Looking at the clock on the wall, I decide to end class a few minutes early because today has been a waste of time. The kids couldn’t stop looking at Bull. I bet they’ve never seen someone like him before. Their parents wouldn’t associate with someone like him. Nor would they with someone like me if they knew what I did apart from teaching ballet to their kids.
“Everyone did so well today. See you next week.” Turning off the music, I open the door and brace for the stampede of parents.
As I’m packing up the room, Pamela, one of the moms, walks over to me. I already know what she’s going to say before she opens her mouth. “Lily, can I speak to you real fast?”
“Sure,” I reply, collecting the rainbow ribbon sticks from the floor.
“I don’t mean to sound rude, but who is that man?” She tries to be discreet as she gestures with her head toward Bull. She fails miserably.
“That’s my friend,” I say, flippantly.
“Oh. Well, some of the parents and I were wondering if maybe he shouldn’t be in the room when you’re teaching.”
Collecting the last ribbon stick, I look her straight in the eye. “Why not?”
Her eyes widen as she’s taken aback by my bluntness. “He was, um, distracting to the kids.” She doesn’t even have the balls to tell me the truth.
“Pamela, they’re distracted by air. They’re kids. They live their lives distracted.”
She nervously tugs at her pearls. “He looks like a criminal,” she whispers from behind her hand, finally revealing her true feelings. Technically, he is, but I decide not to share that fact.
Peering over her head, I lock eyes with Bull who sits calmly, but he’s aware of what’s going on. “You shouldn’t judge a book by its cover.” Although I am, and that cover is setting me on fire.
Returning my attention to her, I smile sweetly. “I mean, what does your cover say about you?” I don’t hide my appraisal of her tight, Botox-filled face and inflatable lips.
She reads the clear fuck you and turns with a huff.
I don’t care. When I take over from Avery, this place is going to change. It’ll be an elite school for anyone. Everyone will be welcome.
The room soon clears, but not before Kylie, one of my favorite pupils, walks up to Bull and speaks to him. I have to mute my chuckles behind my palm because he appears so out of sorts that she’s speaking to him. When he says something to her in return, she skips off, clutching her father’s hand. He smiles at me on the way out the door.
Once we’re alone, I close the door and pull down the blinds on it. “Sorry if that bore the shit out of you,” I lightly say, suddenly needing to fill the silence.
“It didn’t,” Bull replies, leaning back and crossing an ankle over his knee. He seems to be telling me the truth. Could it be he’s a closet ballet fan?
“What did Kylie say to you?” I ask, coming to a stop in the middle of the room.
Something is going on behind those hypnotic eyes. “She asked if my pictures rub off.” When I purse my lips in confusion, Bull peers down at his tattooed arm. He took off the leather jacket, so his arms are showing as he’s wearing a white T-shirt.
Kylie was referring to his tattoos. “And what did you say?” I ask, laughing.
Bull shrugs. “I told her it was invisible ink, and only she could see it because she was the best dancer in class.”
My laughter soon fades because I wasn’t expecting him to say something so…nice.
It’s now his turn for questions. “What did the plastic soccer mom say to you?”
My exchange wasn’t as pleasant as his. “Oh, nothing.” I attempt to play it off, but Bull can guess.
“She’s right. I shouldn’t be here.”
“How’d you know?” I ask in awe. It wasn’t like he could read her lips because Pamela’s back was turned to him. Yes, what he told me today changes things, but I wasn’t putting my kids at risk. He would never hurt them. His comment to Kylie only confirms this.
“’Cause someone like her sees someone like me as nothing but trash.”
“Well, she can fuck off,” I counter, jumping to his defense. “This is why this place is barely standing. Ballet shouldn’t only be for those who think they are entitled to it. It should be for everyone. And it will be when I take over.”
Bull’s poker face is in play, so he catches me by surprise when he says, “Dance for me.”
Mine isn’t because he’s caught me completely off guard. “Dance for you?”
Bull nods once, running his fingers over his thick stubble.
“You’ve seen me dance,” I state, my cheeks heating.
But that’s not what Bull is asking. “Dance because you want to, not because you have to.” He leans back in his chair, indicating the floor is mine.
I’m suddenly nervous, but I don’t know why. Ballet is my happy place. But with Bull sitting just a few feet away, his lips twisted into a devilish slant, I’m fearful my happy place is about to be tainted by the devil. But nonetheless, I walk over to the iPod and choose a song that seems suited for Bull and me.
Standing in front of him, I wait for the intro to kick in, and when it does, I dance like a monster is at my heels. I choose “Animals” by Maroon 5, not your traditional piece to perform a ballet routine to, but all I need is a beat to get lost in.
I incorporate all the ballet steps I’ve learned over the years but shake up the steps with some contemporary moves. When I dance, I am the drums, the guitars, and the bass, using every sound and rhythm as an extension of my body.
Raising my arms high, I push off into a pirouette, turning on my toes as I’m wearing my pointe shoes. Every part of me aches, but it hurts so good—mirroring how I feel about Bull. Dancing for him is like dancing in front of an audience of thousands.
The adrenaline pumps through me, animating my body as though I’m possessed. And in some ways, I suppose I am. When it comes to Bull, something overtakes me, and I don’t know what it is. A foreign entity enters me, throwing good sense to the wind.
I can feel his eyes all over me, watching me closely as I perform a ballet solely for him. Dancing for him gives me an inexplicable surge of confidence. He’s seen me dance before, but this is different. This is who I truly am. I can’t hide behind my ballet because every confusing emotion bursts out of me.
I end the routine with my arms raised in the fifth position. My breaths are labored, and I am covered in sweat, which only fuels this pulsating energy within. Meeting Bull’s eyes, I wait for him to say something, but instead, he stands slowly.
He walks toward me in a confident, slow strut, and I quash down my desire and wait for what comes next. When he’s within reach, he stops, tilting his head to the side, eating over every inch of me. He exhales as he unfastens the elastic around my bun. My hair tumbles free, falling around my flushed face as my breathing doesn’t slow.
Threading his fingers through my hair, he yanks my head backward, exposing the length of my neck to him. I suddenly feel like his next meal. And that’s exactly what I am.
He walks us toward the barre and violently spins me around. I don’t have to think or breathe when he bends me over the bar and drops to his knees behind me. His fingers work deftly as he lifts my sheer skirt, pushes aside my leotard, and buries his face between my legs.