Something snaps in the blink of an eye. Horror washes over me as I feel the ends of my top fall down and the air in the room, colder than my overheated body, hits the exposed skin of my chest.
I want to cover myself, but if I don’t finish the move, I’ll lose my balance and my dance will end in an inglorious heap on the hard wood floor of the audition room.
What’s worse? Ending my dance with a fall or flashing the judges’ table, and potentially millions of people watching the livestream of the audition?
I don’t have much time to decide, because even before I lower my torso, a soft, silky fabric that smells like cinnamon and soap lands on my shoulders.
Strong arms gather me up, and I’m being walked out of the room.
“Where to?” Nash’s low, deep voice makes me shiver. Or maybe it’s the contrast between the cold air in the building and the heat radiating from his body.
“The changing room. Take a left there.”
He guides me back into the now deserted changing room, kicking the door shut once we’re safely inside.
Nash’s arms are still around me and neither of us moves for a long moment.
My chest is still rising and falling with each labored breath. I don’t know if it’s exertion from my performance, the shock of what just happened or Nash’s closeness that are sending my pulse into a skyrocketing frenzy.
“You ok?”
God, his eyes are the darkest, most vibrant green I’ve ever seen. They make me think of a thick, impenetrable forest.
Impenetrable is the perfect word to describe Nash Belkin. He’s breathtakingly handsome face is always schooled into a distant expression. It’s as if this tall, athletic man kept his emotions under lock and key.
“Taryn, are you ok?” He repeats when I don’t answer his first question.
I blink, trying to catch my breath and to shake off the storm of emotions that are making the room spin around me.
“No. Yes. I don’t know.” I admit as the adrenaline from the performance begins to leave my body and terror sets in. “Oh, fuck.” I wail, covering my eyes with both my hands.
I grab the two ends of Nash’s suit blazer and pull them closed and tighter around me.
“I can’t believe I just flashed the entire room and possibly millions of viewers. This might be the kiss of death for my chances of making the team.”
Nash releases me from his comforting embrace, taking a step back to look at me. “I don’t think so. It was an accident. And your dance was one of the best of the entire day. Carole and Lexi would be crazy not to select you for training camp.”
I hope he’s right. “But when we started the audition process on Monday and they told us what they’re looking for, they were clear that dancing is only one part of the equation. They want the Shooting Stars to be the team’s ambassadors on and off the ice. And that will be even more important if Star Cove gets its expansion team and we cheer for the NHL. They want poise and class. Pristine, perfect girl next door types who are also world class professional dancers. Flashing your tits on national television is the opposite of all of that.”
Nash disagrees. “It was an accident. They can’t punish you for a wardrobe malfunction.”
His tone makes everything worse. His words are supportive, but his tone is tough, as if he didn’t really believe his own words.
I bite on my bottom lip in the fruitless attempt to keep the tears that are welling in my eyes from falling.
“Hey, Taryn. Look at me,” he commands, wiping under my eyes with the pads of his thumbs.
The contact with his slightest rough, calloused skin causes a shiver of something other than embarrassment.
“Everything will be ok. You’re going to make the team.” He sounds certain.
“You don’t know that.” I whisper.
Nash’s lips curl up in just the hint of a smile. “But I do. Don’t forget that I’m one of the judges. Everyone saw that it was an accident. And if Carole and Lexi are unsure, I’ll convince my teammates and Coach Harrison to back me up. No one can argue that your solo was spectacular.”
“Thank you, Nash.”
His expression remains serious. “You know my name.”
