Break

Back at the apartment, I find a note taped to the front door. My guess is it’s from Penthouse A. I tear it off and shove it in my pocket, kicking open the door and throwing my things on the bench.

“How’d it go, Dash?”

“Good. Fine,” I tell my mom, rocking back on my heels.

“Did you teach the workshop?”

“I did,” I say without elaborating. I yank open the fridge and pull out a blue sports drink which I guzzle.

“That earth-shattering, huh?” Mom asks.

The apartment smells amazing, and before I can comment on it, Mom pulls on oven mitts, leans over, and takes a lasagna out of the oven. “I did salad and garlic bread, too. Figured you’d be hungry.”

“Fucking starved.”

“Did you get the note Sam left on the front door?” Mom has that high-pitched tone she gets when she’s being nosy.

“Didn’t read it.” I dive a hand into the breadbasket where she’s putting the steaming garlic bread as it comes out of the tinfoil. Mom slaps it away, but I get a piece anyway and stuff it in my mouth.

“Why don’t you invite Sam for dinner. She’s right next door, and it seems strange not to ask her.” Mom puts a hand on her hip and tilts her head. “Lord knows the girl could use some meat on her bones. She’s as frail as they come.”

I’m not sure what’s more tempting, feuding with Sam or watching her eat. Both seem to turn me on to no end. I plop down at the kitchen island and open her note.

If you’re throwing me out of your life, just say it. I cannot accept the bracelet. We’re going to be dancing together so we might as well come to some kind of agreement.

-Sam

I crumple up the paper and toss it toward the trash but miss.

“You’re in a mood, Dashiell Cunningham,” my mom says as she sets salad on the table. “Just the two of us is lonely, and I hate to think of her over there all alone.”

“Fine, I’ll go get her, but you better open a bottle of wine to break the tension.’

“I’m not even going to ask what kind of tension you’re referring to.”

I don’t bother to put my shoes on as I unlatch the door and make my way across the wide hallway to Penthouse A.

“Leave me alone. We were over before we even began! I’m not in love with him.”

I halt with my fist in mid-air, ready to knock.

Lance the douchebot is in there. Hassling her again about God knows what—the fake relationship Katerina put him up to. Taye is being generous. She can’t stand that guy, let alone date him.

“You’re so fucking uppity. If you’re willing to put out for him, you better put out for me, too. How about a goodbye fuck? You can suck me off and see if you can get me in the mood.”

I hear a glass crash and what sounds like the slide of furniture. I’m not about to stand by while the douchebot puts his hands on Sam, no matter how pissed I am at her.

I take a step back and kick the door above the knob. It’s closed but not locked, and I almost fall into Sam’s kitchen, where I immediately spot the prick with his hands around her neck. Sam is bleeding from her lip, and Lance spits in her face with rancor as he spews his jealous hatred.

“Get your fucking hands off Natayla before I slice your spine out of your skin,” I tell him. For effect, I grab Sam’s sharpest-looking kitchen knife from a block by the fridge. The things are top of the line and could easily filet someone.

Grabbing Lance by the hair, I yank him off her and hold the knife to his neck as Sam looks on in horror. When the loser tries to struggle from my grip, I let the blade press into his flesh. Little does Lance know, I was raised by the streets and slept with a dagger in my jeans from the night we ran away from my dad. I’d had my fair share of scuffles and was adept at getting my point across.

“Dash, don’t hurt him or you’ll lose all you’ve worked for,” Taye pleads.

“No sweat, Sam,” I say, yanking his head back harder by fisting his hair. “Like I already told Lance here, I’m not on scholarship anymore. I’m popping by to invite you for lasagna. Mom’s specialty. Why don’t you run over there and get a head start on the salad? I’ll catch up in a minute,” I say brightly through clenched teeth.

“Dashiell, please,” Sam begs. She reads right through my fake demeanor.

“I thought I heard Lance say he was in the mood, so you run along, and I’ll help him out in that department,” I threaten.

Sam blinks in disbelief, and Lance lets out a petrified whimper.