Bad Romeo (Starcrossed #1)(6)
Author: Leisa Rayven

Erika studies us for a few moments.

I realize Holt and I have both stopped breathing.

“All right, you two,” she says. “Last chance to impress me.”

Holt glances at me, and I see my desperation mirrored in him. He wants this. Maybe as much as I do.

Erika leans into me and lowers her voice. “He moves, you move, Miss Taylor. Understand? Breathe his air. Find a connection.” She glances at Holt. “You have to let her in, Ethan. Don’t think about it, just do it. Three strikes and you’re out, remember?”

He nods and swallows.

“You have three minutes to prepare.”

She leaves, and Holt and I move to the back of the room. He stands close and he smells good. Not that I should be noticing something like that, but my brain is looking for a distraction from my nerves, and his good smell is it.

“Look,” he says as he leans down. “I need this, okay? Don’t screw it up for me.”

I flush with anger. “Excuse me? You have just as much chance of screwing it up as I do. And what did Erika mean when she said ‘Three strikes and you’re out’?”

He leans in closer but doesn’t look at me. “This is the third year I’ve auditioned. If I don’t get in this time, I’m done. They won’t let me re-audition. Then my father would say a big, fat ‘I told you so’ and expect me to go to medical school. I’ve worked hard for this. I need it, okay?”

I’m confused. I’ve been watching him all day. Are these people blind?

“Why haven’t you gotten in before? You’re really good.” In a disturbingly intense kind of way.

His expression softens for a moment. “I find it hard to … mesh … with other performers. Apparently Erika believes that’s an important attribute for her actors to have.”

“It didn’t look like you had any problem with Zoe.”

He scoffs. “There was no connection there. I felt nothing, as usual. Erika could tell.”

I glance over at the dark-haired lady who is studying us. “She’s auditioned you before?”

He nods. “Every year. She wants to offer me a place, but she won’t give me a free pass. If I can’t prove I can do this particular exercise, which I’ve completely sucked at each time I’ve auditioned, then it’s over.”

“One minute!” Erika yells.

My heart rate kicks into overdrive. “Listen, just do whatever it takes to ‘connect’ with me, okay? Because if I don’t get this, I have to go back to my overprotective parents, and I seriously can’t fluffing cope with that. I know this might come as a surprise, but you’re not the only one with something to lose here.”

He frowns. “Did you … did you just say ‘fluffing’?”

I feel a fierce blush engulf my throat. He’s laughing at me, just because I refuse to curse my head off like every other fluffer in this place. “Shut up.”

His smirk widens. “Seriously? Fluffing?”

“Stop it! You’re wasting time.”

He stops laughing and sighs. He seems more relaxed, but I’m guessing that’s because all his anxiety has transferred to me.

“Look, Taylor—”

“My name is Cassie.”

“Whatever. Just relax, okay? We can do this. Look into my eyes and … Jesus, I don’t know … make me feel something. Don’t lose concentration. That’s what’s screwed everyone else so far. Just focus on me, and I’ll focus on you. Okay?”

“Fine.”

“And don’t say ‘fluffing’ any more, ’cause that shit cracks me up. You know it’s a porn term, right?”

No, I didn’t know it was a fluffing porn term. Do I look like a porn-watching pervert?

I exhale and try to focus. My thoughts are chaotic. I need to be calm.

“Hey,” he says as he touches my arm. It doesn’t help my concentration at all. “We can do this. Look at me.”

I look up into his eyes. His lashes are ridiculous.

As he gazes at me, something jolts straight into the pit of my stomach.

He must feel it, too, because his mouth drops open, and he inhales sharply. “Holy shit.” He blinks but doesn’t look away.

The energy crackling between us is too intense. I close my eyes and exhale.

“Taylor?”

“Cassie.”

“Cassie,” he whispers, his voice soft and so very desperate. “Stay with me. Please. I can’t do this without you.”

I swallow and nod. Then Erika yells at us, and we walk to the center of the room.

We turn to face each other, only a foot apart.

He’s much taller than I am, so I stare at his chest, watching it rise and fall as he tries to calm himself.

“Ready?” he whispers.

I want to yell, “No, God, please, I’m not fluffing ready!” but instead I say, “Yeah. Sure,” like this wasn’t life or death, or at the very least, really important.

I take a deep breath before looking up. His expression is less desperate now, and it feels like I’m seeing him—really seeing him—for the first time. I feel his energy. It’s like a wave of heat all around him. We stand there for a few seconds, just breathing, and as we gaze into each other’s eyes, the air between us solidifies, connecting us like two parts of the same person.

He raises his hand, and I follow, as if we have thousands of tiny strings between our arms, tugging them into alignment. I match his speed exactly, moving when he moves, breathing when he breathes.

We move again, and our bodies are perfectly aligned. It feels so natural. More natural than I’ve felt in a long time. Maybe ever.

We step closer. He leans forward, and I lean back. I tilt sideways, and he follows. The invisible strings tighten between us. Our movements become faster, but every one is perfect and precise. Intricate choreography that we’ve never learned, but our muscles somehow remember.

It’s thrilling.

We’re in the zone. That magical state performers sometimes achieve when everything is flowing and open. Heart, mind, body. I’ve felt it before, but never with another person.

It’s amazing.

Smiles spread on our faces. I notice Holt is kind of beautiful when he smiles.

Our arms are above our heads, and as we bring them down, our palms come together. His hands are big and warm. My skin tingles where we touch. Then I’m looking into his eyes, and we’re both not breathing, and I don’t know why.