Page 28 of The Summer Show

Was I discouraged? Nope. I had no intention of subjecting myself to the whims of judges who already picked me as the season’s loser.

How was that fair?

Not my circus, not my clowns, I told myself as I rode the elevator to the third floor. The elevator moved swiftly, so there was no time for “not my circus, not my clowns” to become a mantra. With luck, once would be enough for the words to sink in.

Hotel Ble’s hallways were marble with plush runners in cool, calm shades of blue. Bubbling water features installed periodically added to the sensation of existing in cool oasis, where the only attitude was relaxed. I would pass out from shock if the resort’s spa didn’t offer at least two different kinds of yoga, plus one with goats.

I’d never done yoga, but goat yoga sounded fun.

Was yoga supposed to be fun?

“Have you ever done goat yoga?” I asked when Nick Merrick opened his door. For that bit of impulsivity, I blamed the part of my brain that remembered the days when my ancestors shivered under bushes, hiding from things with bigger teeth. Not that Nick had bigger teeth. They were normal-sized human teeth. Nice, too. Either he’d suffered through braces or he was naturally gifted. What did trigger my inner prey animal was … well, look at him.

Shirtless. A wall of smooth skin. Ripples and bumps in all the right places. The adonis belt vanishing beneath the waist of those grey sweats, pointing the way to his significant gifts.

Really, if I didn’t say something ridiculous, who knows what I’d be capable of? Nothing appropriate, that’s for sure.

Instead of interrogating me like a normal person, demanding to know why I was standing outside his hotel room door, asking about goat yoga, he stepped aside and ushered me inside. Maybe goat yoga was forbidden here and he didn’t want anyone to overhear.

He pushed the door shut with a flat palm, and sort of paused for a moment, looming over me. A flicker of something happened in his eyes, then he stepped back.

“Actually, yes.”

His answer shook me. Details. I needed details. “You’ve done goat yoga?”

“Not my idea. Did it to make someone else happy.”

Probably the infamous Taylor. “That’s sweet.”

“Why are you here?”

Ah. He’d finally recovered from my goat yoga diversion and realized that my being here was strange. “Ana asked me to check on you.”

“Does my sister think I don’t know how to use a hotel room?”

“She wanted to make sure you were here and not sleeping on the streets of Nera. Like my dress? It has pockets.” I showed him the pockets.

His forehead buckled. “I don’t know why you told me that.”

“Women’s clothes either have no pockets or useless pockets, so I guess I just felt like bragging.”

“Should I show you my pockets?”

“If you like. I bet they’re good pockets because you’re a man.”

He dug his hands into his sweatpants and wiggled the pockets out until they hung like long ears.

Don’t do it, I told my brain. Don’t you even dare.

“Elephant!” my mouth declared, ignoring my own warnings.

Now he looked even more puzzled than before I mentioned my cool, roomy pockets. “Elephant?”

Was he going to make me explain it? Oh no, he was, wasn’t he? And it would be wrong of me not to explain, seeing as how my mouth was directly responsible for bringing up the concept of the sweatpants pachyderm.

“The pockets are the elephants ears. And—Have you really never heard this one?”

He shook his head slowly. I studied his face, searching for a sign that he was pulling my leg. “Explain it to me like I’m five.”

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