18. June
JUNE
Cabaret - Cabaret
The cabaret vibe is different from any other concert at Conservatory. The energy’s electric, a party. And the normally rigid structures of the different tracks melt away. Music kids sing, theatre kids play instruments, counselors form small bands.
My favorite act is Dmitry, Evan, and Fletcher—faculty members calling themselves Chord Overlords—who performed a mash-up of a bunch of pop songs all using the I-iv-IV-V progression on guitars and bass.
Their set started with “Prom Song (Gone Wrong)” by Lana Del Rey, morphed into “Say My Name” by Destiny’s Child, then “Call Me Maybe” by Carly Rae Jepsen, The Police’s “Every Breath You Take”, and finally “Me!” by Taylor Swift and Brendon Urie.
Dmitry’s a huge Swiftie, as is most of Conservatory, judging by the way everyone stands up to dance in the aisles.
After Chord Overlords, Nick and I head backstage, on deck for our performance. That fluttery feeling takes root in my stomach, the one I get before stepping on stage. It’s been so long since I’ve performed at all, and this nervous-excited spark is addictive.
I leaned into the Legally Blonde of it all, rocking a hot pink miniskirt and a white flowy tank top. Nick wears khakis and a plain white T-shirt so his costume change pops. I can’t stop finding little ways to touch him, to bask in his nearness.
I had to haul my ass back to Sadlersburg to find a guy like Nick. He doesn’t just turn me on, he makes me feel … cherished. Safe. A heady combination, and one I won’t let myself get used to.
I didn’t believe him when he said he didn’t care about our limited time, because I care. I care so fucking much that after two days I want to beg him for a long-distance relationship.
But how could I do that to him? His life is here. He’d never leave his job, his dad, and I can’t ask him to. A long-distance relationship means we’ll leave each other slowly—a hundred tiny slashes rather than one knife to the heart.
When I encouraged him to drop all his responsibilities and move to New York City, it wasn’t from some selfish need to keep him with me.
Well, not entirely. Nick’s good . The kind of talent that would get a steady stream of work.
If he wanted it. If he worked for it. He admitted to dreaming of the broke artist lifestyle, and not as some starry-eyed kid who doesn’t know how hard life gets, but as a thirty-year-old man who absolutely knows what he’ll have to sacrifice.
Toot toot, bitch , that train of thought needs to leave the station.
I center myself with a deep breath, waiting for our turn to take the stage. Jiwoo plays and sings an Olivia Rodrigo song on the piano, accompanied by a music track kid on violin.
When Jiwoo finishes, Nick squeezes my hand—the one he’s barely let go of all night. “Ready?”
I turn to him, a reply on my lips, but Nick’s smile is blinding, eyes blazing with anticipation, and it looks good on him. A smile and a nod is all I manage in the face of such passion.
The piano faces the wings, off to the sides of the stage, to give the audience Nick’s profile.
I stand upstage and to the left so he won’t have to turn his head away from the audience as we sing together.
Naomi’s even further upstage. Goosebumps break out on my skin when Nick begins, the reverberation from the piano echoing in my palm.
Music pours from me, and my nerves settle into bone-deep surety. The world makes sense when I sing, smoothing out jagged worries, covering the holes of doubt. But singing with Nick? Combined, our music creates something wholly new. And I’m full to bursting with the joy of it.
When it’s time for Nick’s costume change, I slide onto the piano bench and pick up where he left off. Seamless. My body heats, remembering how he helped me relax earlier. But it worked, I nailed it.
Nick goes offstage to change into navy dress pants and a light gray button-down that stretches across his chest and hugs his shoulders.
And when he comes back, the audience whoops and cheers like a Magic Mike show.
I hold in my own wolf whistle as he walks out.
No, not walks. Struts. One side of his mouth turns up in a smirk that I wish I could kiss, but I’ve got to get through this number without jumping him.
Nick sits next to me and takes over playing.
When I sing the line, asking Naomi, the store clerk, if Emmett, aka Nick, is hot, the entire audience chants, “Hot, hot, hot!”
Nick rolls his eyes, but his cheeks turn pink. He’s a magnet for my gaze, my heart pounding a dangerous rhythm as I drink him in, but I don’t care. My heart led me to Nick in the first place.
Applause snaps me out of my Nick-fueled haze. He grabs my hand and pulls me closer so we can bow together. Naomi runs out for a quick curtsy, then disappears to change for the next number.
Nick gestures to me, giving me a moment of audience applause. Then I return the favor, smiling at him until my cheeks hurt. His mouth opens, but snaps shut, eyes darting out to the spectators. Had he forgotten we’re in a room full of people, too?
We run offstage, breathless and laughing, and my heart’s going to beat right out of my chest. Nick hugs me, damp with sweat from the stage lights, but it makes him smell even better.
Hannah and Dmitry wait in the wings. She’s gorgeous with her hair slicked back in a bun, and a burnt orange dress highlighting her tanned skin. They’re next on deck—Hannah performing different styles of dance while Dmitry accompanies her on violin.
Hannah reaches for a hug. “You two were amazing!”
“Thanks.” I smile, my hand finding Nick’s. He tugs me away, but I plant myself, laughing and whispering to Hannah, “Break legs!”
Then I let Nick pull me, not to our seats, but to the back corner of the stage. “Shouldn’t we sit in the audience?”
He turns me, so my back is pressed to his chest, hands draping possessively over my middle. Nick presses his face to the crook of my neck, trailing his nose up my jaw, and goosebumps cover my arms. “In a minute.”
