Dance Butterfly Dance: A Masked Novel (Masked Duet Book 1), page 1
Reese Rivers Presents
Dance
Butterfly
Dance
Copyright © 2022 Reese Rivers
Dance Butterfly Dance
Ebook Edition
All Rights Reserved
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
Cover Art by:
Cat Cover Design
This book is dedicated to all the women who live life behind a mask, never showing the world who you truly are.
May you have the courage to rip it off, spread your wings and fly free.
SAVY
“Feel free to grab a shower before you go if you want. I’ll call you,” he says as he walks out the door with barely a glance back.
I stare at the empty doorway in hurt disbelief and then quickly drag the sheet up to cover my trembling, naked body. Hot tears of humiliation burn my eyes. That’s it? That’s sex? My eyes slam closed and I squeeze my eyelids tightly to hold back the tears. I can’t believe I waited for so long. I was probably the only twenty-year-old on campus who was still a virgin. But it only gets worse. The guy I had been desperately crushing on for the last two years, the one I followed all over campus with my eyes and wished he’d notice me - just spent barely ten minutes…deflowering me…and wrapped it up with an “I’ll call you.”
I know exactly what that means. It means he won’t. He won’t call and he won’t look at me again or even spare what should have been a huge moment in my life a second thought.
I don’t even know why I thought it would be some magical experience. Life isn’t like romance novels. I bet the majority of girls’ first sexual experience is awful, painful, and maybe even boring. Only a lucky few, and every girl in a fictional novel, hits that first-time jackpot. I know better. I know the books I read aren’t realistic. I know a shy, unpopular girl like me doesn’t get the guy everyone stares at on campus and wishes he would look their way. But for just a few minutes there, I believed. Being a realist doesn’t make the pain of this experience any better though.
I lay there for a few minutes burning with shame, humiliation, and disappointment until I hear male voices from somewhere in the house and that’s enough to make me roll off of the bed and dive for my clothes. I’ve never dressed so fast in my life but as I’m pulling on my boots I lean over and spot the red bloodstain on his sheets and freeze. I stare at it as those tears threaten again and a half-choked sob falls from my lips. That stain is like a flashing neon sign screaming what a loser I am and I just can’t take it anymore.
My fingers turn into claws and I tear the sheet from the bed, wad it up and stuff it in my oversized book bag. I will not leave the evidence of what happened here for him or anyone else to mock. I’ve had enough of that in my life. If he wants to think I’m some sheet-stealing crazy chick then I’m good with that. Better than him knowing the truth. I practically run from the room, down the stairs to the front door but just as my hand grasps the handle, I hear a bark of laughter from deeper in the house. The words “popped her cherry” and “dead lay” followed by roaring laughter has my face paling and my body starting to shake. I bite back another sob, fling the door open and rush out into the cool fall afternoon.
I hold it all back, every aching emotion that threatens to break me into pieces until I slam the door of my off-campus studio apartment closed and drop to my knees. It all comes out like a raging torrent of self-deprecation. It’s just the latest blow in a long line of not good enough, not pretty enough, not popular enough that I’ve been feeling my whole life. This was supposed to be my year. Everything was supposed to change this year for me. I had spent the summer watching my stepsister shine like the star she is and hardening myself up against my stepmother’s comparisons and digs.
I counted every day down to get back to school with the promise to myself that I was going to change…everything. I had a plan! I was going to stop living in Vanessa’s shadow, stop hiding behind the mask I wear, and really, really start to live for my junior year of university. I was finally going to talk and flirt with Hunter instead of just mooning over him. I was going to cash in my V card and have ALL the O’s the steamy books I read talk about. Go to parties, go to games, talk to people and make friends. THIS WAS MY YEAR! And now, I drag on a shapeless cardigan and wrap it around me, now I’m going to stay hidden in the corner like I have for all of my life and pray no-one will find out how epically I just failed.
I’ll do my thing. Hide in plain sight during the day and then hide behind my mask at night and hope that someday…someday things will get better. I mean…it has to, right? Someday, I’ll be brave enough to take off my mask and be the woman in the cage.
TATE
I carry the stack of books through the library with a deep scowl on my face. I fucked up and I have no one to blame but myself. Too many game plays studied and not enough literature has left me with the possibility of being benched if I can’t drag my mark up. So many schools give their players a free ride when it comes to grades but Coach Garrison doesn’t play that way. He’s a total fucking hard ass when it comes to riding us about our grades. I’d love to hate the guy over it, but I get it. Too many up-and-comers have been knocked out of the fight with career killing injuries and have nothing to fall back on for the future. Coach might be an asshole but it’s only because he cares about us, on and off the field.
My dad, not so much. The only thing he cares about is where I eventually place in the draft and how many zeros I get on my contract. If I fall behind and get benched even for just one game, he’ll go ballistic. The last thing I need is to have him fly out here. Holidays are bad enough trying to deal with him and all his big-man bully bluster. So, I need to get my ass in gear and get caught up.
