His Love - Cassandra Dee Page 0,3
way I do.”
I’d sniffled then, sad to leave my mom. But again, the scholarship was like a gift from the heavens, and I couldn’t wait to leave. I couldn’t wait to see the bright lights of the big city, to train with the best instructors, to work with the best ballerinas and to be spun around by the most talented male dancers.
Except that I’ve been in NYC for three months now, and it hasn’t exactly worked out according to plan. I practice with the corps for sure. I’m surrounded by dancers day in and day out, but it hasn’t been easy. A lot of the other girls are really competitive and mean, and their words are like daggers coated in honey.
My heart dropped when the queen bee of the group, Megan, strolled into the studio early one morning. It was just the two of us so far, and bowing my head once more in a stretch, I tried not to look at her, focusing on the floor.
But no such luck. Immediately, Megan dropped her bag in the corner and turned to face me.
“Kitty, did you put on weight?” she asked, voice as sweet as sugar. “Looks like you’re having a little trouble there.”
In answer, I tilted forwards even more, hiding my face. Because the truth is that I’ve always struggled with being heavy. Ballet dancers are supposed to be whip thin, but I’m on the curvy side. I’ve got real tits, a real ass, and thighs that are strong and sensuous, and not the gristle and bone that a lot of professional dancers have.
I gritted my teeth where Megan couldn’t see.
“No, I haven’t,” I replied in a low voice. “I’m the same as always.”
But Megan couldn’t be deterred.
“Really?” she asked in an arch voice. “There’s definitely some jiggle there. Have you been eating cheeseburgers again?”
My face flamed as I stared blindly at the floor, fighting the urge to hit her, or cry. God, why did people in New York City have to be so mean? Why did this girl have to be so awful? Why did we have to be the only ones in the studio this early in the morning, warming up? I cursed, eyes flooding with hot tears, but made myself keep it together.
“No, I haven’t eaten a cheeseburger since last week in the cafeteria, thank you very much,” I said in a low voice, standing to look her in the eye. “And besides, it wasn’t a cheeseburger because you know the cafeteria doesn’t serve stuff like that. It was a turkey burger made from lean meat, and it was very healthy.”
Megan sniggered, her eyes going up and down my body like it was a garbage dump.
“Well it must have been the cheese then,” she giggled nastily. “I swear I saw you chowing down on a burger oozing with cheddar, and that shit’s full of fat. Real ballet dancers don’t eat dairy,” she said with a huff, spinning on her heel.
At that moment, other dancers began entering the studio, chatting and talking, interrupting us. Of course, Megan was all smiles, greeting our seniors.
“Hi Anna! Hi Rebecca!” she called to the prima ballerinas. “Hi … oh!” came her gasp.
I didn’t want to look because there were tears in my eyes still and I fought to make them stay down. I didn’t want anyone to know how Megan had just body-shamed me, and how ugly and disgusting she made me feel. So swallowing thickly, I made myself take a deep breath. I wasn’t going to be a loser. I was here to make the most of the big city, and Megan wasn’t going to win.
But when I looked up, I too gasped because standing there was the most gorgeous man I’ve ever seen. Thick black hair dropped over penetrating blue eyes, topped with a strong square jaw and straight nose. But it was the man’s physique that made my mouth go dry. He wore a black suit, but the loose fabric couldn’t hide the body of a former dancer, perfectly balanced and symmetrical. This awesome specimen was toned and athletic, with muscled thighs and strong arms, perfect for lifting girls in the air.
Trust Megan to know power when she saw it because she moved towards the man like a magnet drawn to a pole.
“Hi!” she simpered, throwing that blonde hair back flirtatiously. “Hi, you’re Mr. Lyons, right? You’re the CEO of NYC Academy?”
Oh shit, this was Mr. Lyons? The Luke Lyons? Every ballet troupe is artistic, sure, but at the