Chapter 3 Drink me, Alice
Drink me, Alice
"Tell me again what happened last night," I plea, running the razor from my ankle to my knee. The faucet above me is on high, spitting hot water down onto my body. I can vaguely distinguish Toni's silhouette on the other side of the shower curtain.
His outline moves and the curtain is suddenly jerked open. "How many more times must I narrate this for you?"
Straightening, I frown at him. "Really, Toni?"
He points between my legs, looking disgusted. "Are you going to shave that?"
"It doesn’t bite, Toni. And, no, I wax. It needs to get a little longer first. Go back and sit on the toilet and tell me again." He flicks his head as if he has hair to flick—he doesn't—and closes the curtain.
The dark shape of his body slumps down on the toilet lid.
"Okay. So, I'm getting sweaty with a gorgeous hairless gentleman in your game room when I look up and see Max Butcher with a dead-to-the-world, stubble-between-her-legs Cassidy Slater in his arms. And he's carrying her up the staircase towards the bedrooms!
He was up there with her for at least three minutes too. "
I can't help but grin. When my eyes finally peeled open this morning, I found two Panadols and a glass of water on my bedside table along with a note that read,
'Drink me, Alice.'
"Were you even going to go check on her?" I tease. "She could have been in some kind of trouble."
"Oh, darlin’, I was hoping she was, but no." He begins making pigeon noises.
"I have no memory of that! I barely remember talking to him," I admit as I begin to shave my other leg. "When did he leave? Did he leave with someone?"
"I don’t know. I was 'subliminal' not long after that."
I laugh. "What's his name?"
"Braidy. He's a police officer, and he promised to arrest me the next time he sees me," he coos.
"He's a cop? How old is he?" I ask.
"I dunno," he says whimsically. "Twenty. Twenty-one. Twenty-two. Twenty-three."
I giggle. "So, you two really got to know each other then."
He chuckles. "I could map his mouth."
"That's a start, I suppose. But maybe next time, try pulling your tongue out and let him get to know you."
"Why would he want to get to know me?"
I hate it when he does this. Shaking my head, I scold him, "Toni, you're more than your body."
"Well, I suppose I could go out on a date with him if my queen accompanies me."
I reach for the curtain, tugging it open to glare at him. "No."
Sitting on the toilet and eyeing me with enthusiasm, he claps his hands together in a prayer-like position. "Please. You know I don't do dating well. They don't like me when they realise I only have a one-track mind."
I lift a blonde brow at him, my expression dubious. "They do like you. You have issues with liking yourself."
He scrunches up his face as if he's just eaten a lemon. "What cockamamie is this? I love myself. Haven't you read my diary?"
I close the curtain to finish shaving my legs. "You just wanted to say cockamamie."
"Never had an opening before. I just took it."
Sighing, I think about how very few people get to know Toni. Beneath the BS, innuendos, and mockery, there is a really considerate and loyal person. "You struggle to accept that you have more to offer than your hot bod—”
"Eww. No. Stop it," he mocks.
"You can do this on your own," I press, but I can feel my resolve slipping.
"Please."
"I'd be a third wheel. It'd be weird."
"He has a hot friend named Luke," he says, hope lifting his voice a decimal.
I cringe and put the razor back on the ceramic shelf. "Toni. You know I hate it when you try to hook me up with people."
"It's not a hook up," he assures me. "Just people getting to know each other. Just like you said."
"Oh my God." I give my body a final rise off. "How did I get roped into this?"
"Ropes won't be involved." He laughs. "Luke's a cop as well. He'd probably use handcuffs."
I roll my eyes even though he can't see them. "Not helping, Toni."
"My, my. You get Max Butcher's attention once and you're a Mean Girl."
I don't know what to say to that.
He continues, "Come on, darlin’. You'll have fun. Meet new people. Maybe get your fanny wet?"
Feigning disgust, I wrinkle my nose. "Stop it. Or I definitely won't be going."
"So, you're saying yes then?"
I squeeze my eyes shut and sigh. "You're a suck hole."
"Yes, we have established that already."
Pulling the curtain all the way back this time to stare at him, I warn, "No pressure!"
"No pressure. Is that a yes?" He smiles, lips set in a wide and triumphant curve.
"Fine." I exhale in defeat and turn the water off. "But it's not a date!"
Water splashes into the tub and down the drain as I quickly ring out my hair.
As soon as I step from the shower and look at Toni, he's grinning at me with wide hopeful eyes.