This far back, the tab curtain running perpendicular to the stage hides us from the audience. Tucked between the tab and the last curtain leg, no one can see us, even though I see a sliver of the stage. Hannah’s back is to me, her muscles flexing and fluid as she moves like water.
Emboldened by our privacy, I spin and push Nick against the wall, tilting my head up for a kiss.
He captures my lips, hands snaking under my tank top to press against the bare skin of my back, drawing me closer. My thighs squeeze together. It’s like we’re teenagers, sneaking kisses and touches backstage.
But more than that, it’s Nick. He makes me feel young again, when this was new and exciting. My hands roam across his chest, pushing the lapels of his jacket to the sides.
He pulls away, panting. “Can I touch you?”
“Yes.” The high of performing, the feel of his hands on me—I’m so hungry for him.
His hand slides under my shirt, palming my breast. I bite back a gasp as my nipple peaks from his touch. Nick’s eyes are wide and dark, utterly wild, holding my gaze in challenge.
Heat pools between my thighs from his rough words and proprietary hands. Mellow, sweet Nick Harper has come undone, turned fierce and wild in the dark. For me.
“More,” I beg, aching for him.
He grunts, flipping me back around and pulling me hard against his chest. It would’ve knocked the air from my lungs if I’d remembered to breathe. But I can’t. Breath, thought, hell, even sense, have fled. Nick’s hand skims down my stomach, under my skirt.
He traces a finger up my seam, over my panties. “I’m gonna make you feel so good.”
“Please,” I whimper, knees buckling.
“I want you wet and satisfied. I want your body to forget every other person who’s ever touched you.” With the precision of an expert piano player, he draws my underwear to the side and circles my clit with two fingers.
I rest my head against his shoulder, boneless and weak in his arms. “You’re going to ruin me for anyone else.”
“Good.” He smiles against my neck. His lips stretch, his stubble scratching deliciously at my sensitive skin.
His hand moves from my clit and I whine in protest. He grunts, slipping a finger inside me.
My breath hiccups in my throat, muscles clenching around him as he pumps, with agonizing slowness, in and out. “You’ve already ruined me, June.”
“Nick,” I pant, a rush of warmth drenching his hand. I hear how wet I am, the noise is obscene and I should be embarrassed, but I’m so turned on, so close to coming already, that I don’t care.
He growls, a low, satisfied hum in his chest. “I love how wet you are for me.”
Dimly, I register applause from the audience. How many acts have performed since we snuck back here? “Cabaret’s almost over. They’ll be looking for us.”
“Do you want me to stop?” He pauses his ministrations, and I can’t help my hips from rotating, seeking out the pleasure of his hand.
A whine builds in the back of my throat. “I’ll kill you if you stop.”
He laughs again, his mouth so close to my ear that his hot breath sends shivers down my spine. “Then you’ll have to come fast. Can you do that for me?”
“Yes.” I’ll promise him anything as long as he doesn’t stop.
“Good girl.” He adds a second finger, his thumb moving to press hard on my clit, rubbing tight circles. Working me over without mercy.
I widen my stance, needing him deeper, faster, harder.
If I was dripping before, his praise makes me positively gush.
His free hand travels up, pinching my nipple over my shirt and I cry out.
There’s a reason I’m supposed to be quiet, I’m sure of it.
But I can’t remember. My body’s too busy memorizing the feel of Nick’s hand, losing myself to the intensity of his touch.
As he carries me to a dizzying height, my moans grow louder.
“You have to be quiet, June. Otherwise we’ll get in trouble.” His voice is ragged, gravelly, and it scrapes across my skin.
“I—I can’t.” A thrill races through me, flames licking at my insides. I’m so close that it only makes me moan louder.
His hand moves from my breast, up my throat, to my mouth. “Suck.”
My lips close around him, tongue swirling over his digits. He bites back a curse, and my core clenches as need sears me, desperate for more than his fingers in my mouth. I suck harder to swallow the groan trapped in my throat.
“You feel so good,” he whispers. “Fuck, I wish you could be loud. I want everybody to know it’s me that makes you scream.”
My mouth drops open, voice a raw mess, murmuring, “Nick.”
“That’s right, angel.” His breath hitches, tension mounting in his body where we touch.
“Yes,” I keen, lost to the longing and hunger he wrenches from me. I want to be that for him, his angel.
“Say my name again.” His hand speeds up, fingers pistoning inside me as he presses hard on my clit, and my legs shake. “I make you feel like this. I make you come.”
“Nick!” That blazing fire explodes inside me—fireworks shooting off, bursting, straining against my skin. It swallows me whole, consumes me. But the fire doesn’t leave ashes in its wake, only embers waiting to be stoked again. By him.
He strokes me through my orgasm, helping me come down. When he removes his hand, I have to stop my thighs from slamming together. I want to keep him with me. Instead, he brings his fingers to his mouth and licks them. I whimper, leaning all my weight into him.
“Knew you’d taste good,” he groans.
“And I knew you had nice hands, but damn. Didn’t know they could do that.”
He turns me to face him, cradling the back of my head. I feel so safe when he holds me like this.
“I wish you didn’t have dorm duties,” he says.
“Me too.” I slip my arms around his waist, cheek pressed to his chest, breathing hard. “More than you know.”
“Believe me, I win the wishing competition.”
“Hmm?” I’m barely able to stand without his arms around me, and my brain is fuzzy, but the intensity of his words sparks something.
Applause from the audience echo backstage, more thunderous than any others.
“Must be over.” Nick tucks my hair behind my ear.
I hold him tighter, loath to break the spell of this moment. Everything’s so simple when we’re in the shadows of the wings. With my cheek to his chest, the thumping of his heart is loud and strong. Like the ticking of a clock.