Total pages in book: 100
Estimated words: 95545 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 478(@200wpm)___ 382(@250wpm)___ 318(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95545 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 478(@200wpm)___ 382(@250wpm)___ 318(@300wpm)
Guilt explodes in me like a gunshot as I pull Mia into my arms and hug her tight. She’s like my sister from another mister, and nothing will ever change that. Not time, distance, or assholes masquerading as boys with good intentions. “I realize you’re trying to help, I really do, but I don’t want to talk about Colton. Let me work through this breakup and process it in my own way.”
Her muscles loosen. “But you’re not working through anything. All you’re doing is pretending that Colt—”
When I give her a steely-edged glare, she rolls her eyes and flattens her lips before doubling down on her stance. “All you’re doing is pretending that the jerk who shall not be named was never in your life. How is that healthy?”
Healthy?
I want to laugh. Or maybe cry.
Dealing with this breakup in a healthy manner is the least of my concerns. I’m worried about spiraling into a deep depression I won’t be able to claw my way out of. The truth of the matter is that I’m hanging on by my fingernails. I’ve crushed hard on Colton for years. That’s not something you work through in a weekend. I’d given him my love, and it hadn’t been enough. Instead, he’d tossed it back in my face and decided that he’d rather screw as many girls as possible.
Yesterday, I’d spotted him across campus by the Union, surrounded by a fawning crowd of groupies. Clearly, they were all celebrating his newly minted single status. I’m sure panties have been dropping left and right in jubilation.
I’d caught him mid-laugh with a smile curving his lips. Unconsciously, my feet had stopped moving as my heart cracked wide open. For the briefest of moments, our gazes had collided before he glanced away, dismissing me on the spot. The rejection, along with the way he’d moved on so effortlessly, cut right to the bone. How I’ll get through the rest of this year—not to mention the next two—I have no idea.
I never thought I’d say this, but graduation can’t come soon enough. I need to get as far away from him as possible. I’d briefly flirted with the idea of transferring universities, but that’s not feasible. Wesley has the best dance program in the state, and I don’t want to bale on Mia. More than that, I refuse to let him chase me away.
So, for the foreseeable future, I’m stuck here with the jerk who shall remain nameless.
“I’m not pretending,” I mutter. “I’m choosing to move on and forget about him.”
“Same thing.”
“Not at all.” Before she can argue, I add, “I really need to get to class.” I give her a quick kiss on the cheek. “I’ll see you tonight, all right?”
She nods. “Yup. Whatever I end up ordering, I’ll make sure there’s enough for both of us.”
“You’re the best.” With that, I haul ass toward the fine arts building. Mia might think that I’m running away from my feelings, but she’s mistaken. I’m simply putting them behind me and moving forward. What else am I supposed to do?
Once inside the studio, a puff of relief leaves my lips, and my shoulders loosen from around my ears. I didn’t realize how tight my muscles had become until they relaxed. I drop my bag along the wall and peel off the scarf and jacket. I’m twenty minutes early, and there is only a handful of students in the room warming up at the barre or rehearsing steps.
The next to come off are the leggings and shirt until I’m stripped down to a black leotard and tights. I grab my shoes from my bag and slip them on my feet before settling on the floor and stretching. There’s something comforting about the routine. Dazzling sunlight pours through the floor-to-ceiling windows as a tinge of sweat hangs in the air.
“Bonjour,” Monsieur Dupre greets as he saunters through the entryway. He’s dressed entirely in black from head to toe. And yes, he looks hot as fuck in a way that only attractive European men with an overabundance of confidence can pull off.
My hand rises in a wave as a smile trembles across my face when I think about Zoe propositioning him.
And his partner.
One of the girls on the floor hisses my name, and I blink back to awareness. She jerks her head toward the corner of the studio, where our instructor unwinds a scarf from around his neck. “Sorry.” I press a hand to my chest and raise my voice. “Did you call me?”
“A word, s’il vous plaît.”
“Of course.” I pop to my feet and pad over to him.
A slight frown tugs at the corners of his lips as he scrutinizes my appearance. “You are well?”
I shift uncomfortably under his relentless stare. “Umm, yes.” I’d rather shove bamboo beneath my fingernails than admit I’m upset over a guy. The number one rule in the studio is that outside bullshit stays where it belongs. Outside. We don’t bring it into this space, allowing it to taint the creative energy of the dancers.