Page 40 of The Failed Audition

ACT ELEVEN

2:27 a.m.

My ankles and toes are blistered, the summer heat building beneath my coat. We walk briskly on the crowded strip, and I try to keep up with his lengthy stride to my short one.

The seventh drunk guy whistles at me from afar. I spot him waving his wallet. Nikolai has his hand firmly on the small of my back while he speaks quickly into his phone. If I was venturing alone, I think I’d be a little frightened. I’d need one wingman or wingwoman with me. Like a Camila.

But I can’t deny—a six-foot-five Russian athlete has been the best defense. No one has approached us or even really considered the feat.

I listen to Nikolai’s deep voice, picking up Katya’s name through the jargon. He’s called all of his brothers and now he’s onto a list of his cousins. Apparently she didn’t mention her nightly plans to anyone.

He suddenly pockets his phone. “This way.” His hand tightens on my waist, and he redirects me to a crosswalk, a horde of people gathered underneath the red-hand symbol.

“You found her?” I ask.

“One of my cousin’s friends saw her at Fellini’s. It’s a restaurant on the strip.” So we’re close. Even so, he never relaxes. His eyes flit to my stilettos. “If your feet start to bleed, tell me.”

I think they’re probably close. I suck up the pain and just nod. His sister is missing, and the last thing he really needs is a five-minute break to inspect a couple blisters.

Cars screech to a halt, and everyone begins to cross. I dodge an incoming girl in a huge feather headdress, like her burlesque show just ended. Nikolai isn’t fazed by the Vegas nightlife, standing erect and steadfast. But all of it distracts me.

The fancy dresses, the limos, the commotion—a city that never sleeps. He nearly braces me to his side, probably so I don’t face-plant in my heels.

“Does your sister break curfew a lot?” I ask.

“Only recently.” He pauses. “She doesn’t want to live in Vegas anymore. She’s been begging me to let her audition for Noctis, and I keep telling her no.”

“Noctis,” I recall the name. “That’s one of the traveling shows.”

He nods. “It’s the show my parents are in. She just wants to be closer to them.”

It clicks. His parents aren’t eveninVegas, so that’s why she lives with Nikolai. And why Timo runs around The Masquerade so freely. In the short silence, Nikolai is lost in thought and I try to pay attention to the divots in the cement sidewalk.

He hugs me closer as a group of rowdy guys pass us, and then he instinctively wraps his arm around my shoulders, as though claiming me as more than a friend. Just to ward them away, I know. If I wasn’t wearing a “what’s underneath the long coat?” getup, it’d be a different story. I think. Maybe.

Maybe not.

He’s the most touchy-feely guy I’ve ever encountered. I’m not surprised either, considering he’s in tune with his body and spent years lifting and catching women for a living.

Thankfully, no one accidentally shoves into my arm. And I’m left in a warm cocoon, made by Russia. Believe me, I’m not complaining.

Even after they’ve gone, Nikolai keeps this embrace.

“Why not let your sister audition?” I ask him.

“Because she wouldn’t pass the first round. She’s not good enough for Noctis.”

I wince. “She could get better—”

“She could,” he says, “but she doesn’t try. Katya is average in her discipline. It’s just a fact.”

I frown. “What’s her discipline?”

“Russian bar.” He tucks me close to his side again as a giant bachelor party passes us. “She’s in Viva at The Masquerade, but all shows have different levels of difficulty. The Russian bar routine in Noctis is too complicated.” He adds, “And she’d be angry that our parents wouldn’t pull strings for her, just so she can be in it. I’d rather Katya hate me than hate them.”

That’s more than just kind. It’s selfless and something I’d never expect of him the first time we met at The Red Death.

It hits me right now. He’s a full-fledged adult, a man, with more responsibilities and maturity than I probably contain in my pinky finger. And it’s…scarily attractive. When it should be just the opposite. I should draw towards career-driven, young guys who just graduated from college. Who don’t have their shit together. Just like me.

---