Darling, Dance with Me

After my scumbag of a boyfriend cheats on me, my plan is simple.

1. Run away to college.

2. Find a remedy for this heartache because it’s not found in ice-cream, contrary to popular belief.

The plan is perfect.

Until a conversation with my crazy roommate, that starts with staying fit and ends with a search for healthy penises, results in me accidentally enrolling us in a kizomba dance class because of the aforementioned quest.

*#InsertSwearWordHere

SwearingHelps*

Our dance instructor, Remi, turns out to be a condescending jerk, who enjoys making me squirm under his smoking, amber gaze. When he starts calling me “darling” in that low, husky voice, my dreams turn a little dirty.

#HeartEyesEmoji

But just when I think things are getting better, I find out that sexy Remi has his own secrets …

#NotPartofThePlan

Revised plan:

1. Avoid the enigmatic dance instructor.

2. Repeat step one over, and over, and over again.

This should be easy, right?