He commands in a husky voice, “Make it good.”
Just like that, he’s calledmybluff and I’m supposed to dance for him.
How did this happen? How is this my life?
When I woke up this morning all I wanted to do was get through my classes, go to the game, and go back home to the scarf that I’m knitting for Conrad.
But somehow, I’m here, about to dance for my brother’s rival.
That’s not the worst part.
The worst part is that I want to.
Iwantto dance for him.
I’ve beenwantingto dance for him ever since I saw him play for the first time three years ago. When both he and Ledger made the team.
God.
I’m so embarrassed to admit that. So ashamed.
But the thing is that the way he plays soccer, the way he moves across the field, with grace and beauty and a certain recklessness, fills me with music.
Not to mention, the music that he’s put on… is gorgeous.
It’s a mix of hip hop and rock and when the wordballerinaflutters in the air, I let go of the tree that I’ve been clinging to and step forward.
When the guy in the song calls me his – his ballerina – it feels likehe’scalling me that.
The Wild Mustang who’s asked me to dance for him.
And when the guy follows it up with how his ballerina drops her body like a stripper, I have to lick my dried lips and wipe my sweaty hands on my dress.
I should be offended – this song reeks of dirty, filthy sex – but I’m not.
I’m not even nervous.
There isn’t the slightest bit of hesitation in me.
My body is buzzing with excitement, with shooting stars, and when I close my eyes for a second, I see light behind my eyelids.
I can’t see anything on his face though.
It’s expressionless, tight.
But when I take a deep breath and raise my arms, his features change.
They become somehow sharper and more chiseled but also fluid.
I think it’s his lips that part slightly when I take my first spin and his eyes that shine like diamonds when I begin to sway my hips to the beat.
And after that my eagerness to dance for him knows no bounds.
I’m dying, actuallydying, to spin for him, to sway and move.
To rock my hips and bite my lips.
To look him in his wolf eyes that grow alert with my every leap and jump. More on edge.
