Dancing with the Badboy

Chapter 11

Note before you read: Mila's name is pronounced Mee-la and Ajax is Ayaks (it's Dutch :)

Mila's POV

"No, it's technically advanced, not physically. Yes, I und- yes, of co-yes!" I exclaimed, setting my phone on my dresser.

"This isn't some random competition Mila, it's natio- shit," Carson's mother mumbled and I heard shuffling in from her phone.

"What's wrong?"

"Great timing, lovely. Your parents are at the flower shop," she huffed and I heard voices talking in the background.

"What why? Why would they come to your shop?" I asked in confusion.

"I think someone's graduating, they're buying the special flowers," she whispered hastily.

"Ok, I'll call you back," I said hurriedly, combing my hair. My eyes flitted to the clock slowly ticking towards 10.

"Mila, is that you?" I heard my mothers unmistakable voice call through the line. I held my breath, hoping she would think I ended the call.

"I know you're there. I heard Kelly say your name. She told me you're in Germany."

I rolled my eyes, straightening the last strand of hair.

"Yes, Germany."

"You don't even speak German."

"Don't have to, they speak English."

"Don't be naïve Mila, you know dance isn't a sustainable career. You need a job. Get back into university and get your degree. You can become an ambassador, or even a humanitarian worker. You used to love that stuff."

"Stop trying to sway me, it's not going to work," I snapped, pulling on a skin tight black mock neck shirt. The weather had taken a turn, dropping to just below freezing. I rummaged through my drawers to locate my miniskirt.

"Mila Simard! I am looking out for your best interest," she barked making my grit my jaw to keep from shouting back. I struggled to pull up the sheer stockings that would keep my legs warm. I paused for a second, debating on wearing the leggings. Changing my mind, I tugged them off, hoping it would be warm inside the club.

"Now why would you go through all the trouble to do that?" I mocked, pulling on my over-the-knee boots I had just ordered.

"Because I am your mother, I birthed you!" she exclaimed and it sounded like she wanted to pull her hair out. I smirked.

"Well mother," I sighed, picking up my phone again, "Fuck you."

And with that, I ended the call. A part of me did feel a bit bad because she was my mother. But she never acted like it.

(^outfit up there - just the outfit not the girl lol)

I stared at myself in the mirror, squinting at my reflection. Hair - straight, heels -zipped, skirt - smoothened, earrings - dangling, eyeliner - on-fleek. Something was missing, I needed some spice. My lips. Too pale.

Grabbing a dark maroon lipstick, I applied it to my pale lips. I didn't have any makeup except some bronzer, eyeliner, and the lipstick. Sue me for being lazy.

We had called an Uber since we both planned on drinking at it was supposed to arrive any minute. I grabbed my phone and room key as I heard Lena's door open. Hurrying to the door, I swung it open just as she lifted her hand to knock.

"Let's roll," I smirked, closing my door as she stared in shock.

"First of all, great timing. Second, who are you?" Lena giggled, following me down the stairs.