The Quarterback And The Ballerina Novels & Stories

I swallowed the sting in my chest and drifted after Maverick and Quincey to her troupe's studio. The second Quincey—the star ballerina—walked in, every dancer stopped and greeted her. "Quincey, is that your boyfriend? He's so hot." "Duh. Why else would he be carrying her around?" Quincey flashed that smug little smile, pretending to scold them. Told them to get back to practice like she wasn't eating up every word.

"Those good-for-nothings! I'll kill them." Patrick leaned closer to Kristi. "Who does he want to kill? Sorry, but I've only been working with Keith for a couple of weeks. Not long enough to know which football team he bleeds for." "Are you kidding? He bleeds Dallas Cowboys blue." Patrick looked around the room. "Did I miss something? What's everyone all riled up for all of a sudden?" Kristi glanced at the screen and caught the replay. "Well, it seems the quarterback dropped the ball, one of the other players tried to grab it and fumbled it, another reached for it, and bobbled it right into the hands of the other team."

“I saw you tonight. At the rink. You weren't watching the game. You were watching me watching you. You want to know if I still care.” “I don’t care if you care,” I spat, my heart hammering. “Let me go, Atlas.” “You know Evans is a joke, right?” he continued, ignoring my protest. “He played on a bad ankle to impress you. It’s pathetic. He’s a puppy, Tamine. You need a wolf.” He moved closer, his body pressing me against the wall. The noise of the party seemed to fade, replaced by the rushing of blood in my ears. I looked around for help, but everyone was too busy dancing or drinking to notice the girl cornered by the quarterback.

"I understand. I hope you guys won't lie about that." Then, she turned around and walked out in a white dress that her grandmother prepared for her. When it was time for the freshman ball to start, Quirina found Raeleigh and brought her to the ball. At that time, the ball was filled with people and everyone was trying to squeeze themselves to the front. It was hard for anyone to move in the crowd. The crowd was here to see Jepherson. Screams were heard throughout the hall. "Wow, he's so handsome!"

“Babe, the dress you liked—it just dropped in Paris. I bought the entire line. Even the limited editions.” Elara squealed. “Oh my god, you’re the best!” She threw herself into his arms. The performance was almost too nauseating. When they were done playing perfect couple in front of me, Thorne finally glanced back at me. “What are you waiting for?” he said to the guards. “Toss this lying bitch out. And take her big prize with her. Don’t let her ruin our perfect evening.” His assistant looked confused at me. And Elara smirked at me like I was nothing but the night’s punchline.

The ball was a birdcage of gold and secrets. Then Anton Rogers stood at its center, a statue wrought from Italian wool and frozen pride, nodding toward some senator’s wife while his own blood pulsed with abandon in his veins. Through the crowded ballroom, in a hundred reflected champagne glasses and dark rain-smeared windows, he followed Sabatine.

He wasn't really sincere about helping Leander. Leander's arm was on my shoulder, and with our combined strength, he stood up. Vince's face didn't look good. "Nate, Leander, come here!" he commanded. Leander moved his limbs with difficulty, limping towards Vince. I held him, shaking my head silently. "It's okay, the coach will discipline him." Leander comforted me. He and Nate stood on either side of Vince. From my angle, this positioning symbolized the power struggle between the two quarterbacks and the captain. With Vince at the center of the balance, it was a matter of where he would add weight.

“The Queen asked me to distract you before you made headlines.” “I’m going to electrocute that peacock.” “She’s not worth your power,” he said gently, offering his hand. “But I am worth a dance.” I stared. “You’re the Queen’s errand boy now?” “Tonight? I’m your knight in velvet armor. Come on. Let’s give the gossipmongers something better to whisper about.” I took his hand—reluctantly—but also furiously fabulous. As we danced, I stole glances toward the balcony where Gloria had pulled Alaric. My blood still sizzled. My heart was a drum solo. But Baron Gabriel? He danced well. Smiled better.