Dancer Read Online Free

apparently.
    This—this was all The Dancer's fault. I wanted to kill him even though I'd played my own careless role in this drama.
    What the hell was I supposed to do? I'd never been so terrified, never in my life until this moment. Much as I hated the thought, there was only one way out. A cruel end to a cruel beginning when it should've been something beautiful throughout.
    Only in a perfect world.
    After tossing the test in a waste basket, I hurried to my bedroom where I snatched the mobile phone off the nightstand.
    "Allison, I'm pregnant." I dropped the bomb as soon as she answered.
    "Seriously? No way. You're kidding... aren't you?"
    "I wish." My voice quavered. Tears stung.
    "Uh, I'm not sure what to say." Short pause. "Are you all right, Sam? What are you gonna do?"
    "I'm getting an abortion. I don't know what else to do." I sighed. "And no, I'm definitely not okay."
    "Is there anything I can do? Help you out with money? Key the fucker's car?"
    I couldn't believe it. I actually found myself debating Allison's proposal. She was always a little more wild and adventurous than I.
    It was still a bad idea.
    "No, this isn't your problem to deal with. It's mine," I told her.
    "At least let me pay something towards the abortion. You're my best friend and I want to help any way I can. I'm worried about you."
    Allison's sweetness warmed my heart and caused fresh tears to well. How could I be so lucky to have someone like her in my life? What would I do without her?
    "Okay, Allison. I'll pay you back whenever I can. Sorry but—I gotta go." No longer able to speak due to the lump wedged in my throat, I clicked off the phone.
    I fell face-down on the pillow, bawling until my head thumped with a splitting, vicious headache.
    What would my parents think of me if they knew? I hadn't mentioned my discretion in the park, and I didn't plan to.
    My mother had a strict religious upbringing. She wasn't zealous but she'd be ashamed if she knew what I'd done.
    Dad was just as judgmental if not worse. Not because he'd been raised that way.
    But because he was an asshole.
    How would I tell them? How would I get out of this hole I'd dug myself into?
    * * * *
    T he following Thursday evening I worked a regular shift at Sizzle.
    Waves of nausea struck while I headed to the main dining area. I halted halfway between the kitchen doors and the main room, balancing the food tray. Dishes, silverware clattered in my trembling hands and I feared dropping the tray.
    I recognized The Dancer. A face I'd never forget. He sat across—from what I assumed—was his wife.
    That was the sight which sickened me. It shouldn't. But it did.
    Russet-brown hair shimmered and framed her pretty face. Scarlet lips curved to a smile whenever she caught his gaze.
    Shockingly, she appeared to be somewhat older. Perhaps an age difference of ten years? Yet she was a beautiful, glamorous woman. Glittering diamond rings adorned her fingers.
    My feet rooted to the floor, couldn't budge an inch. Couldn't stop staring at his eyes, emerald-green and cold as ice. Colder than even Caleb's icy stare.
    Emotionless. Soulless. Unnerving.
    "Why are you standing there? There's dishes to be served. Stop wasting time," snapped Joe the restaurant manager. Legs apart, arms crossed, he stood in the center of the bustling kitchen.
    I exhaled, braced myself for what I had to do—serve a meal to The Dancer's table. It was either that or get fired, when I needed the money now more than ever.
    Christ almighty. Here we go.
    Within a large crimson area, scattered tables were draped in maroon and seated diners enjoyed pricey meals amidst the occasional flash and tinkling of silver.
    The Dancer got closer, flicked his smoldering gaze my way.
    He didn't recognize me. I could tell.
    Furious once I reached his table, I thrust the dish-filled tray in his face, stopping inches from his nose.
    How I wanted to break that perfect nose and slam my fist into his perfect mouth.
    "Ma'am?" he questioned, the