Page 39 of Ash
“Have you thought about keeping your studio and opening it up to add ballet?” Ren asks while trying to sip her water. The poor thing looks nauseous again and I feel for her.
“Nah.” My laugh is self-deprecating. “Nobody is gonna bring their daughters to the stripper studio to learn ballet.”
“Hey!” Janie scolds and whacks my arm. “Don’t say shit like that.”
“Owww…” I whine, “It’s true! I’m a redneck ex-stripper with a tween and no education. My years in ballet were too long ago, and I didn’t exactly make it far because of my epilepsy. No parent would let their kid be taught by me.”
“I will,” Ren states proudly.
“And I would too!” Janie nods. “If Fox would get me pregnant,” she mutters. “Also, don’t talk about my best friend that way! It’s fucking rude. You are an amazing human and a great mother. Plus, we’ve seen you dance aside from the pole.”
Ren nods her head enthusiastically. “Yeah, I’ve watched you in the studio. You are way better than the ballet instructor my mother sent me to.”
I raise a brow. “Your mother got you private lessons with a Russian Prima Ballerina. There is no one higher or better than that to teach ballet to children.” Ren shrugs her shoulders.
“All I’m saying is, I don’t remember shit that woman screamed at me, but I remember every move you taught me.” I let out a long breath before looking at my expecting friends.
“Okay, I’llthinkabout it,” I relent.
“Good girl,” Ren states and our entire table falls silent for a moment before we break out in a fit of laughter. “Sorry!” Ren snickered. “I have been narrating a smut series, my brain is in pervert-mode.”
Janie shrugs “I live there. So do the smutty books get you all excited to climb Atlas?” she purrs and does a little shimmy.
Ren lets out a dry ‘ha’. “He wishes. If anything, narrating sex all day makes me not want it.”
“I get that.” Stevie stretches her hands over her head. “It’s like with piercings, you’ve seen one set of nipples, you’ve seen a thousand. They aren’t any different from nostrils to me.”
I shake my head and look at my phone. “Alright, my loves, my ride's here. I have to get to the studio before class.” I give them all quick hugs before walking outside to the dark blue Maserati and waving.
“Boy, these super-luxury vehicles are top-notch.” I grin as Luca rolls down the passenger window and rolls his dark eyes.
“Baby, you couldn’t afford my prices. Now come on, I have a waxing to get to after I drop you off.” I slide into Luca’s car before he takes off.
“I appreciate you doing this.” I smile at him. “I promise I’ll grab an Uber on the way home.” Luca waves his hand dismissively.
“Never a bother, babe… unless I’m with my Daddy, then your ass definitely needs to call an Uber.” I chuckle lightly as we make our way down the street. I groan and shrink in my seat as we are stopped by the red light in front of Hel’s Ink. I see Ash outside laughing with–who the fuck is she? Furrowing my brows, I peer behind Luca’s seat and stare at the way too pretty woman. She’s got curves that people would kill for and her rich, brown skin glows in the sunlight. I don’t even know her and— The light turns, and Luca takes off, leaving me in annoyed confusion.
“You’re going to need Botox if you keep that up,” Luca teases as he presses his hand against my brows. I groan and lean against his shoulder.
“You’ll still love me when I’m all wrinkly though, right?”
“Uhhh… sure, I mean my nonna is the love of my life and she is all wrinkly.” I stare blankly at him.
“Wow,” I marvel. “So, it’s not just straight men that say the absolute worst things. Is it just something hardwired in y’all’s nuts or something?”
He snickers. “Yep, the left is for baby making, the right is for poor word choices. Everyone knows that. But of course, that doesn’t explain you.” He parks his car at the spot and looks at me, all bronzed flawless skin, perfect white teeth, and tousled black hair. Fucking effortless sexy bastard.
“Explain what?” I ask, more defensively than necessary. Luca sucks on his teeth.
“Sunday, babe, I love you, so know that when I say this, it’s coming from a place of caring.” He pulls his shades down his face as he looks me up and down. “You’re aging yourself, and it’s not cute.”
I look at him in outrage. “Well, thatis rude, especially considering you are thirty.”
“I’m Italian, male, and obsessed with my looks.” He counts off with his fingers. “I’m only getting more attractive as I age. You, on the other hand, are a ball of stress and it’s going to give you saggy skin.”
“I don’t think that is how it works,” I mutter as I watch him shrug.
“You really want to risk it?”
