Page 2 of Perfect Boy

I might have lied to get my job there, just like I’d lied to cross the border and get into school at Brooks, but…I haven’t been caught. Not yet anyway. And if a college campus hasn’t caught on that I have a forged visa, I have a hard time believing a strip joint ever will either.

Obviously, it’s not all glamorous and good times at work. And on those nights when I dread going into work, I just remind myself that I’m doing what it takes to make it through college. So that, one day, I can bring my sister across the border and take care of her like my mother never has. And if that fails, I remind myself to look on the bright side. What better workout is there than pole dancing? I can keep myself in shape for ballet while also making money. Win-win.

If it wasn’t for the fact that we wear masquerade masks as a disguise from the many jocks and students who stop in from time to time, I’d be a lot more uncomfortable onstage. Heck, I’ve even seen some professors stop by to enjoy the show before, and I always panic that they might somehow recognize me, and that would be really freaking awkward.

Some days, by the time I get done with class and practice, the last thing I want to do is go shake my ass on a stage. And going from ballerina to exotic dancer can be tricky at times. In some weird way, it’s like I live a double life. But I’m doing what I have to do to stay here in the United States.

I might have lied to get into the United States in the first place, but this is where I’ve always wanted to be. This is the country where I will make my dreams come true. I’m going to be a choreographer for a major dance company someday. Somewhere like Broadway. Sure, I won’t be the one on the stage. But I’ll be the one creating the magic. And to me, that’s even better.

My sister will come to live with me, and I’ll give her a life where she’s never cold, hungry, or poor ever again. I’ll make sure of it. And all of this lying won’t be for nothing anymore. I just know it.

Nothing and no one can stop me. And unlike my mother, no boyfriend will ever dictate my life.

Because one thing I’ve realized is, I don’t need a man in my life.

No, correction: I don’t want a man in my life.

Watson

“Boy, we already had practice this morning. Why the hell are you here again? I haven’t declared two practices a day…yet,” Coach LaConte calls from the side of the arena, bringing me to a stop mid–butterfly slide. “Maybe I’m not running your asses hard enough. I can change that, you know.”

“Trust me, you’re running us plenty.” I wipe my forehead and grin. “Just trying to get more conditioned, Coach.” I spin around, grabbing my water bottle from the top of the goal and squirting some in my mouth. “Wanna be ready for opening game.”

“No one is ever ready for opening game,” he says coolly. “But you’ll be damn close to it, Gentry.”

LaConte has coached me enough to know how I am. Perfectionist to a fault. My own worst enemy. My own biggest critic. Competitive to the point where it’s not fun. But how can I not be all of those things? I’m the goalie for a D1 hockey program. One of the best in the country. One wrong move, and I can cost my team an entire game. Hell, even a season.

And to add on the immense pressure I’m feeling, I have a spot waiting for me with the New York Rangers. But if I don’t show up this season, they could easily pull the rug from under my feet and retract their offer. And it would be my own fault. After all, I’m the one who is staying in college all four years to earn a degree instead of going pro now. And if I get injured, good-bye, NHL.

The weight of the world is on my shoulders. And I just want to fucking hold it without collapsing.

“Did you get your workout in for the day?” he asks, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

I bob my head up and down, and he nods.

“I figured. Go home, Gentry. Go home and get ready for tomorrow’s practice.”

I sigh. I really did want to get another hour in before I called it a day. But if Coach tells me to do something, I do it. No matter what.

“Yes, sir,” I say and start toward where he stands by the exit. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“You know it.” He slaps my shoulder as I pass by. “You’re a college kid, Gentry. Don’t you have anything else to do besides be here every waking minute of your life?”

I stop, turning toward him. “Would you rather I chased women and partied too much?” I laugh.

“What, like Cade Huff?” he deadpans. “No, I guess not. I just don’t want to see you burn yourself out on the game. It’s a long road, making it to the Frozen Four. Gotta do it right.” He tips his chin down. “Understood?”

I give him a nod. “Yes, sir. Have a good night.”

“You too, kid.” He pauses. “And for the love of God, don’t go and act like Huff. Forget what I said.”

“No worries there,” I say with a grin before heading toward the locker room.

Every guy on my team eats, breathes, and sleeps hockey. But they also have the ability to shut it off sometimes. To think about something other than being better. Or becoming the best. I can’t. I wish I could, but it isn’t how I was built.

One of my roommates, Cade Huff, couldn’t be more opposite of me. He fucks off all the time. His biggest concern is where this weekend’s party is. And then there’s Hunter Thompson, who is a lot like me. His family wants him to be a doctor, but he wants to make it to the pros. He has everything to prove, so he works his ass off both on and off the ice to be the best. But he’s also better at compartmentalizing his life. Unlike me, where it all just meshes together.

I pull my clothes off and head to the showers. Trying to shut my mind off and think about anything else besides where I need to improve before our opening game in a few weeks.

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