Page 162 of The Failed Audition

“Three!”

And I place my hand on the sticky bar, my legs broken apart at first, but when I find my balance, I put them together. Straight, like a board. I glance over, and notice Nikolai in the same position.

Don’t fall.

There’s nothing that says I can’t beat him. The cheers from the crowd jumble together, but I hear my name, from multiple, indistinguishable voices.

“Thora! Thora!”

What?

My eyes flicker to Nik again. And even upside-down, his curved lips are unmistakable. Very rarely does anyone root against the God of Russia. And he’s happy. Really happy that they are.

“Thora! Thora!”

I shut my eyes, concentrating, smiling, unable to stop my pulse from speeding. My muscles ache, pull and stretch, but I ignore the pain. Mentally sound, I stay at peace, motionless and still.

Thirty minutes pass and my eyes snap open at the gasps and “Ohhhhhs!”

I turn my head.

Nikolai dropped.

No way.

He sits on the bar, his forehead beaded with sweat. Looking shocked, he shakes his head over and over. I bet he’d already picked out a place to pierce me. When he sees me as I sit next to him, he lets out a short, humored laugh. “You’re beaming!” The crowds are so noisy that I barely distinguish the words.

“I can’t believe you lost!”

“You won!” he rephrases.

I won. My heart somersaults. Which means… “Tattoo or piercing?!”

He runs a hand through his hair, still in disbelief. Nikolai is not the kind of man who’d lose on purpose, even for his girlfriend. This is a true win, one that everyonein the club sees. It’s insane. The whole night.

“Tattoo,” he says.

My smile fades. I have no idea how to ink a tattoo on someone. I could permanently mark him with a messy blob.

He leans into me. “I’ll guide you.” And then he motions for the tattoo gun from someone, and he asks them for another thing—his words lost behind me.

I scan his body, and it takes me a quick second to figure out what I want to draw. Where I want to draw it.At least you’re sober.

Yeah—I’m not sure my sloppy self would tattoo something pretty.

Nikolai passes me…a magic marker. “Draw it first.”

I nod, relaxing at this idea. Without hesitation, I straddle him. On the bar. Whistling—everyone is whistling. Including Camila, who even winks at me and I read her lips:get ‘em, Thora.

Timo is tossing dollar bills at us, and John is muttering things—that I can only assume are variations ofthis is so stupid and crazy and is that tattoo gun sterile?

Nikolai turns my chin, so that I focus on him, his eyes descending into mine. “What’s it going to be?”

I open my mouth to tell him my plan.

“Show me,” he says.

“You don’t want to know first?” I question.

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