I dump the stack of books on the checkout counter, glance over at the clerk, and frown again. I’ve seen her before over the last couple of years. We’ve had a couple of classes together and she’s been clerking here ever since we were freshmen. I think her name is…Sara? She’s always been smiling and friendly as she scans my books in the past which is why I’m frowning. Sara’s staring off at something with the saddest expression. She actually looks…devastated by something. I follow her line of sight and roll my eyes when I spot that douche, Hunter, caging in a giggly freshman girl against a bookshelf. That guy’s a fucking dog.
I turn away, ready to get out of here and get to work on making up my missed assignments.
“Sara, you want to check me out?” I ask her, but she doesn’t even glance my way.
“Hey! Sara!” I call a little louder and her eyes slide my way.
The pain in those big baby blue eyes behind her glasses has me sucking in a breath but I can tell she’s not really seeing me. Fuck, what happened to this girl?
“Are you okay, Sara?”
She blinks a few times and it’s like a mask slips down over her eyes to hide all the emotion that was just in them.
She lets out a sigh and mumbles, “It’s Savy, not Sara,” as she reaches for my stack of books and starts scanning them.
I bite back a wince. “Sorry. I’m Tate.”
Her hands pause in their work and she pushes her glasses back up on her nose as she looks at me with a tilt of her head. Another one of those sad sighs wisps out.
“Tatum Valor. Quarterback, football god, English major, and part of three group assignments with me over the last two years. Yeah, I know your name, thanks,” she tells me blandly before dropping her eyes and going back to her scanning.
Well, I’m an ass. I should know her name because now I do remember that we had done those assignments together. She’s just always so quiet and reserved that it was easy to overlook her. I search for something to say to try and salvage her bad opinion of me but come up blank so, whatever, I can’t be expected to remember every chick’s name. When that sad look covers her face again and she looks past me as Hunter walks by with the still giggling freshman, I track him meeting Savy’s gaze, check the smirk when he sees her looking and the hand he lifts up in a quick wave.
“Hey, Cathy. Good to see you.”
He keeps on walking and when I look at Savy, I see her eyes slam closed tightly as her face turns bright red. She mouths the name Cathy with a shake of her head and her knuckles turn bright white where she clutches one of my books.
“Hey, don’t let that guy get to you. He’s a fucking scumbag,” I tell her, trying to lighten the moment of whatever that just was. I think I hear her whisper “too late” but she takes a deep breath and pastes on a brittle smile and holds up the book she’s strangling.
“One of my favorites! Cathy and Heathcliff, such a profound love,” she tells me brightly with only a small break in her voice.
I just nod so she gets scanning faster. I study her while she works with her head down, her glasses slipping down her nose again. She’s not tall, would probably just come up to my chin. Her dark brown hair is tucked up in a neat bun on top of her head and I try and remember if it’s long or not but come up blank. It’s hard to tell what her shape is with the oversized, navy cardigan she is wearing over a white blouse and corduroy skirt. She’s not a slim girl, she’s got curves but again, it’s hard to really see them under her bulky clothes.
“Here you go.”
She breaks my appraisal of her body by thrusting my student ID card at me with another blush staining her cheeks.
I take it with a nod and grab my stack. I mumble at her to have a good day as I leave. It sucks that she’s sad but I don’t really know her and I’ve got a full plate right now so I push her devastated blue eyes from my mind and head for the door.
SAVY
I arch my back and pop my ass as I bend over and drag my fingers up my fishnets while Lizzo’s Tempo thunders through the club. My neon pink wig flares out wide around the butterfly wings on my back when I do a slutty pirouette perfectly thanks to ten years of private ballet lessons. A small, secretive smile spreads my pink-stained lips under the half mask I’m wearing at the thought of my stepmother screeching in horror if she could see how I use all that training now. My hips swivel as I press against the bars of my cage and go down in a deep crouch, the micro mini barely covering the hot pink thong underneath it. I use the bars to pull myself up and blow a kiss to the men watching my every move from the nearest table and then flip my hair back and turn away from them like they’re nothing special.
Song after song, I lose myself to the beat and let the bass and lyrics wash away the pain of the last week. It’s only here, safe and protected behind my mask and wrapped with bars that I can let go of all my insecurities and be the woman I wish I could be. Here in this cage, I have the confidence to be anything I want.
I’ve been working as a go-go dancer at Masks since part way through my first freshman semester.
I had been walking across campus, lonely and lost – wondering why I had thought university would be different than high school. For some reason, I had believed that all I needed to do was get away from my perfect sister who was the queen of ev-er-y-thing at our school and I would have a chance to shine. Yeah, sure. Different school, different students…same damn me.
I almost tripped and fell when the music blasted out from everywhere and a flash mob of dancers had appeared as if by magic. I stood in awe as the women wearing masquerade masks strutted their stuff to the sexy music. I was mesmerized by their confident manner and effortless sexuality. When I dragged my eyes from the dancers and looked around to see every single male student and many female ones too, drooling over the dancers, I wanted to BE them with every fiber of my being.
