Page 8 of The Failed Audition

He towers above me. Six-five maybe. I strain my neck just to fix my gaze on his. He stares down, lifting my arm like he’s inspecting my muscles. He even brushes the sleeve of my OhioState shirt. His large hand dwarfs my limb. I feel entirely little compared to him. In Shay’s presence, I never felt like this.

He squeezes my shoulders. “You’re an athlete,” he declares, never asks. He even places a hand on my head, like he’s examining my tiny height and my frame. He’s having a bit of trouble determining what kind of athlete I am. “…a gymnast.” Or I guess not that much trouble.

“Maybe…” Something about him makes me want to hold cards to my chest. I hear faint mutterings from the crowd, but the music drowns out most. I’m very much a part of the spectacle now. The entertainment for tonight.

Like a magician calling upon a volunteer from the audience.

Only I haven’t really volunteered. Somehow, I think my sneakers did for me.

“Maybe?” he repeats, scanning me from head to toe again. He drops my arm. “No, you’re definitely a gymnast. And I don’t know you, which means you’re not a part of the troupe.” He tilts his head again, satisfied with his own conclusion.

I struggle for a good retort, open-mouthed and stupefied.

His lips tic, and this time they really curve upward. “You have some demonic-looking eyes, myshka.” He stares right into them, and I barely graze over the foreign wordmyshka. “They’re nearly black.”

They are. Add that to RBF and I can’t really denounce my demon-like qualities. My eyes flit to the red glow necklace that he wears. “If I’m a demon, then you must be the devil.” It may be the corniest thing I’ve ever said.

“Maybe I am,” he replies, very deeply. “And yet, here you are.” His gaze remains on me and only me. “And myshka…” His voice turns to liquid sex. “You can’t possess me, even if you tried.”

“Ohhhh!” People laugh and hop up and down. But Nikolai never acknowledges them or feeds into the heckling. He just watches me.

“I’m not trying to,” I tell him under my breath.

His charismatic smile wanes. And his eyes briefly flit to my chest.

Did he just stare at my boobs?

“Your tits are huge,” he states it like a fact.Thumpthumpthump.I open my mouth to retort—but he continues, “Which means you hit puberty earlier than you should have. Most gymnasts end up stunting their growth.”

He’s right again. I started the sport later in life.

His eyes make a very slow travel from my mouth, to my chest, to my hips and legs and—he kneels. Right in front of me.

What…the…

With one hand on my thigh, to steady me, Nikolai knots the laces of myuntiedshoe. How he makes this seem sexual—I have no idea. And I think he knows the effect he carries, the charm and power. That devilish smile pulls at his lips again, before he even rises and acknowledges me.

“Guess what, myshka?” The glow necklace and strobe lights swath him in deep red.

“What…?” I hesitate.

He stands. Towers, really. And he tilts my chin up. With grays like gunmetal skies, bearing down from up above, he says, “I chooseyou.”

Not because I’m the prettiest girl here. I’m definitely not.

Not because I’ve caught his eye in a daring fashion. I didn’t.

But because I’m wearing sneakers.

Shoes.

And I’m standing right in the middle of a mystery with them.

ACT TWO

Nikolai clasps my hand and draws me to the middle of the circle. I catch John pinching his eyes and muttering something like,Camila is going to kill me.

“You know what I think of gymnasts?” Nikolai says lowly.

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