Page 58 of The Failed Audition

I soak a cloth with the remover, and after he dries his face, the makeup horribly smeared across his eyes and forehead, he rotates back to me.

“I can help you…if you kneel,” I tell him, a lump rising to my throat.

His brows knot while he contemplates my offer. He scans my body, covered in only a soft gray towel that stops at my thighs. Beads of water roll down my neck to the tops of my breasts. I breathe heavily, as though his gaze depletes my energy.

I didn’t have time to dry off. My sopping dirty-blonde hair is splayed over one shoulder, and a pool of water collects at my cold feet.

The tense quiet grows, and I’m about to open my mouth and retract the offer. But he slowly drops to his knees, his face much closer to mine, his reddened eyes never deterring from me.

The washcloth feels heavy in my hand. “Stay still,” I tell him.

The corner of his lip nearly lifts. “That’s my line.”

I recall the bet at The Red Death, when he pierced me. “Okay, then close your eyes,” I say. “That’s not yours, is it?”

He smiles now, even as his lids shut. “I’ve used it before, but it’s cuter coming from you.”

I absorb this compliment right before I press the washcloth beneath his eye, gently rubbing the makeup off. His hands ascend to my hips, holding onto me. I hone in on the pressure ofeach fingertip, only a towel away from my skin. I wonder if I can even concentrate enough to remove the purple shadow.

Focus, Thora.

I’m trying. But there is a six-foot-five Russian athlete kneeling at my feet, clutching onto me, shirtless—while I wearonlya towel. My body responds with rhythmic pulses between my legs. And I do everything I can to shut out these feelings.

Small talk.

I’ll make small talk. “Thanks for letting me stay here,” I say first, applying more remover onto the cloth before I dab at his forehead.

“It’s no problem,” he says. “If you need to stay longer, the couch is free.”

His hands practically burn through the towel.

“I’ll be out by the end of the week,” I tell him assuredly. I thought about returning to Camila’s, but she hasn’t mentioned anything about it. I don’t want to overstay my welcome, especially when I was supposed to be out of there soon, regardless of her family. “My paycheck comes in then, and I’ve already narrowed down a couple studio apartments.” I don’t mention any logistics, like having to dip into my savings for the deposit. But it’ll be worth it in the long run. I hate mooching off him, and it’s been weighing on me.

He says nothing, but his jaw muscles tense, as though he’s clenching his teeth. The silence creates a chasm, and so I fill the air once again.

“I thought the colors for Amour are red and pink.”

He opens his eyes, most of the purple makeup gone. But he has a bit of black liner left and silver dots on his forehead that I’m wiping away.

I focus on my hand, the one that holds his unshaven jaw, my fingers and palm small compared to him.

“You’ve never seen the show.” It’s not a question, but I hear his surprise.

“I’ve seen a show,” I say in a whisper.

“But not Amour.”

I’m about to reply, but my phone vibrates loudly on the sink counter. I retrieve it and click into the text message.

I told coach to keep your spot open for another few days. Hopefully you’ll realize how crazy you’re being before then.– Shay

While I skim the words, I feel Nikolai stand. He comes up next to me and reaches for the eye drops.

His gaze briefly travels to my cell. “Let me guess, your best friend.” I hear a hint of bitterness.

“He just thinks there’s more to offer me in Ohio.”

Nikolai towers above me, squeezing drops into his eyes. “Like what?” he asks. “Him?”

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