Dash Dancing Novels & Stories

Avila wiped the sweat off her forehead with the back of her hand as she slid down the stripper pole for the fifth time that night. It was exhausting! The club was packed, and she could feel the eyes of the customers on her as she danced to the beat of the music. She tried to ignore the lewd comments and catcalls, focusing instead on the money that was being thrown at her feet. It was the only thing that made the job bearable and worth it. It was the only thing still pushing her to grind and rock her body on the tall pole - the money.

She’s on the edge of her seat, worried about the match. The mascot appears on the court followed by the cheerleaders who position themselves to prepare a dance number. Halsey can see Daisy and Lydia in the center, basking in the glory. “One!” Daisy counts. “Two! Three!” The music booms through the speakers and the cheerleaders begin to dance. Everyone cheers for them. Lydia somersaults through the court and performs the perfect split to conclude the routine, enjoying the attention. Halsey’s mind isn’t into it and she’s only nervous about the match.

I didn't expect him to say that at all. "How?" My voice suddenly became small. Valentin smiled deviously and I knew immediately that I had entered a tiny pickle. "You will dance for me, my personal dancer." He said, his deep voice lingering with amusement and and bit of anticipation. "Your mate and your dancer?" I asked and scoffed shaking my head in disbelief. "It's like dancing for the devil." "Whatever you say noisemaker," Valentin chuckled deeply. His chuckle made my heart skip several beats and I almost winced in pain.

I know he was taken aback, my dance is very different from my previous dancing performance. Giselle is a tragic romance ballet. Instead of showing anger and showcasing the feeling of being betrayed by someone you love the most, I will just show pain... the pain of being left behind despite everything that I did- everything that Giselle did. I want to portray a Giselle who shows the meaning of true love. I am dancing as if I am in pain, I am dancing full of sadness, I am dancing as if I was a broken-hearted woman who lost herself in too much pain. I tiptoe and turn around. I count inside my head memorizing each step that I made.

"I'm so excited. My brother told me you're the best in Abuja. He said you used to dance in Lagos. He said you were famous. I've been so worried about the first dance—I don't want to step on my husband's feet. I'm a terrible dancer, really. Everyone says so. I have two left feet. I'm completely hopeless." Zara blinked. She had not expected this. This girl was nothing like Dante. She was sunshine and light and complete, joyful chaos. "I'm sure you're not hopeless," Zara said carefully. "Everyone has rhythm. It's just a matter of finding it." "See?" Amara turned to Dante, who was leaning against the doorframe, watching them. "I told you she'd be nice. Most people are so mean about my dancing."

He looked at me, his expression quite difficult to read. "That is how to act like a newly wedded couple, Belle." He said. Turning away from his gaze, I placed by chin on his shoulder and allowed him to continue to sway me to the rhythm of the music. A lot of pictures were taken of us as others in attendance stared, wondering who I was dancing with Christian Martin. "You shouldn't do that Christian." I said, keeping my voice low. "You had no right to do that" "Don't get ahead of yourself. It was just a kiss. One to show that we are together, nothing more." He reminded me.

he teased, earning chuckles from the others as they playfully punched each other. With a bemused shake of my head, I muttered under my breath, "I will never understand boys." Nevertheless, I complied, hastily taking my place in the formation, eager to embark on this new journey. Liam resumed his role as leader, rallying the group with a decisive call. "Okay, guys, from the top. And, Ashley, just follow anything Derek does," he instructed, his words accompanied by a sly wink from Derek, setting the tone for what promised to be an exciting adventure in the world of dance. The music began to play once more, its pulsating rhythm enveloping the room. As Liam counted down, the group sprang into ac

“Dance?” “Yes,” I say, gaining confidence. “I’m a dancer. It’s something I’m very good at.” Very, very good at, actually. But it’s not good to blow one’s own trumpet. Better to take him by surprise. He nods, considering. “Interesting. What kind of dance?” “One that helps people relieve stress,” I say, meeting his gaze. “I dress in very skimpy clothes and dance for exclusive audiences.” “Like a stripper?” “Not exactly. It may seem that way, but it’s another category of dancing,” I explain.

But the reality of her situation soon returned, and she quickly washed, determined not to linger. When she stepped out, she saw the dress laid out for her. It was a deep crimson, made of soft, flowing fabric that felt luxurious against her skin. She put it on, her fingers trembling with a mixture of fear and anger. She was dressing up for the man who had imprisoned her, and the thought made her sick.