Bottle Of Coke

(Ballet Brad)

I cleared my throat and averted my gaze,

looking the other way, as if showing that I

was admiring the nicely furnished room. ''Nice

place,'' I managed to say and looked away for

a good five minutes, and I hoped that Brad

had put on some clothes by then.

When I finally mustered up the courage to

look at him, he had thankfully put on a pair of

clothes. I internally sighed, relaxing a little.

The nice lady brought me a cup of tea, and oh

my did the china look fine. I gingerly held,

afraid of dropping it, as I was really clumsy.

''So, the instructor yet has to arrive,'' Brad

said, and he looked fine, I must tell you. His

hair was freshly done in a quiff, and he was

wearing a plaid with navy blue skinny

jeans. Stop it! And don't drool! ''She'll

probably come in a twenty.''

''Okay,'' I mumbled, and surprise, suddenly

very anti-social. Firstly, I didn't know how in

the heck did I end up here. And why was I

even helping him? It was not like I owed him

big time for just spilling coke on him.

''It's some ballroom dancing,'' he

nonchalantly, totally at ease. My eyes widened;

the size of saucers.

''I can't dance to save my life!'' I

desperately said, standing up. ''I'm out of

here, sorry. And I don't even understand--

what am I doing here?''

Brad shockingly, didn't look at all tensed.

''Sweetheart, you'll regret walking out of here.

It's your choice,'' he said, staring intently at

me. Sometimes, he terrified me, even though it

was something like staring. Those eyes could

look through my goddamn soul.

I groaned and flopped down on the couch

again, beside him. ''I hate you,'' I chastised,

scowling at him and he, on the other hand,

looked unfazed. He just gave me a lopsided

grin, as if enjoying my misery. I rolled my

eyes and stuck out my tongue at him.

Okay, that was weird.

The silence was steadily increasing and I

couldn't stand it so I said, ''Your father's

really rich, isn't he? This is a great place. And

what is the event about? And why do we even

have to dance there?''

Poor guy, that was a lot of questions to

handle. ''Well, they say the truth. Girls do love

gossip,'' he joked, something which was rare

for him. His eyes lit up when he did that and

somehow made him look much younger and

happier.

''Don't get me started on boys. You guys

love making Hot or Not lists. That makes girls

feel like s**t when they're on the Not list,'' I

quipped, glaring at him stubbornly.

''Who gave you the wrong impression that I

like making those lists? I think they're stupid,''

he shortly said, his expression serene.

My heartfelt warm and fluttered at that.

Finally, a guy who didn't see women as

objects to be toyed around and played with.

''

''

''.

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