Page 82 of The Failed Audition

His eyes flit to my lips.

Business only, I try to read his mind. I think I guess right because he forces those gray gunmetal skies on my almost-black irises.

“Inhale,” he instructs.

I’m forgetting to breathe. How am I forgetting to breathe?

I inhale. Exhale. In. And out. Then he pushes me off his body, with so much power that I go flying. I try not to smile too much.Graceful.With this speed, I can spin. So I do. I twirl with pointed toes, using the power he’s given me to go even faster.

When I near him in my full rotation, I reach my hand out, and he seizes it, slinging my body into his chest, not too hard, but enough that a jolt of energy courses through me. Adrenaline. An intoxicating rush.

He hugs me close, one of his hands rising to my face.

Again—I’d love to do this again and again. With him. Only with him. I can’t say I’m entirely graceful and completely lithe. But I feel weightless once more.

It takes me a moment to realize that we’ve decelerated entirely. We’ve come to a stop. He unwinds my hand as though he’s gently removing lingerie, with the most sensual, slow-burning movement. He keeps me clutched to his chest as he descends, his feet hitting the mat before he sets me down.

It feels like we had aerial sex.

Aerial sex.Now I’m thinking about that—therealact of it. Dear God in heaven. Is that even a thing? Do people do that?

He tosses me my towel, waking me up from my dirty stupor. “You still need lots of work.”

“But I’m not hopeless.” I smile.

“Like you said,” he nods to me, “you’re awork in progress. But landing a contract, there’s luck involved. You need some of that too.”

“I know,” I breathe. He’s not trying to elevate my hopes too much.

“That’s it for today. Make sure you wash the resin off your hands and use lotion every night. It’ll dry out your skin if you don’t.”

I dab my sweaty hairline with my towel and just now notice how rigid he is, his shoulders unbending. I slip on my cotton pants and acro-shoes while he puts our water bottles in his gym bag, not saying another word. It spindles more tension in my joints and muscles.

“I’ll walk you out,” he suddenly adds.

He’s never walked me out of the gym before.

The nervous flutters return. I wonder when we leave the gym if business will end. And something else will begin. I’m not sure what happens after we exit the double doors. This is all really new.

Since it’s Sunday and not the morning, there are more than a few people practicing today. We pass a couple doing hand-to-hand tricks, her palm flat on his forehead as she lifts her legs vertically. A handstand. On his head.

Insane.

Nikolai lets out a growl of annoyance. Not at the acrobatic couple. He clasps my hand, tugging me in a new direction before I can even follow his gaze.

Katya lies on top of a giant rolled mat, earbuds in and readingOne Last Kiss, Please.The paranormal romance I loaned her. Nikolai drops my hand and yanks out the cord to her iPod.

She gawks at him and sits up. “Hey.” When she notices me, her eyes seem to light up. “Hi, Thora. I just got to thebestpart—”

“You’re supposed to be practicing,” he cuts her off, and a wave of guilt washes over me. My book has inadvertently become a distraction, but in my defense, that is onehellof a good werewolf-vampire novel.

“I am,” she says. “In my mind.” She’s about to put her earbuds back in and lie down again.

He steals her iPod and the book out of her hands.

“Nik—”

“You almost didn’t land a tucked back somersault on Friday.”

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