As soon as the song was over, the dancers had spread out through the crowd handing out flyers for Masks, the club they all worked for. At the bottom of it was an open call for dancers. I clutched that paper to my chest like a lifeline and ran to my dorm room. It took me six tries to dial the number before I finally let the call go through and even then, my voice came out in a squeak when they answered and I asked if they were hiring. Two days later, wearing my pink ballet leotard, I chewed my bottom lip ragged as I stood in a line with twenty other girls all waiting for tryouts to begin.
As each girl went ahead of me, my chest got tighter and tighter at how outclassed I was. Those women oozed sex with every move of their routines. I shuffled closer and closer to the door until I finally couldn’t stand it anymore and bolted out. I slammed into the nearest washroom and barely made it to the toilet before I tossed up the little bit of food I had managed to force myself to eat that day. When I was finally done heaving, I rinsed my mouth from the tap and lifted defeated eyes to my reflection. I took in my perfectly wrapped bun and pristine costume and barked out a harsh laugh. Once more…not good enough.
The longer I stared at my reflection the angrier I got until I reached down and ripped a gaping hole in my tights. My fingers ripped and tore until my costume was barely hanging on to my body and then I dug into my bag, found a black scarf, and tied it around my hips like the tiniest skirt. I yanked my hair free from the neat bun and shook it out until my dark chestnut curls were wild around my face and shoulders and then just gripped the counter with white-knuckled fingers trying to psych myself up to go back out there and…try. The bathroom door banged open causing me to flinch and send a panicked look that way to meet the surprised gaze of one of the other dancers.
The woman was gorgeous with that effortless style that screams confidence and I wished for just a fraction of what she’s got.
“Wow, did not see that coming,” she laughs. “You look like a broken barbie doll that’s been played with hard and tossed aside. It’s a much better look than what you came in here with!”
I try and form words to reply but they can’t get past the ball of nerves lodged in my throat. Her amused expression softens as she walks closer to me.
“What about makeup? Do you have any?”
I shake my head as my breathing picks up. I…I can’t do this! This isn’t me. They will all just laugh if I try and be the kind of woman they’re looking for. I’m a thread away from snapping into pieces and rushing past her out the door when she places a hand on my shoulder and squeezes.
“You need to breathe. Suck in a deep one, girl.”
I do and then I do another and the tight ball in my chest unravels slightly.
“Good. Now, this is make-or-break time. Dig deep and decide. Do you want this? Do you want the job?”
My hands ball into fists. I do. I really, really do want it.
“Y-yeah. Yes, yes!” I tell her and get a nod and a smile in return.
“Alright, then. Let’s get you made up.”
She dumps her slouchy bag onto the counter and pulls out makeup. She opens a pallet of colors and studies my face briefly before nodding again.
“Yup, gonna make you fierce to match your shred. Straight-up black smudged all around your eyes with thick black lashes. Those baby blues of yours will pop!”
She goes to work painting me like a doll and I let her as a wash of gratitude flows through me.
“W-why are you helping me? Aren’t we competing for the same job?”
She tosses her blond waves over one shoulder with a snort.
“Sweetie, I am doing my job. I’m doing every woman’s job. Helping you up when you stumble. Instead of competing with each other, we need to start lifting each other. That’s how we all rise. Besides, they’re looking for four new girls, not just one.”
She turns me to face the mirror and I suck in a shocked breath at what I see. I do look fierce and my blue eyes look electric surrounded by all that smudged black.
My painted lips lift in a grin and she snaps at me, “NO! No smiling! You keep a hard, intense look at all times. You want to burn them with your fire as you dance. The smile comes at the end and it better not be a grin. Make it a smirk that shows you know you got the job and show some confidence. Now, what are you dancing to?”
I chew on my bottom lip. “Uh, I was going to do a Taylor Swift song?”
She tosses her hair back with another laugh. “Yeah, no. The ballerina who came in here might have been a Swifty but this…” She waves me up and down. “This right here is something else. Do you know River by Briggs? Here, give me your phone. You’ll want the King Kavalier mix for this.”
I hand my phone over with the music app open and she taps away and then hands it back.
“Okay, there’s three more girls left to audition so listen to that a few times and go last. You want to think power as you dance. Your power. You want what you want and you will take it. Lots of slamming around and humps to the beat. This is the dance where you take it all, give it all, and leave nothing back. It’s just you and the music, got it?”
I swallow down the rest of my nerves and break character to smile at her.
“Thank you! I-I wouldn’t have…just, thank you.”
She tosses her make up back into her bag with a wink.
“You got this, you just need to get out of your own head.” She stops and turns back to me and grabs my arms with a serious look. “Can I give you one more piece of advice? This one is for on the dance floor and for every day after.” I nod slowly and she straightens her shoulders.
“That mean, vicious little voice in your head that screams at you, tells you you’re not good enough, not strong enough, that you can’t do something? Every time you hear that voice echoing in your head, you scream back…WATCH ME and then do it because, sweetie, that voice is a fucking liar!”
