A sigh of relief rushed through me when I looked up and saw my destination, its simple structure branded by a red 3-D sign lit by bulbs and spelling Gravity in bold capitals, with a smaller set of letters below reading Dance Complex.
It was Hollywood’s go-to for any dance gig imaginable. Gravity bred the best, was owned by the best, and was taught by the best. I was proud to call myself one of the Lifers, dancers who spent the majority of their time going from class to class, busting ass day and night.
I hopped onto the curb and started at the roar of an approaching engine. My head snapped toward the sound, and my eyes went wide as time seemed to slow.
All I saw was black. From the helmet completely cloaking the rider’s face, to the tattoos wrapped around a rock-hard bicep, to his tank top and black jeans, to the crotch rocket squeezed between his muscular thighs. He was coming too close for comfort, and I was frozen.
I didn’t notice the puddle that had formed in the street just inches from me, not until he took a sharp turn, leaning so far left I was certain he and his bike would scrape the asphalt before he completely bit it. But that wasn’t what happened at all.
He was only inches from the curb—from me—when his tires ran through a puddle, catching the street water in the treads. My mouth fell open as chips of rock, dirt, and rain stained my clothes before he righted himself and screeched to a halt a few feet away.
I looked down to find my white spandex skirt, pink tights, and black sports bra completely destroyed. My bare midriff was caked in dirty water. The tight bun in my hair, which I’d so carefully prepared for today, started to fall apart at the slightest touch. I was a total mess, and the clock was still ticking.
“What the hell?” The scream tore from my mouth faster than I could stop it.
The asshole in black stepped casually off his bike and removed his helmet while peering at me with a sideways smirk. Then he shook out his disheveled hair and rubbed his fingers through it as if he hadn’t just ruined my potentially awesome day.
“Sorry, love.” His eyes lazily dragged over my entire length. “You’ll be right.”
I was speechless as I stared back, and not because he had the kind of hair that was made for dirty sex and a gaze so piercing my heart jolted in my chest. None of that mattered. I was speechless because I couldn’t go to an audition looking like I’d just mud wrestled in a pigpen with an angry hog. What am I going to do now? Rage filled every inch of my insides, and I started to shake.
His cocky grin said he wasn’t sorry in the least. And as if the man couldn’t have been more of an asshole, the prick had to have an Australian accent. My eyes narrowed with disdain, and I tightened my grip on my phone. With as much adrenaline as was coursing through my body, I wouldn’t have been surprised if I crushed it into a million pieces. I’d never hated a man with more conviction.
I stormed away from the curb—from him and his black deathtrap on wheels—and flew up the stairs to Gravity, immediately eyeing the large clock behind the desk of the receptionist, Wendy. I had ten minutes to figure out how to fix the hot mess I’d become.
“Hey, Kai,” Wendy said with excitement lighting up her entire demeanor. She’d worked there almost as long as I’d been dancing there. Her face fell as she took in my disaster of an outfit. “Oh no.”
I passed her in a rush. “I need to get to wardrobe. If you see Wayne, tell him I need him?”
She nodded emphatically, her sympathetic eyes plastered to my waist. “Of course. He’s around here somewhere. I’ll find him.”
I ran the rest of the way down the hall, pushed through door marked Costumes, and flipped on the light. Having spent so much time at Gravity over the years had its benefits, and this was one of them—access to the small wardrobe room that held designer dance outfits, new and old, donated for various reasons. Emergencies like this were one of them.
The room was the size of a master bedroom. So many opportunities passed through Gravity’s front doors, from random celebrity drop-ins to surprise video spotlights for social media, that it wouldn’t be the first time an outfit had to be replaced before an audition or a videotaping. Something here would work for my audition, but I became overwhelmed by the array of possibilities.
I ran my hands through the colorful material, wishing I knew more about the job than what Sheena had already told me. I couldn’t afford to waste time calling her back and begging for more information. I needed to pick an outfit and get my ass out onto the stage, where at least another two dozen auditionees would already be, more prepared than I for the unknown.
When the door to the room swung open, I was overcome by relief. “Oh my God, Wayne, I’m so glad you’re here.”
My best friend took two long strides to me and wrapped me in his arms. “I heard there was an emergency.”
I sighed and stared longingly at the row of colorful fabric. “It was an unfortunate puddle accident. I need to change, but”—I slapped my sides—“I don’t know where to start.” I turned to him with a pout. “Help me. What should I wear to an audition for a part in a musical I have no chance of getting?”
He couldn’t hide the amusement in his eyes. “Did Sheena tell you more about it, or are you just being dramatic?”
When I growled at him, he laughed then turned me at the waist to face him completely. “Why are you overthinking this? You love musicals. You need a job. And you’re a goddess on that dance floor.” He waved a hand over my attire. “Just replace what you have on and get out there.”
I swallowed, hating that I was letting the universe control my mood so much. This negative self-talk thing was not like me. “You’re right. But will you help me?”
He smiled. “Sit tight. I’ve got this.”
He zoomed around the room, his spiked red hair peeking above the racks of clothes as he pulled items piece by piece from their hangers. When he reached where I was standing again, a huge wolfish grin on his face, I had to smile back.
“Okay, I’m not giving you options. You don’t have time for that. So”—he pulled out a black top similar to the one I already had on but scrunched in the middle between the cups—“this will make your boobs look bigger. Here.”
He thrust it toward me, and I immediately started to change, not taking offense at his comment about my breasts. They weren’t flat by any means, but I never said no to a little pick-me-up.
He handed me black fishnet leggings next to replace the pink ones I was already stripping from my dark olive skin. “Those tights needed to go in the trash anyway, honey. Maybe the universe is doing you a service.”
I snorted, grabbed the replacement pair, and rolled the fabric over my toes. “You might be right.” Next, I tugged on the jean shorts he handed me before strapping my heels back on. “I need to go.” My heart beat fast when I glanced at the clock—less than five minutes. “Thanks, babe.”
“Anytime. Knock ’em dead, Zelda.”
I laughed at the ridiculous nickname, which I’d earned at our first Comic Mania Convention three years before, when I dressed up as my favorite superhero. Then I fled from the room and down the hallway of Gravity.
Classes were in session, so the halls were mostly quiet until I reached the large double doors of the theater. The check-in line had dwindled, so it only took a minute to grab my badge and hop on stage with the rest of the hopefuls. I found the last open spot at the end of the back row, finally feeling like I could breathe again.