Total pages in book: 38
Estimated words: 35304 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 177(@200wpm)___ 141(@250wpm)___ 118(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 35304 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 177(@200wpm)___ 141(@250wpm)___ 118(@300wpm)
“Jeremy!” I squeal with a snort.
Anna claps and urges him on with an encouraging nod as the limo moves smoothly down Main Street, all of us sporting matching fresh pink-to-black ombre fingernails and toenails. Jeremy included.
I do my best to hide my own clenching femininity and the shameful thoughts I keep having about the man who shares my father's face.
Though he's not actually my father. Scotch is my stepfather, yes, but he and my mother married when I was only four years old. Since my own father passed away before I have any memory of him, Scotch has been my dad. He's done a great job, and I love him. So why did he have to have an identical twin brother who, for some reason, turns my innards to hopeless girl goo?
"Where are we going for pizza?" I try to change the subject.
Anna is having none of it. "Look, let me get this straight. He has to pretend to be your dad because you have some big meeting with that horrible Sophia and the even more horrible, what's his name, that director? Mikhail Baryshnikov?"
"He's not Mikhail Baryshnikov." I sigh. "Alexander Patrykov. One of the best company directors the Ford Center has had in a three decades. So making the cut for the trial residency would really be a boost for our family."
Jeremy rolls his eyes. "It's always about them. What about you, girl? Do you want to do this?"
I nod, my defensive walls rising when it comes to my family. "Yes. It's what I want. It's what I've trained for since I was four years old."
Anna waves her hands, reaching for the bottle of champagne from the ice bucket then bringing it to her lips, taking a long pull before handing it to Jeremy, who does the same.
They don't bother offering it to me because they know I have a hard no-alcohol rule. Not because of my father, it's just that I've watched dancers take their entire careers down trying to trade food for alcohol. It's not pretty, and it never gets them what they want.
Besides, with a father named Scotch and his identical brother named Rye, there's already enough alcohol in our family.
"Alright, so where are we going for pizza?" I try again, tugging at the hem of the scandalously short red tube dress with two shoestring straps that Anna brought for me. She knows me well enough to know I wouldn’t refuse her tonight.
At least she didn’t let Jeremy choose. The hem barely covers my ass but if Jeremy had his way, I’d be in something worthy of a BDSM advertisement in the back of the Metro Times.
They exchange a long look that makes something cynical curl inside me.
"Well, don’t freak out." Jeremy leans back in his seat, legs spread, knees beginning to jiggle. His red leather pants and black tank top should have been a clue that maybe this mani, pedi, pizza outing is not what I imagined. "You're going to love it. Don’t worry, I’m sure they have salad."
"You guys.” I groan, looking at the LED lights blinking on the ceiling of the limo before lowering my eyes back to my friends with a scowl. “Spill it. Where are we going for pizza?"
Anna tightens her smile into a shrug. "It's a new place," she says, too innocently, eyebrows bobbing. "It's called Club Echo."
She slaps her hands over her face just as Jeremy starts clapping.
"What is Club Echo?" I half-yell, turning to watch the scenery zipping by outside. We're heading down Woodward where the buildings are becoming less lit up and more abandoned. This is not a casual pizza joint part of town.
"You'll love it, girl. You'll love it." Anna makes prayer hands in front of her chest. "It's my bachelorette party. Just do this for me. Everything's going to be okay. We have a safe ride home. I just wanted to do something crazy tonight. It'll be great."
“So, no pizza?” I shake my head, squeeze my eyes shut, and when I open them again, the limo is pulling up in front of a black cinder block building with a black door and an extended gold awning entryway lined with red lights.
"Is this a freaking brothel?" I throw myself back in my seat. The six-inch black patent leather pumps Anna insisted I wear are, annoyingly, more comfortable than my pointe shoes.
Wherever this is, it's somewhere I should not be.
“No.” Jeremy smirks. “Not a brothel. Better.” He reaches across the open area between him and Anna, holding his palm out and she smiles and smacks his hand in a high five.
As the limo rolls to a stop, the driver is out and around to the door before any of us move. The three of us sit in a staring contest.
"I'm going to kill both of you," I mutter, but the hammering of my heart is not anger.