Chapter 14 #2
But you know that saying that life is what happens to you when you’re busy making other plans? I don’t know what the universe is trying to tell me today, but it definitely decided to fuck with me.
We enter the room where the Shooting Stars Director, Carole Sawyer, is waiting for us to explain the judging process for today’s auditions.
Each of us is offered a tablet loaded with the photos of the candidates.
I listen intently to the instructions and maybe this isn’t gonna be so bad after all.
Watching all these beautiful women in amazing outfits dazzle us with their dance moves is fun.
The day is interesting and time flies. I’m not too mad at Coach Harrison for choosing me to be a judge.
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 of She’s The One by 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.
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.”
“It was on a piece on the judges’ table in front of you.”
He shakes his head. “We went to the same school. Back in Hemlock Beach. We had a class together last year.”
So he does remember me.
“Yeah. I wasn’t sure you would recognize me.”