Page 102 of The Failed Audition

This is more than rude now.

I spin around on the green collared-shirt guy, pushing him physically in the chest, but he thinks I’m doing a creative dance move and clutches my wrists, tugging me closer. “No,” I tell him.

He either can’t hear me or he’s too drunk to process the very important word. Ice cold sheets rain on us. His eyes arerighton my hardened nipples. As though they’re laser beams, shooting out rainbows.

And no—they’re not even that magical.

“God of Russia! God of Russia!” That sounds right next to—

Nikolai hooks his arm around my waist, physically pulling me into his body and then shoving the other guy away with his hand. The groping guy squints at Nikolai, his lids droopy. “We were dancing—”

“No you weren’t.”

The guy seems to finally register Nikolai’s size and territorial glare. And what’s crazier, the energetic crowd that followed him spreads out into a circle, leaving us in the open center like Nikolai is about to breakdance. A burly Red Death employee even slides over a chair.

I guess this is where his stage will reside tonight.

Smack dab in the middle of the club.

You are in a see-through dress in the center of a circle, Thora.

Dear. God.

I spin into Nikolai’s chest, and he rests a hand on the back of my neck, still watching the preppy guy closely. He motions to a bouncer near the door and they thread the masses to escort him away.

The power he has on Saturdays is not as foreign anymore.

But it still shrinks me.

I know I can never be like him, not to this extent. Some forms of confidence are natural, a gift that can’t be learned. Like Timo. Nikolai once told me that he couldn’t remember a time where Timo didn’t know who he was. No questioning. No doubt. But he said it didn’t make it easier.

Timo charged at life.

But life wasn’t always ready for him.

I’m not as envious as I used to be. I’m more satisfied with who I am. Thora James: a series of fails but she’ll stand up again.

I can most definitely live with that.

Nikolai tilts up my chin, and he studies my current clutch onto him. I study his wet hair, pushed out of his face. The water that rolls along his skin and drips off his lashes. It’s not the most profound case study, but it warms my chilled blood.

“God of Russia!”

“They’re calling for you,” I say.Step back, Thora.I will. Baby steps.

“I hear that.” And then he snaps off my glow necklace.

I flinch at the abrupt motion and notice his… “Nikolai…” He wears a green glow necklace. He’s beenwearingthat this whole time. I shuffle back from him, forgetting about my see-through dress. I just have to see him,it.

Red strobe lights still comb over the club, but for the first time in months, he’s declaring toeveryonethat he’s taken.

I’m smiling.

He’s not. Because his gaze rakes my body with conflicting expressions: arousal and concern. Maybe he’s worried that I’m leaping out of my box tonight. Maybe he’d rather push me than unforeseeable circumstances do it for him.

I wrap my arm around my boobs.

“God of Russia!” Hands are now shooting into the air.

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