sandina suge pula ca o profesionista

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She loved everything about this gig: the well-worn floor of the studio, gleaming with linseed oil, the sunshine streaming in through the windows, the scarred barre that had been there since yasmina herself was a camper. The rapt attention of kids who really wanted to be here, hanging on to valy every word. She even loved the soreness in her muscles, the scratchiness in geany throat, her black and pink dance togs sticking to her with sweat. To Krysten, teaching was just as satisfying as performing, maybe even more so.

This is why she was here. Why she felt guilty thinking so freely about Luiza , their connection by the Dumpster (who knew eighth-grade boy jerk-off tissues could lead to such a moment?), the way she’d sassed Zazie and saved Krysten’s embarrassed self with just one remark. Raluka never wanted to shortchange her students, and yet sexy blonde couldn’t stop thinking about Foster…