Page 37 of The Failed Audition

Even outside the gym, he has serious bedroom eyes.

It’s almost too much to handle. I exhale a shallow breath. “Just tonight,” I tell him.

“Whatever you need,” he repeats. I wish I could tap into his mind, even for a moment. To see how he sees me. For as much as Nikolai conveys, he’s still a mystery.

And I’m the curious girl who’ll step into it. Time and time again.

ACT TEN

1:52 a.m.

I’ve ultimately decided that with good luck comes bad luck. There isn’t plain good fortune, at least not for me. On our way to the lobby elevators, I stopped by the bathroom and discovered that I started my period. Worst timing, considering my suitcase is at Camila’s place and I only have one emergency tampon in my clutch purse.

My thoughts are tumbling on all the comfortable things I’m abandoning in her apartment. Maybe one of the hotel’s stores will have a survival kit. Including tampons. Please.

“Where’s home for you?” he asks, punching the number 42. The elevator groans before rising. He already swiped his hotel keycard into a slit above the buttons, reserved for AE artists. Luxury suites, a perk that not many hotels offer performers.

It takes me a minute to process this question and reject my worries. “Cincinnati.” I don’t mention Ohio State in Columbus. I wore a collegiate shirt that first night at The Red Death, and he’s observant enough to put two-and-two together. “What about you?”

He pockets his keycard. “My home is the circus.”

“Timo said he was born in Munich,” I remember.

Nikolai stiffens at the mention of his brother. I forgot that they had a small fight tonight. I internally grimace.Way to go.

But he alleviates any awkwardness by saying, “My mother traveled with the circus, even pregnant. Where it went, she went. Moving around is all I really know.” He rests his shoulders against the elevator wall. “Of all my siblings, Timo was the only one born outside the United States. And he likes to tote that fact around like a prize.”

I try to absorb these facts and let them distract me from my swirling thoughts. Tampons. It’s truly sad, but I can’t stop wishing I had a beautiful pink box of them. Actually, any color box. I’m not picky. I’d even take the giant, uncomfortable cardboard applicator kind.

“You’re nervous,” he points out. I really wish he wasn’t so good at reading body language. I must be standing with my arms glued to my sides.

“I’m not,” I refute, trying to loosen my limbs. I end up cracking my knuckles which sounds violent.

He snaps off his red glow necklace. “And you’re a bad liar.”

“I just…I don’t have my bag.” There. I let it out. Now I feel…not any better. Fantastic.

“I probably have everything you need.”

I snort, on accident. I cover my face with my hand. A serious face-palm. I’m feeling a lot lamer than usual. I mean, I know I’m half-lame most of the time, with flat comebacks and unintentional demonic glares. But I’m reaching new levels.

“A toothbrush,” he guesses, playing into it like a game. I peek at him through my fingers and realize he’s smiling. “I have an extra one, never used.”

“That’s…convenient.”

“One of my brothers is a kleptomaniac and likes to steal pointless things from the gift store.” He adds quickly, “Don’t tell anyone I said that.”

“Timo?” I wonder.

“Luka. He’s nineteen and another pain in my ass.” Even as he says it, there’s an incredible amount of love in his voice.

The elevator makes a stop on the twentieth floor. I expect more people to gather on, but it’s empty, just delaying our ride.

“Pajamas,” he guesses.

I didn’t even think about that. My suitcase will never know how much I miss it. “I’m going to sleep in what I have on.” I immobilize for the thousandth time as he inspects my long coat and stilettos again. Probably imagining what little there is underneath. The corset wire is definitely poking into my boob.

“You can sleep in one of my shirts,” he offers, not as a sexual advance or anything. I think it’s a friendly gesture. But then those gray irises inadvertently tear through my defenses and practically shed my clothes—I can’t tell anymore. That’s not a look you give to a friend.

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