Dance Around It (Strip in the City, Book 1)

23 • The Audition

Not that I was studying him like a Van Gogh I wanted to make out with.

He's just being nice, Maren. He's a nice person. Don't for one second think West might actually like you, you idiot.

"Well, goodnight, West," I said in a breathy voice.

"Goodnight, Maren."

I gave him a finger wave before turning towards the subway stairs. I could feel the hot press of his gaze on my back as he watched me. Don't turn around, Maren. Just keep walking. Go home.

This was what professional boundaries looked like.

But, in the end, I couldn't help myself. I turned to find West watching me with a look that made me weak in the knees. Under the press of his dark eyes, I was a feeble, baby fawn that had wandered down a busy set of subway stairs, trying not to get knocked down.

"West!" I called out, fighting through the scrum of people. He closed the distance between us, easily meeting me at the top of the stairs.

This close, with the city lights shining down on us, liking West felt inevitable. Like I'd been cast in a role to fall in love with him. The universe kept pushing us together towards some predetermined end where I got my heart broken, and he became a star.

Only... I wasn't a leading lady. Far from it. I was the girl who cheered from the sidelines and made sure the main cast got good contracts. And even if West had been cast as my hero—the hero didn't fall for his agent.

I tried to hide my disappointment by looking away from his too-handsome face. Besides, in my experience, guys that turned me into a puddle of hormones were not boyfriend material. My vagina had terrible taste in men.

Instead of doing or saying something stupid, I swallowed down the desire to jump into his arms and said, "Don't forget. Friday at ten for group auditions, and noon for individual." I wetted my lips. "I'll bring your resume. Don't be late."

West studied each corner of my face, and I wasn't sure what he was looking for or if he found it. "Wouldn't miss it."

I waved once again before making my way down the subway stairs on wobbly baby fawn legs, and this time, despite feeling his gaze on my back, I didn't turn around.

***

Friday morning, I was up before my alarm. Gatsby, who was curled at the foot of my bed, hissed when I jostled him to get up and batted me with a furry paw.

For whatever reason, his mood felt portentous. I showered, taking my time washing my hair and shaving my legs just to do something with my hands. My anxiety was already at a ten, and the day hadn't even started.

I tied on a robe and glanced around my bedroom, hugging my arms around my chest. I was nervous for West. I was nervous for my company. I was nervous for myself. I'd put my hope and time and energy into West, and so much was riding on him landing this role. All I needed was for everything to go perfectly.

Justin Ackers was the casting director for Dante, and I knew him to be fair and open-minded. He was looking for the best actor for the role and didn't care about fancy resumes. As long as West performed like I knew he could, I felt confident in his ability to get a callback.

I spent over an hour stress-changing clothes until everything I owned was in a puddle in front of my closet. Why did nothing fit right on days when you needed to look impressive? I was sure my sister Christiane would show up with Patrick, and let's be honest, I wanted to look like the sister who was winning, despite all evidence to the contrary.