Page 9 of Diva Pop

Chapter Three

“Jett, you should keep your knee wrapped for rehearsal.”

Tory had been whispering conspiratorially to Jett ever since they’d arrived that morning, nagging him about his knee. Sure, it had been acting up lately, and he probably shouldn’t have stayed out clubbing so long the night before, and yeah, maybe the heels had been a bad idea even if they weren’t all that high, but fuck. How was a girl supposed to make a splash in flats?

Not in this universe. Not in the next.

“Tory,” Jett whispered back. “The last thing I need to do is wear a wrap in front of the dude who has the power to replace me with Thing One and Thing Two.”

Jett stretched his leg at the barre and shot a stealthy scowl in the direction of the two spotlight stealers. He couldn’t be caught glancing their way as if he cared whether or not they existed, but he held a Master’s degree in subterfuge.

Tory was doing his warm-ups behind Jett and leaned forward right as Jett straightened.

“You can’t keep letting Silas get to you. And the new guys don’t hold a candle to your talent.”

Jett peered over his shoulder. “Not even Mr. Dreamboat?”

Tory frowned. “What do you mean by that?”

Jett smirked. “Uh, duh. You need a bib to catch all the drool every time you get a glimpse of Sean.”

Tory gave Jett a playful shove. “Do not.”

Jett rolled his eyes then bent over the barre again, lifting his leg so his calf could rest across the wood. He pointed his toes, stretching them as much as he could, keeping his knee straight as he folded his frame then cupped his fingers around them. After three deep breaths in and out, he rose, his posture perfect, shoulders back and chin high as he swooped his arm around in front of his body then up in a graceful arch over his head.

Snickering from across the room met his ears, throwing him off balance for a second. He was used to the odious Paul mocking him, but this was a foreign snicker. The culprit wasn’t Mr. Dreamboat, of that Jett was sure. No, it could only be the other wannabe Pony, the one trying to claim Paul’s Captain Asshole crown and steal Jett’s career.

Jett couldn’t resist and glanced sideways. Sure enough, Crispin was holding his stomach and laughing.

“Are we going to have to wear tutus for this video?” Crispin elbowed Mr. Dreamboat, who flushed red before fixing his gaze on the floor.

If Jett was being honest with himself, which wasn’t always his favorite thing, Tory’s crush was too sincere and sweet to hate. He’d also caught a moment of Sean doing a Street Jazz combination when he’d arrived at rehearsal, and the guy wasn’t half bad. Add in the cuteness factor and that big, toothy smile and Jett wouldn’t mind tossing Paul off a moving train and replacing him with Sean instead.

Actually, he wouldn’t mind tossing Paul off a moving train anyway, so there was that.

Jett peered over his shoulder again. “See? I don’t know why I have to put up with two dickwads now instead of one.”

“That’s why you have to be nice to Silas. Quit goading him.” Tory bounced on the balls of his feet toes while stretching his arms above his head. “He’s not here to hassle you, he’s here to help the band however he can. Make yourself indispensable, be the bigger man.”

Jett cupped his crotch through the spandex shorts. “That’s not a problem, hon.”

Tory let out a small growl. “You’re such a pain, sometimes. I’m being serious.”

“I know, I know. But this entire shitshow is draining the fabulous out of me.”

“Ha!” Tory snorted. “I seriously doubt that.”

Jett worked on his pliés, not giving a rat’s ass if dickface thought it was the most hilarious thing he’d ever seen. While Jett continued to focus on his workout and use his advanced skills in ignoring, he gave himself an inner pep talk.

The way Silas looked at him the night before when Jett first climbed out of his car answered at least one burning question about his new manager. Silas was either gay or bi, and was clearly hot for some of that top shelf Jett action. With that little morsel of intel, Jett had all he needed to bend Silas to his will.

Jett smirked in Crispin’s direction. Just wait. As soon as Jett had Silas in his back pocket, that loser was going to regret he’d ever laced up his first pair of dance shoes.

“Good morning, gentlemen.”

Silas strode into the large, mirrored rehearsal hall with the grace of a supermodel and the dignity of a royal. Jett bent over his leg again to take a minute to compose himself. Hellohotness. After inhaling a deep breath, Jett straightened, maintaining his perfect posture, moving slowly so that Silas could appreciate every sensuous ripple of his taut muscles as he swept his arm through the air in the previous position.

This time when Crispin laughed, it was Silas who shot him a glare. The corners of Jett’s lips tugged into a small smile.

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