He’s snowballing her into thinking he’s some goddamn gentleman. He has access to the Club Pussy so why is he setting his sights on the purest, best thing in my world?
And why is she excited and happy at the thought?
“Seriously, what’s wrong with you, Hayes?” she asks, her hurt clear. She never calls me Army; never has. I like it because she’s the only one to use my birth name.
“You know I can’t talk MC business with you, and Harrison is gone on MC business.”
I purposefully don’t use his road name right now, because fuck him.
But honestly, am I any better than him? With the sick, depraved thoughts and desires I have about Leeva?
She’s better off without either Cartwright brother. She deserves a good man who will cherish her like the purest treasure she is.
I resist the urge to reach out and brush back the hair that’s escaped her ponytail. “I’m sorry, little dove.”
Her nose crinkles. “You know I hate that name.”
She’s pure and innocent, just like a dove.
Secretly, to me, though, she’s a lotus. Because just like a lotus, she’s purity amidst the darkness of our world; she grows in the dark, muddy water, but remains beautiful. But to call her ‘lotus’ requires too much soul-revealing explanation, so I keep it to myself, along with the fact that my first tattoo was a lotus flower over my heart.
Her face falls as she pulls her knees to her chest, staring into the night.
I shift my position so we’re sitting face-to-face. “What is it?”
“I just want to see Guerilla.”
I’m swallowing shards of glass. “Why?”
“I… I had a shitty day, okay? And I wanted to talk to him.”
She used to only talk to me.
“You know you can talk to me, Leeva.”
“Pierre…” She finally looks at me. Her bottom lip trembles before she bites it to stop it. Pierre is her head dance instructor,who I severely dislike. “He said if I want the lead part in the upcoming performance, I need to drop some more weight.”
Wrath spirals in me. “You don’t need to lose any more weight. You need togainsome.”
“I knew you wouldn’t understand,” she huffs. “Guerilla does—”
“He encourages you to have an eating disorder?” I snap.
“I didn’t say that,” she bites back.
“You’re meant to be curvy, Leeva, not to have the body of a prepubescent boy.” I immediately regret my words and fist the grass beside me.
“Screw you.”
“I’m not saying you have the body of a prepubescent boy. I’m saying…”
But I can’t say what I want to.
I can’t say that she’s perfection, that she doesn’t need the validation of an asshole like Pierre. She doesn’t need to try to stay so thin; I love her no matter what her body size or shape is.
“You don’t even like ballet,” I say instead, which is the truth. “So why the hell are you pushing this so hard?”And potentially harming yourself.
She looks away, hugging her knees tighter to her chest. “You know why.”
