“Just the way I like things.”
I turn at the sound of Rocco’s voice and watch as he steps behind Violet’s stool, his eyes leisurely trailing over her bare back. Caught, he shrugs his shoulders as if to say,I’m only looking. Right, and as soon as I leave here, I’m going to go to Saint Bernadette’s to confess my sins.
“Where did you come from?” Violet questions as she takes Rocco in from head to toe. I wonder if it’s too late to fit her for a chastity belt— those things still exist, right?
He smiles at her briefly before sliding into the space next to where she sits and orders her a dirty martini and a shot of bourbon for him and me.
“How about you worry about your dress instead?”
“What’s wrong with my dress?”
“Half of it is missing,” I growl.
“Don’t be lame,” she replies, rolling her eyes. “It’s bad enough I have to sit here and twiddle my thumbs while you two have some fancy dinner. I don’t understand why I couldn’t just go to the club.”
“One, the club isn’t open yet, and two, I don’t fucking trust you,” I tell her, taking my own glass from the bar. “I suppose we should toast you.”
“Yes,” she says, plucking an olive from the little sword dangling out of her martini glass. “Go on, boys, tell me how much you love me and how wonderful it is to have me in your lives.”
Rocco smirks.
“They’re inflating your ego at that dancing school, Bug,” Rocco comments.
“It’s the New York Academy of Ballet,” she corrects, curling her lip. “Not adancingschool.”
Rocco’s eyes meet mine and he raises an eyebrow.
“Isn’t that the same shit?”
One would think.
But I know better than to say that out loud.
Violet smacks his bicep.
“It is so not the same thing and to be clear, they don’t inflate my ego. It’s quite the opposite.” Setting her glass on top of the bar, she spins around to face him. “I’m constantly told I’m not good enough, that I don’t have what it takes to make it onto the stage. I’m five pounds heavier than every girl in my class, and my hips lock entirely too much. My frame needs work and . . . ” her voice trails as she glances over her shoulder to look at me. My jaw tightens as I set my glass down.
“And what?”
“Nothing,” she says with a shake of her head. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”
“Bug,” Rocco calls softly.
“I told you not to call me that.”
“Yeah, that’s not going to happen. If you hate the school so much, why are you still there?”
“I never said I hate the school. They’re only hard on me because they’ve taught the best and if I want to be in their company, I need to do better . . . be better. I will be on that stage,” she says, determination flaring in her blue eyes as she takes her glass off the bar and raises it. “And you two assholes better be in the front row with flowers, cheering me on.”
A smile ticks the corners of my lips.
That’s the girl I remember.
The one full of dreams and will.
This sex-crazed, half-dressed alter ego is nothing compared tothatgirl.
Swallowing, I raise my glass.
