Dance For Me (Strip in the City, Book 2)

16 • Hot Friends

Instead of backing away from me like I was some crazy, dramatic person that I really didn't want to be, my friends all came closer, forming a ring of support around me.

My attention shifted to the shiny wood floor. My throat tight. Voice wobbly. "I lost the job to another girl who's younger and amazing and whatever," I said, swallowing my resentment and lifting my gaze.

No one was saying anything. They were just staring back at me with wide eyes. None of them were used to seeing me like this. I was the good-time friend, not the dramatic one, and right now, I was killing the mood. They came here to dance and hang out, not listen to me overreact.

"It doesn't matter," I added, shrugging off my feelings. "It is what it is. There's always next season."

There's always next season. It was the mantra I'd been using for years to keep me going. But now, the words felt hollow because I was starting to realize there would be no next season. Not for me. And damn, if that didn't hurt.

Maren set her hands on my shoulders. Grounding me and all my stupid feelings in place. "Tan, what are you talking about? Of course it matters. This promotion was everything to you."

She was right. It was everything to me. But the problem with making ballet my everything for the last twenty-five years was just that–it was my everything. I was putting my happiness in the ballet mistress's hands, and each year that I was passed over, it was like more of my happiness was sucked out of me and put on a shelf. I kept watching it, year after year, sitting up there behind Celeste's desk, collecting dust, hoping that one day I'd get it back and all this sacrifice and hard work would mean something.

But, would I ever get promoted? Would there ever be a payoff? Maybe, or maybe not.

Until then, this was the only way I could snatch some of the happiness I'd lost over the years. I loved dancing and I loved helping people. Even if I was over-extending myself, this was better than the alternative. Living without ever holding real happiness.

"Dancing the Sugarplum Fairy was everything to me," I admitted. "That promotion had been my dream for forever." Tears pricked in the pack of my throat, but I swallowed them down. I didn't even know I had these words inside of me until I started talking. "But, if I make my whole life about getting a job I might never be good enough for, then I'm going to keep being disappointed. And I can't do that anymore. Not without something else to fill my cup." Or someone else to share my life with. "Even if it's this."

My best friend wrapped her arms around my shoulders, and pulled me into a hug that warmed me from the inside out. Maren wasn't a hugger–not usually–but I could tell she was putting a lot of unsaid things into this one.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you earlier," I breathed.

Mare shook her head. "You have nothing to be sorry about. I love you whether you're the Sugarplum Fairy or a strip coach. Either way, you're still my best friend."

I let my cheek rest against her shoulder, savoring the moment. Thankful that she wasn't still mad at me. "I love you too, Mare."

As the rest of our crew closed in around us, wrapping their arms around each other, I realized that even though coming clean and telling them the truth was really hard for me, I'd made it into a bigger deal than it was.

I was more than a walking jello shot or a hovering book of advice or even a pair of pointe shoes.

They liked the girl underneath, even if I was still struggling.

Maren gave me one last squeeze, then released me, putting a little space between us. I still felt guilty for keeping secrets from her.

In that warm, slightly uncomfortable, gooey moment of silence, DeShauna cleared her throat, drawing everyone's attention. She had one hand on her hip. Chin lifted. All business. God she was such a badass.