The Wild Mustang & The Dancing Fairy (St. Mary’s Rebels 1.5)

Sure, it takes a little convincing on my part to get him to agree because when I first proposed the idea, his exact words were, “I’m not fucking twirling.”

“Hey! That’s extremely offensive,” I told him from the stage. “Ballet isn’t just twirling. There’s like a hundred different things, techniques, that you do –”

“Well, you can call it whatever the fuck you want. I’m still not fucking twirling.”

I stood there, staring down at him in his seat in his favorite third row, all sprawled-out thighs and large chest, masculine and stubborn.

And gorgeous.

In that moment, I hated how gorgeous he was.

“I can’t believe that you won’t help me. I can’t.” I threw my hands up in the air. “And for what? Because ballet threatens your masculinity? That’s it, isn’t it? You think twirling will make you less of a guy. You think twirling is feminine. Meanwhile, you don’t even care that chivalry is dying. That you’ve killed it. You’ve killed chivalry, Roman. Today. Right here, in this auditorium. And this is a crime scene. Crime. Scene. Murder. So –”

I went quiet when he stood up and started to walk toward me.

Before I knew it, he’d crossed all the rows and, putting his palms on the edge of the low-rising stage, lifted and swung himself onto the stage in one smooth motion. Just like that.

Without breaking a sweat or even taking a breath, he approached me and I asked, “What are you doing?”

“Showing you how chivalrous I can be.”

“What?”

“Usually I don’t mind being the bad guy, but I don’t like to be accused of crimes I haven’t committed. So if you want me to twirl, I’ll fucking twirl and save you from distress and be your knight in fucking armor.”

“Knight in shining armor,” I said as soon as he finished.

He narrowed his eyes at me dangerously. “What?”

“You said knight in fucking armor. But it’s knight in shining armor.” I peered up at him through my eyelashes. “So you’re my knight in shining armor.”

“And if you want to be rescued, Fae, you need to start talking really soon and tell me what the fuck you want me to do before I change my mind.”

And since then, he has helped me with my routine.

He has lifted me, assisted me with jumps and leaps.

He’s made me better.

Surely if I tell them all of this, they won’t hate him, will they?

They can’t.

I mean, yes there’s this rivalry and years of hatred between him and Ledger, years of them sabotaging each other on the field and at practice just to have the top spot.

But can’t they move past it?

Can’t Conrad see that Reed isn’t as selfish as he thinks he is?

He’s so much more than just a villain.

He’s an amazing big brother. A protector.

A guy who keeps his promises. First by apologizing to Ledger that night, and then, by not even looking at another girl.

Because he hasn’t.

Not since he made that promise to me, the night he took me for a ride in his Mustang for the first time.

I haven’t seen him with a girl in the hallways. I haven’t seen him flirting or taking any interest in them. In fact, the other day I overheard a few girls talking in the restroom during lunch. About how Reed has seemed distant and distracted over the past few weeks.

See?

He can be a good guy, if he wants to.

Only he doesn’t want to.

Not right now at least.

Not as I watch him on the soccer field, practicing with the team.

Well, there’s no practice going on right now because the two star players are currently facing off against each other.

It’s the same scene from that game weeks ago, the one that started everything.

Ledger is all angry and bunched up and Reed is cool and relaxed.

I know I should move on and not get involved. I never have before.

I was actually on my way to my own practice at the auditorium.

Tomorrow is my show that I’ve been practicing for for months and we’re doing a full dress rehearsal.

Actually, tomorrow’s also the day of the championship soccer game for Bardstown High and I’m still trying to figure out how I can both watch the game and make it to my own show.

But anyway, right now my plan is to just watch him play for a few minutes, hidden away behind the bleachers, and then leave to get to my own rehearsal.

But now I’m walking toward them, toward the crowd, the two camps, the Mustang and the Thorn.

Conrad and his assistant coaches are trying to settle everyone down. But when Con glares at Reed, snaps something at him and points to the bench, I know that it’s only going to exacerbate the problem.

Reed glares back at Con and I grimace, thinking that he’s going to say something to my brother and his coach, something disrespectful. But thankfully all he does is spit on the ground and wipe his mouth with the back of his hand and leave.