the audience cheers. Aerosmith’s instrumental piece echoed as barely audible white noise.

Instead of meeting the other primas at the edge of the stage, Ivan turned me into him. Sweat fell from his black hair and down his bare, tattooed torso. His breaths were hard. We’d executed the dance flawlessly—well, after my debut. Each movement had been fluid and poised, but I demanded more of our routine tonight. Fueled by an adrenaline rush mixed with rage, I’d pushed us to our limits. Each jump was higher, every spin was faster; my lines were perfect; all poses were allongéd as long as physically possible. Only a partner with stamina like Ivan could have kept up with my elevated demands. If he hadn’t been up for the challenge, I could have missed a lift or a grab and resulted in a severe injury. He’d earned the right to be the top male danseur at Joffrey tonight.

“What the hell was that?” Ivan demanded. The concern in his voice was harsh, but the undertones of anxiety were just as obvious. “You look like hell.”

“I feel it,” I muttered.

I’d just expelled my turmoil of rage and fervor through the rigorous ballet dance. Now, I was left exhausted, bitter, and strung out. The realization hit me; Blake played me. Again. My self-loathing reached new heights.

I confessed, “The devil himself paid me a visit tonight.”

Ivan swallowed all questions he had lined up for me. In public, we’d been groomed to portray the emotion requested of us. For Ivan, it was child’s play. I struggled at it a bit more, which explained the tear that slipped from my eye. I wiped it away. I was so angry but to anyone else, it would have looked like a tear of joy. However, Ivan just wasn’t anyone else. He was my partner. He was privy to details I didn’t trust with many people.

He took my hand, and we walked to the tip of the stage for our final bow. The camera flashes never stopped, disorientating me. Even so, Blake was crystal-clear in my sight. He clapped his hands wildly as if he very much enjoyed the performance. I just didn’t know which one he liked more: the one onstage or off.

The bitter betrayal repulsed me more when I took in the woman beside him. Her platinum blonde hair spilt over her dainty shoulders and onto her red skin-tight dress. She’d coordinated her lipstick to match the crimson color. She leaned over and whispered into Blake’s ear, licking his lobe that I’d just sucked on.

I felt sick.

After bowing, my gaze gravitated toward the man sitting directly in front of Blake. It was the stunningly good-looking man whom I stared at throughout most of the performance. I hadn’t wanted to start anything. But it was too damn hard to look away when he marveled at me like I was the sexiest woman he’d ever seen.

The broad shoulders, the cocky expression, the dimple in his chin, the intensity of his captivating gaze. Forgive me, but he had the kindest, most engrossing eyes I’d ever seen.

I didn’t deserve the look.

A blonde next to him nudged his shoulder and pointed across the stage to where the primas were heading. Her distraction broke our intense stare.
I took the opportunity to flee. Upon reaching the curtain, I turned back and gave the auditorium a last look. As much as I lied to myself, one thing was certain: I couldn’t be trusted around Blake. I didn’t know what I’d do. Fuck him or fucking kill him.

Ivan had the professional courtesy to wait till we made it to the dressing room before drilling me. By drilling me, it wasn’t like he asked question upon question. No, he simply stood in front of the door and crossed his arms. “Explain.”

My lip quivered. I bit down on it, hoping that the physical pain would overcome the hurricane of emotions bubbling just below the surface of my compliant expression. We’d just given an insanely intense performance, but it was all for none. I’d squandered it all for what? A quickie that’d cost me any more lead dancing roles—I couldn’t believe that I’d just done that to my partner. I wanted to crawl into a hole and die.

“Blake.” I whispered my confession in the one word that explained nothing and everything at the same time.

“He’s the one who asked for the jewel back?” Ivan said more than asked. That was so like Ivan to avoid painful words like engagement, or wedding, or love.

I nodded. No more explanation was needed. Ivan and I operated on a very intimate but silent level. Often, danseurs fell for their partner. I knew Ivan had before. Unfortunately,
she
hadn’t. There were very few who could be held in another person’s arms, acting out forbidden love scenes, and not fall suspect to the fickle emotion itself. Nevertheless, he was a guy, and I wasn’t awful in the right lighting. So I didn’t hold it against him when he got a little friendly offstage. However, he was my partner first, my friend second, and anything more was not even worth ranking.

I sat down in front of the vanity mirror. My hate/hate relationship with the mirror held no bounds. I had my sister Zoey to thank for that… Even so, it wasn’t her appearance that made me cringe tonight. Mine was horrid enough all on its own. My hair was ratted. My fishnets were trashed. My eyes were red. All the same, the worse thing about my reflection was that my lips were swollen. I brought my hand up to them and caressed them. Blake’s kiss lingered on them. It cut me emotionally. How could I have been so stupid as to allow him to kiss me again, much less hold me up against a door with his dick?

Ivan walked up behind me and put his hands on my shoulders. His touch was as familiar as my own. We’d trained together more hours in the day than I dared tally.

“Do you have a future with him?” he asked.

I closed my eyes and shook my head, wishing that the truth didn’t hurt so badly. I could still feel his kiss on my lips, the pressure of his hands holding me, the way he made me believe I was a desirable woman worth chasing… I hated that I’d thought our hook-up meant something more. I hated that I had no words, nor felt anything but absolute emptiness when he put his wedding band back on.

“Then join me for a drink tonight,” he demanded.

We may have executed a flawless, sexually-charged performance, but I wasn’t going to tempt fate and give into the faux emotions that we had created on stage. I leaned my head against his hand and shook my head.

“As good as that sounds, a bubble bath sounds better.” A good cry in the privacy of my own home where judgmental eyes wouldn’t cast their gaze upon me—that was what I needed more than anything.

Our conversation came to an abrupt end when the door swung open and our ballet master, Ms. Higgins, stormed in. She still had the willowy body of a ballerina, but her ankles cracked when she walked. And the way she stomped into the room, I was surprised they didn’t break. I’d expected her to scream, to yell, hell—I wouldn’t put it past her to congratulate us for a superb performance. Her mood fluctuated, but her lips would forever be pressed together no matter what her emotion.

“You were late and out of costume,” Ms. Higgins sneered, eyeing my fishnet stockings. “I’ll be speaking with the board of directors about your complete lack of obedience. You’re enrollment with
Joffrey School of Ballet may very well be terminated.”