Don't Promise (Don't 3)

I wasn’t going to tell her it was both. “You know I’m still learning the game.”

“That might explain how you don’t know who Sam Hickson is. He was the highest-rated tight end in the league last year. But the Super Bowl team was in the bar with us. The entire team.” She eyed me. “Wes Blakefield, the quarterback?”

I stared at her blankly. Ballerinas didn’t study rosters for football. Last year when they were at the Super Bowl, I was dealing with the catastrophic affects of my accident. I was in rehab seven days a week. Sometimes twice a day. I shuddered thinking about the brace I wore and the torture of daily exercises.

“Why didn’t someone tell me?” I hissed.

“Because Heather and I are the only ones who saw you.” She winked. “And you could use some fun.”

“What’s that supposed to be mean? You think I’m stuffy?” I didn’t know which part was supposed to insult me.

“Your words, not mine, but yes, you’re a little stuffy. You could loosen up and act like you aren’t a prisoner on this team.”

“I don’t act like that.”

But there was truth in what Presley said. I didn’t socialize after practices or games. I didn’t do movie night, or get my nails done with everyone. I used my experience on the squad to keep in shape, use the dance facilities, and learn new choreography. I made it work for me because I had to. There wasn’t another job that could offer everything the Goddesses did.

“You don’t act like it’s a privilege to be a Goddess. You should be proud of what you do, Natalia.”

“You’re right,” I agreed. “You’re completely right. What do I do about last night? I’m not the only one who was hanging out with a Wrangler. I saw you too. Everyone drank with the team. You were with Wranglers. I didn’t doing anything you didn’t do.”

“They bought us drinks. Not the same thing as leaving the bar with them. We left as a squad.”

It was almost time for us to do a group dance. I needed a few more answers from Presley before I got in place.

“But you didn’t tell anyone else?” I asked. “No one knows, right?”

“No, but if they find out, you’re off the team. No one can help you if it gets out. Not even Heather.”

“What?” My stomach turned. I might be sick in front o

f thousands of screaming fans. I didn’t love being a Goddess, but I needed the money. It was all that I had. It was how I had health insurance. It was how I rebuilt my leg to ballerina strength. I needed this job.

“You committed a cardinal sin,” she explained.

“I didn’t sleep with him,” I lied.

Her eyes widened. “You didn’t?”

“No,” I huffed. “He walked me to my car to get my number. And I didn’t give it to him. I didn’t even know his last name or that he was a Wrangler. This is crazy, Pres. I can’t get kicked off the squad.”

“Oh.” She chewed her bottom lip. “We thought you…”

“That I’d have a one-night stand?” I used my best astonished voice.

“I guess not. Ballerinas don’t do that sort of thing, huh?”

“No, we don’t.”

I walked behind her to start the team dance. I had narrowly saved my reputation. Now I needed to talk to Heather. In case word spread, I wanted to make sure it was the story I wanted them to hear. They needed to know I hadn’t broken the Goddess code. She was the team captain, and regardless of our friendship, she played a management role.

“That kind of sucks,” she whispered.

“Why is that? You said I could lose my job.”

She giggled. “Because Sam Hickson is fucking hot.”

I closed my eyes, inhaling a deep breath. She had no fucking idea how true that was.