I tilt my head at him and wrap myself in a towel before wandering into my room to get dressed.
"I said fine. Now go home," I say as I riffle through my clothes.
"I've got to meet Dillion in my studio."
Toni suddenly appears at my shoulder. "I know. That's why I'm still here. Can I watch? He's so yummy."
I moan. "No. Go home."
He glares at me. "You're a Mean Girl. You're a witch with a B."
"You need to get new material!" I yell out as he walks from the room.
"Your mum's chest hair!" Toni replies and then laughs. God, I wish Mean Girls was never filmed because he finds a Mean Girls quip to nearly everything I say.
When I hear the front door shut, I decide it's an animal-print leotard kind of day. And even though I'm really hung-over, I'm dressed and out the door by eight fifty-five.
My studio is a hundred metres behind the main house with its own driveway and two parking spots.
It looks just like another house on a rear block and has all the modern commodities to match.
Bathroom. Kitchen. It has excellent acoustics and high ceilings completely covered in LEDs—the more lights the better.
Mirrors line the inside walls, and the flooring is a kind of vinyl plank.
Dad had the studio built specifically for Flick and me when we both needed a place to dance. But Flick gave up ages ago.
I, on the other hand, attend a professional academy five days a week, and my goal next year is to secure a higher-paid position as a ballerina. It may be a bit ambitious, but I'd love to join an international company; I don’t want to be stuck in the District my whole life.
Rome maybe. Or Paris...
Bonjour, je m'appelle, Cassidy Slater.
Ciao...
On top of that, I teach two senior dance classes on Monday evenings. My students pretend not to fondle each other while they waltz and I pretend not to notice. I also offer personal classes and have a few advanced students that I coach on Sunday mornings.
Dillion is one of them.
None of this pays much. It works out to be just enough to cover the electricity, WI-FI, costumes, props, alterations to the studio, and maintenance, while leaving about $50 a week left over for personal stuff.
But it's not about the money. Dad just really wants me to contribute to the costs associated with my business even though my parents are pretty rich.
I think they're rich...
We don't discuss money in my household.
Dillion arrives not long after I switch the lights on and start to warm up. After an hour of practising lifts, he places me on the ground with a sigh. "You're so easy to lift."
"Oh, stop it." I shake my head. "I was able to balance very easily. That was a great lift."
He scoffs. "That's because you're amazing! Not because I'm any good. When I'm holding you, you're like an extension of me. You're so light and easy to manoeuvre. The girls at my studio are just not as good as you."
I make my way over to the foam mats. Sitting down, I begin to stretch out my hamstrings. "Well then, you'll need to get better to accommodate them."
Dillion meanders over and sits beside me on the mats, pressing his chest to his thighs. "You're incredible at what you do, Cassidy. You're good even after a night on the piss. Your movements look so natural. You don't even look hung-over this morning."
I sit up and cross my legs. "Well, they only look natural because I spend like fifty hours a week practising, but trust me, I'm hung-over today.
I'm faking a lot of it." I giggle and try to be reassuring.
"Listen, you're a good dancer, Dillion. That one-handed presage lift you just did was really strong, but you need to get out of your own head. "
"I know," he moans. "I just can't think straight today."
"I can tell. Your mind should only be on me." I study him as he stretches. "Your mind should be on my body and yours."
"It is," he mutters.
"Well, good."
A deep mechanical growling sound from outside grabs my attention, and I frown at Dillion.
"Is that a motorbike?" I jump up and rush towards the porch.
The noise is rhythmic and intense as I open the door and step outside onto the deck.
Leaning around the side of the studio, I watch a red bike and a big, black four-wheel-drive park up on the grass beside our pool.
Flick and Stacey bounce from the back seat of the four-wheel drive as Xander and Max jump out of the front.
Oh my gawd.
And I'm back inside as fast as I can, closing the door behind me. "Frick."
Dillion is standing at the entry. "Who is it?"
I try not to smile because I'm painfully obvious. "Um, some of Flick's friends, I think."
He narrows his eyes at me, dubious. "Why are you hiding all of a sudden?" He scrutinises my face. "It's Max, isn’t it?"
My mouth drops open. "Oh my God, does the whole District know I have a crush on him?”
"Yes." He grimaces. "Because he carried you up to your room last night, Cassidy."
I look at him wide-eyed. "Were you there?"
He scoffs and shakes his head in utter disbelief. "At your birthday? Yes. And we danced. But, even if I wasn't, there's a picture of you in his arms circulating socials."
I hate the internet.