Free Life Before Damaged Vol. 8 (The Ferro Family) by H. M. Ward Page A

something that’s not there.”
    “Bullshit. I see exactly what’s there. Potential that’s been locked away and banished from sight. Maybe that guy scares you, but he doesn’t frighten me. Very few people have been given such gifts, and the means to use them. Use that passion that’s locked up inside of you and do something beautiful with it.” I look down to the ground and then look up at him, smiling shyly. “Something like this...”

BALLROOM BITCH
November 16th, 10:06am
    I place my hands on Pete’s waist and move in slowly. My hands slide against slick skin, from his waist to his back, slowly traveling toward the rear pockets of his jeans. Pete’s eyes widen with confusion. It’s a struggle not to focus on how firm and perfect his butt is under my fingertips, or how close his bare chest is to my face, or the enticing scent that is unique to him. Pete’s breathing accelerates, and I feel him tense up, anticipating my next move, but that’s not what this is about--this is about one friend helping another.
    I try to repress the mixed feelings brought on as my fingers make out the distinctive shape of a condom packet in one of his pockets, pushing that thought aside to ponder later. I wrap my fingers around the prize and take a step back, handing him his phone.
    “Music, maestro?”
    Pete’s expression softens with understanding and, after a few taps and swipes of his fingers across the screen, Duke Ellington’s music plays with pure clarity over the ballroom's expensive surround sound system. It feels as if there’s a brass band playing all around us. He tucks the phone back in his rear pocket, smiles, and takes my hands, planting a kiss in each palm.
    “Thank you, Gina, for everything.” His smile is soft and genuine, no trace of arrogance or anger left.
    “You’re welcome, Peter. Now, I want you to make me fly. There are a couple gnarly throws I’m dying to show you.”
    We warm up with basic rock steps, lindy hop steps, and simple spins, smiling and laughing as we do so. I let him lead for now because, let’s face it, he’s an excellent dance partner, and being led by Peter Ferro is quite the thrill. His moves are sure, confident and playful, his hands are possessive and, for the briefest of moments, I feel like I’m truly his.
    I let go of his hands and stop dancing, slightly out of breath. “Ok, so I want to try a new move with you. What you’re going to do is...”
    My explanation gets interrupted when a short, petite woman with long brown hair comes barging into the ballroom, shoulders bare, covered only by a bedsheet wrapped around her body. Pete doesn’t notice her at first. His back is to the door, but I get a full view of the pretty woman standing in front of me. She has that natural beauty that’ll make most women scream. Case in point, she’s wearing nothing but a bed sheet and looks fabulous.
    “Here you are!” She says in an airy voice. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you. When are you coming back to bed? I’m getting lonely.”
    Pieces snap together. His bare chest, top jean button undone, condom in his rear pocket, the naked girl calling him back to bed.
    He brought a woman home last night.
    Peter never brings women home. I had been the exception, until now.
    He broke his single rule.
    This woman is not some random floozie. She's someone special. That's why he's been gone for the past two weeks and hasn't made the news once. I thought he was respecting my limits and keeping his conquests out of sight out of respect for me. But that's not it. He was away, being happy with her. My eyes sting, not certain if it's from sadness or anger. The last little shred of self-esteem I had left snaps.
    Pete's eyes shift between the woman and me, looking dumbfounded. He opens his mouth to talk, but doesn’t get a chance to. My hand flies and slaps him hard across the face. I wince and grab my hand. Fuck. That. Hurts!
    My heart shatters as I realize Pete might genuinely care for