This was not in any of my fantasies.
Spanking her perfect ass was, though.
I'm going to get to that…just as soon as I can walk again.
Chapter Two
Sophie
"We should hit the slopes early tomorrow," Hattie says, waving her fork in the air for emphasis. "That way, we have time to go shopping afterward."
"Whatever you say, Hattie baby." My brother's expression is soft as he stares at her like that's the best idea he's ever heard.
It's a terrible idea. Hattie is a disaster on the slopes… and I'm whatever catastrophe comes after a disaster. Being thrown into the air or pirouetting across a stage, I can do. Riding death sticksdown a mountain with nothing but the dubious protection of a jacket and my own questionable skill is not for me.
"I think I'll sit this one out," I mutter.
"Me too," Harlan immediately says, his eyes locked on me. I swear, the man is Satan's brother. Except, I actually like both of his brothers. Him? Not so much.
How did I get stuck sitting beside him?
I narrow my eyes at him, but he just stares at me levelly. "Never mind. Dying on the mountain sounds like a great time!" I say with false exuberance.
Harlan's right eye twitches, his hand clenching around his fork.
"That's the spirit!" Hattie cries. "You have to come too, Harlan. You can't be boring the whole trip."
There is absolutely nothing boring about Harlan Ward. Isn't that the problem? He's fascinating. He's also a dirty liar.
I've been fed a lot of bullshit in my life. It hit different coming from him, mostly because I actually believed it for once. He didn't seem like the kind of guy who just said what he thought I wanted to hear…right up until he proved me wrong.
All those lines about how I'm so dedicated, so driven, and such a talented dancer were just that—lines. He doesn't have a single shred of respect for what I do. How did he put it? Oh, that's right.Ballet isn't a sport. Comparing a ballerina to a hockey player is an insult.
Yeah, my feelings are hurt. I'm disappointed, too. I thought he was different. I thought he actually liked me. Turns out, I was wrong.
I refuse to get involved with a man who thinks the time and effort he put into learning how to shoot a puck is worth more than the time and effort I put into learning ballet. I haven't fought as hard as I have just to carve out a space in the ballet world for women my size, just for a man to shit on what I do.
It's hard enough when my own dance partner actively tries to sabotage me. And God, Greg does nothing but try. He intentionally drops me, calls me fat, and talks down to me. He makes my life hell.
He isn't the only one. There's very little space in the ballet world for a curvy woman like me. If you don't look the part, you aren't wanted…and I have never looked the part. Thanks to genetics and my thyroid, I've always been big. It doesn't matter that I dance six hours a day, every single day. The weight doesn't come off.
And that makes me a problem.
As far as most dancers are concerned, I'm taking roles from ballerinas far more deserving. They've never let me forget that I don't fit. It doesn't matter how perfectly I dance a part or how many people come to a performance just to see me; it's never enough.I'mnever enough.
Irefuseto spend my time outside the studio dealing with a more insidious version of the same thing. And that's exactly what Harlan Ward is—insidious. Intense and beautiful and so full of shit, I feel like an idiot for falling for it.
It's embarrassing how much time I spent talking to him, telling him things I don't tell anyone. It's ridiculous how many times I've gotten myself off, thinking about him.
Clearly, my vagina's judgment can't be trusted.
She has terrible taste.
I just don't understand the game he's been playing. He could have anyone. Why spend four months pretending to be into me? Who has that kind of time to waste, just to get laid?
Harlan, apparently.
If he stares any harder, I'm going to set him on fire with the candle currently flickering in the middle of the table. I turn slightly in my chair, trying to block him out. It's like trying to block out the sun, though.
