“In here baby,” I ground out, flinging open the door. And just like the first bedroom, this one had a huge, king-size bed complete with crisp new sheets, all done in blue.
“Ooooh,” squealed the girl. “I like it.”
I grunted, shutting the door. Because there was work to do, and I was on it. Some people would say I’m a womanizer, or even a cheater but I beg to differ because there are no explicit promises, not really. Woman just think we’re exclusive. They think we’re an item, not realizing that as soon as the door slams, there’s a new one waiting.
But it works for me. I bought this apartment for exactly this purpose. Because why else would a single guy have a five bedroom pad? That’s right, I’ve got multiple bedrooms, each outfitted with a king-size bed and corresponding en suite. That way, I can entertain multiple ladies, and they never smell the others. They never detect the scent of pussy juice or bubbly jizz, they never see crusted cream on a pillow case or semen pooled on the floor. So yeah, I’m an asshole of the worst sort, the kind women love to hate. But what you see is what you get … and my life fucking rocks.
CHAPTER TWO
Laney
I bent at the barre, stretching out my glutes. Oh god, that felt good. Somehow this morning I’d woken up a little stiff, my body like that of a forty year-old, even though I’m only eighteen.
“Umm,” I murmured below my breath, bending my head towards the floor. Almost there … almost there … there! Did it! My hand touched the ground, small fingers trailing against the polished wood.
Because I’m a ballerina. Well, more of an aspiring ballerina, I’m part of the junior corps at the NYC ballet, and I haven’t made it on stage yet. But I get to practice with the actual troupe, and we’re understudies for the big-name girls. So yeah, it’s been a lot of hard work, going to practice morning, afternoon and night, without a lot of payoff so far.
And frankly, there isn’t that much time left. At eighteen, I’m already considered “old” in this job. Some of my fellow dancers are sixteen, seventeen, one girl’s probably fifteen, I think she faked her papers somehow. So yeah, I’ve got to get rolling, I’ve got to really pull out the stops if I want to dance with the prestigious NYC Academy of Ballet. Time’s running out, and my mom’s words rang in my head.
“You’ll be fine,” she soothed, a worn, wrinkled hand taking mine. “You’ll be fine, Laney.”
I bit my lip, looking at her as we sat on my twin bed. We were in my childhood room, the one with the pink and white décor, looking out onto our tiny patch of lawn.
“I dunno Mom,” I said doubtfully. “Some of these girls have been doing ballet since they were five, and you know I only started three years ago.”
Mary clucked.
“I know honey, but what was it Miss Harrison said? You’re a natural? A real talent with an amazing feel for the music? Your teacher couldn’t have said nicer things about you.”
I nodded but inside there were still doubts.
“I know Ma, but we’re here in Janesville, population one thousand. There isn’t much competition, you know. With Rhonda down the street and Teresa from school as my fellow students, you can’t help but stand out, you know?”
My mom laughed merrily because Rhonda and Teresa are great girls, I grew up with them. But Rhonda has two left feet, I don’t know how she’s stuck with ballet this long. And Teresa? That girl is so tall she’d be better off as an Olympic basketball player.
But hey, this is Janesville, Kansas, and we’re lucky even to have a ballet studio. I’m not sure why Miss Harrison came and started one a couple years back, but I was so excited when it happened. The minute that “Open” sign appeared in the window, I’d begged my mom for lessons.
“Please,” I’d pleaded. “Please, you know how much I love dance.”
Mary had nodded.
“I know sweetheart, I know. But we don’t have that much money left over from your Dad’s life insurance, and I don’t want to leave you with nothing. We have to budget honey, and ballet lessons are bound to be expensive.”
I’d been thirteen then, a sulky, self-absorbed teen, stalking off to my bedroom in a huff, slamming the door. Surely Mary could see how important this was to me. And besides, we were fine. Dad’s insurance had left us with a good amount after he died, mom didn’t even have to work. So how bad could it be?
But soon a soft knock sounded on my door.
“Laney, may I come in?” came Mary’s voice. “Laney?”
I snorted again, still huffy and upset. But fine. We could talk.