Thick Love (Thin Love, #2)(29)
We stared at each other, quiet, breathes mingling together and I noticed she had a small freckle near her left eyebrow. Her smooth, soft skin reminded me of honey and cream mixing together, just as sweet, just as bad for me. Her nose was straight and sharp and those cheekbones were arched like they had been formed by the careful work and talent of an artist. She had the kind of features that reflected so many of the complex heritages of New Orleans: Spanish, Black, Creole, she could have come from any number of exotic, mysterious backgrounds. For the first time I realized, despite how cold she’d always seemed to me, that Aly was beautiful. Understated and guarded behind that aloof manner, but for the first time, I realized Aly was very, very beautiful.
The slight rasp in her voice hinted that she wasn’t everything she wanted the world to believe her to be. She actually was more, much, much more, and the part of me who was a curious * with zero conscience wanted to find out what that might entail.
But before I could say anything to her, even just for a second, Leann cleared her throat, then clicked the music off. Aly backed away from me as though she’d forgotten who I was or where she was, and that maybe she shouldn’t be enjoying our dance so much. Leann’s voice had definitely broken the moment—my dick deflated and my skin cooled—but it didn’t keep my eyes from following Aly as she walked away from me across that hardwood floor.
“Aly, that was excellent. You think Tommy can help us out? He’s doing that internship in New York still, but won’t he be back from New York next month?” Aly’s glance at me did not go unnoticed. “No,” Leann said, answering Aly’s silent question, “Ransom’s very good, but this should be a professional performance. Besides, he’s got football and classes.”
“Okay, but I want to work on the saida and add some dips. Who can I practice with until Tommy gets back?”
Leann wasn’t remotely subtle with the look she gave me. I suddenly had an idea.
“Look at me like that all you want, Leann. I still have my own shit. Unless, of course, Aly here,” I saw the woman shake her head when I nodded at her, “is willing to help out my mom. Then I can squeeze her into my schedule.”
“I didn’t say I wouldn’t take the job, orto. I’ve just been…”
“Will you do it?” Leann asked Aly, interrupting her.
The twin expressions between me and my cousin—hers on the edge of begging, mine, I’m sure, smug and condescending—had Aly waffling. She fidgeted, likely battling the reality that Leann wanted Aly to learn the dance and I wanted my mom to rest and my little brother taken care of. Her frown dwindled, like someone who knew she had was facing defeat, and had to try to make the best bargain she could without holding any chips. My smile grew broad when she finally waved her hand in my general direction in an attempt at a ‘whatever’ attitude.
“Fine, but it can only be every other day. I still have classes to teach and I work Tuesdays and Thursdays, plus every Saturday.” She stood with her back straight, barely glancing at me or my growing smirk.
“Excellent,” I said unable to keep from looking happy and far too pleased with myself.
Aly didn’t bother waving goodbye or saying anything more than an “I’ll call tomorrow” as she left the studio.
“You really are a brat sometimes, you know that, right?” Leann said as picked up her bag and turned the lights off in the studio.
“Why?” I pulled my cousin toward me with an arm over her shoulder. “Because I got a sitter for Koa?”
“No,” she stopped, elbowing me so I kept the door opened for her. “Because you used that thing to get it.”
“What thing? Charm? Cunning?”
“I believe Keira always referred to it as Hale Demon Magic.”
“Well, shit Leann, I can’t deny that one.”
Robert Burns compared his love to a red, red rose. The meaning behind the giving of those flowers was universal. Florists made a killing off the sentiment of their meaning, and poets have talked about their symbolism for centuries.
For me, roses reminded me of loss. They are the calling card of misery, the steady reminder of how badly I had f*cked up. I know that’s what they are. I know I can expect them on Emily’s birthday and again on the day that I destroyed everything.
Today was one of those days.
It hadn’t registered that my door was ajar when I returned from practice. My head was still too consumed by the opposing thoughts of sin and satisfaction, of who I wanted, why I wanted her, and what it meant that my body was firing on its own engines, making me forget that I could never get hard. Well, except for that dancer. And for that one dance Leann had forced upon me.
With Aly.
The drills practice that day had been brutal. My father made me make up for the distraction that was still so stupidly and obviously filling up my head. He made me run longer, pushed me further than any of my teammates because he knew I expected it. Because he knew I needed it.
When I shuffled up the stairs and kicked open my door, I didn’t noticed the petals at first. Not until I crashed onto my bed with my kit and my backpack and my worn body all falling like a mass of drained weight. It was only until I exhaled, drew in another exhausted breath and inhaled their scent, then felt the petals on my bed, the sharp stems of the roses prickling against my bare arms, that I realized what this sick gift meant.