Page 3 of Betting Her Curves

I shoot her a look before stalking to the door.

“You better not,” I growl. “Otherwise, you’re on a plane home, Ains. I mean it.”

To the sound of her pealing laughter, I let myself out, blinking in the bright Vegas sun. The Strip is packed with tourists this afternoon, and someone bumps me on the right as I begin walking down the street.

“Oooh sorry, didn’t mean to hit you,” a young girl giggles, her arm linked through a friend’s. Both girls are dressed in tight cocktail dresses and sparkly high heels despite the fact that it’s 2 p.m.

“Can we buy you a drink?” her brunette friend asks, batting her lashes at me. “Usually, we expect men to pay for us but we can make an exception for you, Mister.”

“The Diamond Lounge is right over there,” the first teenager hums merrily, flipping her blonde tresses over one shoulder. “I know the bartender, so we’ll get our drinks at a discount. Or maybe even free,” she adds with a coy smile.

I pause to contemplate their offer, but then shake my head because these girls are obviously jail bait. Beneath the spackled-on make-up, there’s acne on their foreheads and chins. In fact, when I look closely, the brunette has clear braces on her teeth. Fuck, they’re too young and I have too much at stake to go down this path.

“Thanks ladies, but I’m going to have to pass,” I growl before reaching into my billfold and handing them a hundred dollarbill. “Enjoy yourself though. Say hi to the bartender and make sure to order mocktails.”

“Oh we will!” the blonde chips with a delighted smile before plucking the bill from my hand and pulling her friend away. “Thanks, Mister! You made our day. Come find us at the bar later if you change your mind!”

Then, the two girls scamper off to the Diamond Lounge, giggling and tossing their hair. I let out a disbelieving snort. Fuck, what has the world come to? Don’t get me wrong because I like my ladies young, but there’s a limit to how far I’ll go. Too young is a no-go, and I wonder if I’ve underestimated Vegas already. I’ve heard anything can happen in this town, but I wasn’t expecting to have my limits tested so early.

Goddamn. I stare down the Strip before me. The sidewalks glint in the afternoon light, palm trees waving their fronds. A classic car putters down the road, followed by a gleaming Ferrari; a Rolls driven by a chauffeur; and a lumbering RV. I let out a snort. Everyone and their mother is here to gamble, party, or do whatever floats their boat, and who am I to stop them? Hell, I might as well play some cards and join in the fun.

As I stroll down the sidewalk, a group of choreographed dancers catches my eye and I stop for a moment to watch. It’s enchanting, actually. There are a number of ballerinas dressed in flowy white costumes waving their arms and going onto tiptoe as they sway to classical music.

“Come on in,” an announcer blares into a microphone. “The Degas is the hotel of the moment, and you’ll find the best cards here. Blackjack, roulette, poker? We have it all! Enjoy live shows and strong drinks while relaxing in the utmost luxury!”

As if in reply, the dancers sway to the left in unison, and then to the right, resembling a rippling field of wheat. Suddenly, I get it. The hotel is the Degas, like the artist Edgar Degas, who’s famed for his paintings of ballerinas. It’s said the artist was captivated by the grace and fluidity of dancers’ movements. He sought to capture the dynamism of the human body in motion, and ballet provided a perfect subject for exploring these themes.

I shrug and begin moving towards the circular entrance. It’s clever, so why the hell not? The hotel is a pink and white monstrosity, glittering in the harsh afternoon sun, but this is Vegas ... and I might as well make some money while I’m at it.

2

Ashley

Isee him as soon as he walks into the room. He’s tall, dark, and dominant with black hair, piercing blue eyes, and a commanding air. Everything about him practically screams money, from the perfectly-cut suit to the blindingly white shirt and chunky silver watch peeking out from beneath his sleeve.

Perfect.

After all, I’m here to hunt. I look like an innocent young girl, and in some ways, I still am. I’m all of eighteen and arrived in the City of Sin with stars in my eyes. I was invited by the Las Vegas National Ballet to be a founding member of their company, and my excitement was through the roof.

“Can you believe it?” I asked when I got my job offer in the mail. “They want me, Ashley Finnegan, to join the ballet corps! Oh my god, I never thought this would happen!”

Miss Lazarus, my old instructor, merely smiled as she gripped her cane.

“You were always going to make it, my dear,” she said in a voice cracked with age. “I knew you would.”

“Yes, but I’m big!” I said, still staring at the letter in my hands. “I mean, bigger,” I corrected hastily. “You know that ballerinas are so tiny and that many companies prefer a lean look, whereas I definitely have junk in the trunk.”

Miss Lazarus merely smiled kindly.

“Yes, but times change,” she intoned. “And in my opinion, the change has been long overdue in our discipline. Full-figured girls can be graceful, lithe, and enchanting, and it’s time for you to shine. I’m so excited for you, sweetheart.”

I smiled tremulously, tears on my lashes, because it was a fantasy come true. I’ve been dancing since I was a little girl, and it’s always been my dream to be a professional ballerina. But I never thought it would happen because as soon as I hit eleven or so, my body began to develop, and I lost the skinny weightlessness of a child. I became curvy and voluptuous with big breasts, thick thighs, and a round booty. Suddenly, my leotards were far too small, and I had to order the special kind with thick straps and a reinforced bust to hold my girls in. I could hardly button my tutus around my waist, and even my pointe shoes seemed to shrink overnight.

But now, the Las Vegas National Ballet has invited me, Ashley Finnegan, to join their new troupe, and I was beyond myself with joy. I dropped out of high school, packed my bags, and flew to Sin City within the next month, excited to start my new job. Wecurvy girls were going to rule the stage, and show the world that voluptuous women can dance with the best of them.

At first, it was even better than I expected because I moved into an apartment complex where a lot of the other ballerinas lived, and we were an exciting bunch. There were tall girls, short girls, thin girls, curvy ones, and even a girl with only one leg. I immediately befriended Belinda, and we spent a couple nights chattering about choreographing an asymmetric routine to highlight her unique disability.

The male dancers were also wonderful additions, from countries as far flung as Thailand and Denmark, although of course, most of them were gay. Still, the group of us had fun together and there was palpable excitement in the air from embarking on a new venture together.

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