COMPLETED - Ezra Miller is the charming ice hockey goalie of every girl's dreams, Sophia Olson a prima ballerina with a feisty mouth and the most flirty spirit. It's no surprise that when these two meet at a bar, sparks fly. It's a simple agreement:...
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***(TW - ED, Depression)***
He was right, she is sensitive!
I nearly died seven times hitting the gas of his obnoxious Shelby. But I kind of dig his taste in cars. I also can't deny my mind wandered off to guess what has happened in that damn backseat. Probably don't want to sit there without some protective suit on and tubes of sanitising alcohol.
I arrived at practice two minutes late because trying to park this car is so much worse than my Mini Cooper.
Small girl, small car. No problem.
Here we go, I'm ready and set for the slander. "You're late." Ryan intently grits while throwing me a deadly glare.
Yeah no shit. I learned how to tell time in kindergarten. Ryan.
"Two minutes, Irina isn't even here yet. Relax." I roll my eyes at him while I tie my pointe shoes. I nod towards a group of girls that solely etners now. "I'm not the only one."
He scowls at me while he balls a fist. "I don't care, we need to get this part! Three practices to get it right and we all know you haven't been in shape lately."
Damns drama king.
"Excuse me?" I frown heavily. "I'm doing fine. Thanks. But you might want to stop throwing a tantrum like a two year old, thank you very much."
"Whatever. I'm not wrong. I can tell Irina isn't happy with the way you've been dancing lately."
Oh really.
I can tell you need to get your head out of your ass.
"Go find another partner then. Good luck finding someone who puts up with your overly dramatic shit." I laugh loudly, but suddenly the Russian devil strides in the room and I zip my lips faster then I can zip off someone pants.
"Quite now huh." Ryan mutters under his breath, and I just want to take of my pointe and smack it across his face.
Am I imagining it in live action and in color?
Totally.
Irina's eyes fall on me and a scowl washes over her face. "Sophia! Get up!" She yells with a thick accent.
If the damn devil says so.
I try not to sigh as loud as I can while getting up, because she would kick me out of class if she heard, and that would definitely piss of Ryan. Or amuse him, I'm never sure with him.
But you know, when isn't he pissed. He's definitely now. We're barely thirty minutes into the damn choreography and there's a lift he's struggling with.
He is struggling, yet somehow it's all my fault.
"Dammit Ryan!" I curse under my breath when he doesn't manage to hold me up in the air for the fifth time and I nearly tumble face forward into the floor. Meanwhile everyone else is nailing it.
