Until the last candidate takes to the stage and I see her.
She isn’t the woman who ruined my season last year. But she’s the only woman who could send my plans up in flames. Taryn Beets used to go to Hemlock Beach College, and I’ve had a crush on her since we had a class together two years ago. The trouble is that she didn’t even know that I existed.
For the first time, I can check her out without pretending to be subtle. It’s my job to look at her.
And boy, if she’s a sight for sore eyes. Her long blonde hair is pinned to one side in a wave of golden curls. A halter neck red top enhances her generous cleavage. Her midriff is bare,showcasing a flat stomach. An asymmetrical red skirt exposes her gorgeous, toned legs clad in flesh-colored pantyhose.
Taryn takes her starting position with one arm extended over her head and the other one wrapped around her trim waist.
For a hot, tantalizing second, her green eyes land on me before the first few notes ofShe’s The Oneby Robbie Williams start playing in the room.
The fact that I’m here to watch her dance is my saving grace. Because there’s no way I can take my eyes off her.
TARYN
The butterflies in the pit of my stomach are ready to begin fluttering their wings as I’m ushered into the audition room.
I stop in front of the judges’ table as instructed and take my starting position. I’m buzzing with nerves and excitement in equal measure, and I know it’s inevitable before a performance that could change my life. There’s nothing I can do but ride this feeling until the music will inevitably transport me into my own world. When I dance, nothing but the music and the emotions it makes me feel matters.
These few moments before the music starts are the hardest. I have to fight the urge to look away and keep my focus on the judges to establish a connection with them from the get go.
Imagining them naked right now—the advice that our old dance coach used to give us to fight pre-performance jitters—isn’t too helpful. Especially since Tucker and Colsen are looking incredibly attractive in matching charcoal gray suits. And right now remembering how hot Colsen is when naked is a distraction I really don’t need.
Tucker and Colsen aren’t the only hockey players sitting at the judges’ table though.
I vaguely recognize Macklin, the guy who got Gen’s drink thrown in his face on Saturday night and… holy shit.
What is Nash Belkin doing in Star Cove at this dance competition?
For a second, right before the music starts, my eyes find his. I can’t look away. Is there a spark of recognition there?
It’s as if an invisible thread tethered us together as his dark emerald gaze rakes over the length of my body.
Nash and I never ran in the same circles back at school. But we took a class together my junior year, and I’ve had a crush on him ever since.
Maybe “crush” isn’t even the right word to describe it. It was more like, I watched him from afar, always surrounded by adoring fans, and he didn’t even know I existed.
Nash was a hockey god, one of the most popular men on campus. Until something happened last year, an injury I think, and he was benched by his coach.
After his injury, I still saw Nash around campus. He was always alone then, but still just as unapproachable as before.
Why is he looking at me so intently? Does he remember me from class, or is he staring because I look familiar and he can’t quite place me?
As I inhale a deep, hopefully steadying breath, a flashback of memory comes to me.
Tim whispers something into my ear and a shiver works its way down my spine. I’m not shivering because of his hot breath that smells like the beer he’s drinking. What has my body buzzing and my heart pounding is the green-eyed man who’s looking at me from the opposite end of the Gamma house living room.
Nash was at the Gamma house on my last night in Hemlock Beach.
As the first few notes of my song begin to play, muscle memory takes over and my focus shifts from Nash to the things Jodie and I practiced when we prepared our solos.
Keep your focus on the judges, making eye contact every time you’re facing their table. Let your face display the emotions the music makes you feel. Executing your choreography without any errors is only one of the things the judges will be looking for. They want dancers who can embody emotions so that they’ll be able to pass those same emotions to the crowds of fans before and during hockey games.
The four minutes and eighteen seconds of my song literally fly away, and so does my body moving with the music, flying like the song says.
Before I know it, I’m dancing the last couple of beats, preparing to end the song with an arabesque.
I know something is wrong the second I extend my arms in the opposite directions the move requires.
