Blonde Baller Novels & Stories

I will do my best tonight to avoid Travis and Yelena. "Aww you're really beautiful Kourtney! If I didn't know you I would think you were a foreigner." The make up artist that mom hired for tonight told me to fix me up, she is the one who fixed my hair and to make it different she said she brought another hair color spray, which is blonde she told me when I take a shower it will be removed He also said that my hair color is blonde and because I only once agreed to what he wanted to happen.

I ask them and take a swing of my beer. “I like the blonde over there. She looks so lost and in need of a bit of guidance.” Harland says and I look towards the young blond girl. Her eyes are blue and look giant in her small face. Lips are painted a bold red color but otherwise she looks to have little makeup on. She looks like a child that stepped into her fathers hidden chamber, except for her body. Her breasts are huge and the top she’s wearing is doing little to hide the merchandise. They give way to a puffy waist and wide hips and thick thighs. She is no lightweight but we don’t discriminate against fat chicks. Anyone with three holes that can be used at once is game.

Enzo let's go of my hand as his name was called by a female. "I'll be right back" he tells me as he walks over to her. She was wearing a red dress that hugs her long body, she had blonde hair and blue eyes, lipgloss that matches the dress, and she was really tall. It became frustrating, it's like he doesn't know that this is improper to leave your woman at a ball for someone else. A waiter passes me and I immediately grab a glass of red wine, downing it into my system. I walk over to the couch and sat down and when I look up Enzo walks up to me.

The girl with the blonde hair asks with an excited look in her eyes and I almost laugh. "Yes, the color. Not with the double t's" I tell her matter of factly and they both laugh. "Alright, Scarlet, let's get you dolled up, pretty and ready for the party," the blondie says.

Not that it helped them you can’t fight against silver bullets. I let out a sigh as I look at Elara in the mirror. “No, I don’t know if it is, but if I can’t learn how to fight or do something, I’ll go crazy. I can’t ask my pack members to die for something that they may not believe in. I’m the Luna but I’m not going to sit back, I need to see this through,” Elara nods before she grabs one of the wigs. Most of the woman here have brown, black or red hair. I’m kind of the only one with blonde, so naturally I stand out the most. She puts on a brown hair wig before she pins it in place and begins to tweeze some of the hair to make it look realistic.

“Everyone! We shall have food and drink early! If you could all head to the ballroom-” “NO!” cries a familiar voice, and my heart soars. Dressed in an imperial grey gown, shimmering with patches of iridescent flakes at the seams of the corset, my cannonball has arrived in a blaze of glory and black paint smudges. With a long, lethal silver blade in each hand, she points down over the balcony whilst keeping the other trained on Elle. Her chocolate brown curls are radiant, her eyes a beautiful mix of amber and silver. Elle pales, her inner sourness written all over her features.

I hung up and stood in the kitchen for a moment, looking at nothing in particular. Then I went to the bathroom, opened the cabinet under the sink, and took out the box I had been keeping there for weeks. The hair bleach. I had bought it the day after the ball, when I had come home from the terrace and stood in front of the mirror for a long time thinking about those brown eyes. My hair was blonde. Always had been. It was also, apparently, memorable enough that a man I had danced with for five minutes in a dark ballroom had begun asking questions about me thereafter, if Marlon's intelligence was accurate. I wasn't taking chances.

Raphael was already talking to a blonde girl on the dance floor. Just then, a brunette caught my attention. She was sitting alone with about five empty shots in front of her. How the fuck did she maintain such long hair? She was wearing a very short red dress that looked like a second skin. Fuck that ass. my dick stirred, am hard, without even seeing her face.

She's clutching a notebook and an iced coffee. She can't be much over five foot four. A full foot shorter than me, my brain unhelpfully supplies. My stare falls to her shoes. They're a pair of sunflower-yellow heels. The Bay Blades' arena is made up of cold, hard colors: storm blue, steel gray, ice white. My stare catches on this flash of warmth. Bright things don't belong here. Fucking hell. Focus up. No creeping on strangers. "Something wrong?" the woman says, a smile playing on her lips.

Hе wаѕ nеаrlу ѕіx fееt tаll аnd had thе body аnd grace оf a tennis player. Wаvу blonde hair, bluе еуеѕ, аnd a brіllіаnt whіtе ѕmіlе made hіm even mоrе арреаlіng. Hе wаѕ drеѕѕеd саѕuаllу and еxреnѕіvеlу, аnd ѕоmеthіng about hіm аt thіѕ mоmеnt ѕtruсk a ѕеxuаl chord іnѕіdе hеr even stronger than thе оnеѕ ѕhе hаd been experiencing rесеntlу.