The Quarterback And The Ballerina นิยาย & เรื่องราว

“You’re the star quarterback. Everyone’s looking at you.” Ryan chuckles low, the vibration pressing against me like a soft drumbeat. “Then let them. Let them see who I’m dancing with.” My chest tightens. I glance around. Teachers fuss over the punch table, balancing cups and napkins. The cheer squad squeals at the edge of the dance floor, juggling photos and gossip. The photographer shifts, camera poised but distracted, flash catching the sequins around us. For a fleeting moment, it feels like the universe has carved out a bubble just for us amid the chaos.

You seem to have a little more energy this morning than last night. That is because I got a good night’s rest. After all, I had you next to me. It is funny, you know the girl who used to be a nerd is now with the handsome jock. Who says that nerds can’t be with football jocks? Well, you know, usually the Quarterback of the football ends up with the captain of the cheerleading squad. In some ways that is true, that is only if both of them agree to be together forever. I cannot believe that we are talking about this while we’re having sex. Oh no, not having sex, but making love.

As pain climbed high enough to nearly steal my consciousness, he leaned close and said, "I'm sick of this dance. You're worthless now. Go on and die quietly." I sobbed and begged for an answer. I needed to know why. I needed to know what I had done wrong. He seized my chin and forced my face upward. "Fine," he said. "I'll tell you. The one I truly loved was—" I never heard the rest. I died. The memory of that first life left my hands trembling, but it sharpened my mind. I met the messenger's gaze and steadied my voice. "Tell the Don I fell while practicing a few days ago and scrambled my brain. I hate ballet now."

“I like learning new things about you, Princess.” I shake my head, then gesture to the field. “Tell me who you think the quarterback’s going to pass to.” He looks around the field, then gestures with his chin. “Number fifty.” “Why?” “Fastest guy on the field. He’s been passed to like, five times in the past twenty minutes.” I nod. “Okay, I’ll take you up on that.” We watch the play, the quarterback watching the field before he throws the ball, and it soars over Sebastian’s guy. Number seven ends up catching it and keeps running, scoring a touchdown.

While seated, I thought about that for hours until my brain felt as if it were going to burst from within my skull. What I knew was, the choreography, named something lke Luke or Luca... pimped out ballerinas when they are at their lowest. Then gave them to Dax as if he was some savior when they were desperate for money. How many ballerinas at the New York ballet were being traded for sex in the same way Rhea was?. By noon, heavy rain was splattering in fat droplets against the glass wall of windows in my office. Obscuring my view of the city below and darkening the room.

I yell at Whitney, tweaking Stella's nose as they go back to the line of scrimmage. "We're gonna score this time, I can feel it," Whitney screams loudly. "C'mon, boys! Show them who you are!" Honestly, she scares me, but she's not judging me the way she judged Violet at the high school game, so I'll take it. This time, the quarterback tosses the ball toward Caleb, jumping up his hands connect and he cradles it protectively, breaking a tackle. There's nothing but empty field in front of him. "Run the ball, Cale!" Stella screams from where she's being held in Whitney's arms. Mom and daughter are screaming loudly.

I watch them for a reaction. I lose my balance and end up knocking the chair behind me to the ground, causing a loud noise that must have attracted everyone's attention. As I lift my eyes, I see everyone looking for the cause of the noise. The one who ruined the most special moment for the globally recognized ballerina, the woman who was being proposed to by the son of the American presidential candidate. My gaze crosses Hope's again, and I see her take a deep breath and turn towards the man who was kneeling in front of her.

“I'm not messing with you. I've no idea who you are.” “I'm Oliver Lance,” he said, as if his name was all the information she needed. Elsie shrugged. He blinked twice before adding, “I'm the starting quarterback for the San Francisco Bandits.” Elsie raised her eyebrows, initially wondering if he was pulling her strings. The Bandits were her nephews' favorite professional football team. She didn't actually know any of the players on the team, so she couldn't be sure he was telling the truth or just trying to impress her.

She’d gotten the night off—actual miracle—and she hadn’t stopped watching Jackson since kickoff. “Okay,” she murmured, gripping the railing. “Okay, come on…” Mariah cracked her knuckles. “Contain the outside. Don’t let him scramble.” The ball snapped. Clearview’s quarterback dropped back. The receiver cut inside. Noah read it perfectly. He hit the receiver hard, clean, and the ball popped loose. It skittered across the turf. For one split second, everything froze. Then Jackson—who had already sprinted down the sideline following the play—dived forward, scooped the ball, and took off.

What had happened between them in a remote boarding school lost in English countryside, I wondered. I stepped forward, the sound of my heels cutting through their hostile silence. Elky looked at me with slight surprise. Not like a lover, but not like an enemy either. For some peculiar reason, big guy Elky Jennings had listened to this thin, graceful dancer, Alexander. So he looked at me like I was a question written in a language he didn’t want to learn—but couldn’t afford not to. I raised an eyebrow. “Come on, guys. We were practicing for the charity ballet, not West Side Story.”