Page 23 of The Failed Audition

“We’re not friends,” John retorts. “And my family is fromColombia.”

Timo raises his brows likeso what?“And my family is from Russia, old man. Want to battle?”

John pinches the bridge of his nose, his sour expression overtaking his features. He lets out a heavy sigh.

I tentatively slip back into the conversation. “I still don’t understand why the Kotovas get a reprieve.”

“Because we’re awesome,” Timo tells me, eating some of the Chex mix.

John steals the bowl back, setting it away from us. “Let me break it down for you, Thora. There arethreedifferent Aerial Ethereal shows just at The Masquerade.” He counts on his fingers. “Viva, Infini, and Amour. The Kotovas make up over one-third of the cast foreachshow.”

Timo raises his fist in the air.

John’s expression says:I so want to smack the back of your head.He huffs and continues, “Some Kotovas are even the directors and coaches. The Masquerade acts like they’re demi-gods, so yes, they let the underage kids pass through security as long as they look twenty-one-ish.” His stormy gaze returns to Timo. “Andby the way, you can’t pass as twenty-one. You look like a child.”

“So wait,” I cut in before Timo can reply. I extend my arms, my head spinning from the info. “Is your beef with Aerial Ethereal performers or the Kotovas?”

Timo’s eyes brighten. “Great question.”

“Both,” John growls.

“Alright then,” Timo says, “seeing as how I’m doubly hated by the dealer, beating you will be doubly rewarding.” He pushes his chips across the green felt and nods to me again. “You playing?”

“Just watching,” I tell him.

John grumbles something under his breath as he reluctantly shuffles the cards, clearly surrendering despite his speech. This must happen a lot.

He deals the cards quickly: a king and seven for Timo and a queen for himself. John flips the edge of the face-down card to peek beneath it.

Timo raises his brows. “Anything interesting?”

John stays silent and maintains hisI loathe the world, my job, and everyone in the universeface.

“That bad, huh?” Timo grins, unzipping his leather jacket.

“Just play,” John says roughly. When his gaze falls to Timo’s torso, he rolls his eyes. “Why the fuck aren’t you wearing a shirt? Seriously? Seriously.” He looks to me. “Do you see this?”

Oh yeah.

Timo is bare-chested beneath the leather. I try desperately to restrain a smile at John’s distress. There’s something about it that’s more comical than anything.

“Is there a shirt policy?” I ask, biting the inside of my cheeks.

“Yes, there’sashirt policy.Everywherethere’s a shirt policy. People don’t just gamble without clothes.”

“He’s wearing a jacket,” I say. I can’t be a fashion police. Sweats. Leotard. Sneakers. My regular ensemble.

“Iamwearing a jacket,” Timo says to John. “She makes a perfect point.” He has that same intense eye contact that Nikolai does, the one that sucks someone into his vortex. John has great, moody defenses, but clearly he’s fallen into Timo’s trap more than a few times. Or else Timo would’ve been kicked off the stool from the get-go.

“Are you staying or not,” John snaps, referring to the card game.

Timo waves his hand like he’s slicing air. I’ve seen the movie21, so I know that he’s staying this round. John flips his card: a five.

He turns another: a ten. John busts.

Timo’s face breaks in pure elation, and his excitement bubbles into me.

“Congrats,” I say with a brighter smile. John hands him a couple of red chips, and Timo gives me a thumbs up before he places another bet.

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