“This is so perfect!” Camila shouts over the song. She stretches over the bar to talk to us. “I’ve been stressing out all day, trying to find you a place to crash.”
The bottom of my stomach collapses.
What?
I struggle to ask at first, but I find my voice. “What happened to your couch?” My throat throbs. I told her that I’d be out of her place in a week and a half, the day I receive my first paycheck. She said that was fine.
“My extended family is here, and they want to stay closer to the strip. So they’re going to use my place. They surprised me with the news this morning. I’m really sorry.” Her green-shadowed eyes apologize enough. “John’s brothers are crashing at his place, so he has a full house too. I’ve called a few girlfriends, but no one is answering tonight.”
I’m essentially on my own.
“It’s okay,” I tell her, wracking my brain for the cost of a room at The Masquerade. I can tap into my savings until my paycheck comes in, I think. But what if my parents snoop into my account and see what I’ve spent my money on? They believe I’m receiving free room and board, so they’d question the charge. It’s my only choice though. “I can figure it out. A few nights here won’t be that much.”
“No, no,” she forces with giant eyes. “I would feel terrible if you had to spend your money because of this.” She reaches out and latches onto Nikolai’s wrist. “You’re friends with Thora, right?”
“Best friends,” he says deeply. And he curves his strong arm around the slant of my hips. He tugs me to his side. Thump. Thump. Thump.
Cardiac arrest is in sight again.
I feel winded. I look up at him for answers, but he pins his focus on Camila. Not me.
“So you won’t mind?”
“Not at all,” he says. Wait…what is happening here? “I have a spare couch.”
Is he offering—
“Thank you so much.” Camila releases her grip on him, and she falls to the flats of her feet. She nods to me. “I’m so busy tonight, but I’ll see you later this week, right?”
I nod, realizing she’s telling me goodbye. She waves before she darts over to someone in a suit-and-tie, decked out in blue glow sticks.
Nikolai’s hand rises to the back of my neck, a place he’s fond of touching, I’ve concluded. “You’re glaring at me,” he states.
“This is my confused look.” I scrunch my face to relax the muscles. Frustrated, I give up the lame attempt.
He’s trying hard not to smile. “Let’s go, my demon,” he says, tossing cash on the bar counter.
“Go where?”
He pockets his wallet. “My place. You can sleep on my couch for a few days, whatever you need.”
I shake my head on instinct, my heart and stomach performing intricate choreography. “Why are you helping me?”
The muscles in his arms flex: stiff, unbending posture. “I feel responsible for your wellbeing,” he says. “And don’t ask me why. Because I don’t have an answer.” I watch his gray irises peruse my features in a languid stroke, like he’s caressing my cheek.
Even outside the gym, he has serious bedroom eyes.
It’s almost too much to handle. I exhale a shallow breath. “Just tonight,” I tell him.
“Whatever you need,” he repeats. I wish I could tap into his mind, even for a moment. To see how he sees me. For as much as Nikolai conveys, he’s still a mystery.
And I’m the curious girl who’ll step into it. Time and time again.
Act Ten
1:52 a.m.
I’ve ultimately decided that with good luck comes bad luck. There isn’t plain good fortune, at least not for me. On our way to the lobby elevators, I stopped by the bathroom and discovered that I started my period. Worst timing, considering my suitcase is at Camila’s place and I only have one emergency tampon in my clutch purse.
My thoughts are tumbling on all the comfortable things I’m abandoning in her apartment. Maybe one of the hotel’s stores will have a survival kit. Including tampons. Please.
“Where’s home for you?” he asks, punching the number 42. The elevator groans before rising. He already swiped his hotel keycard into a slit above the buttons, reserved for AE artists. Luxury suites, a perk that not many hotels offer performers.
It takes me a minute to process this question and reject my worries. “Cincinnati.” I don’t mention Ohio State in Columbus. I wore a collegiate shirt that first night at The Red Death, and he’s observant enough to put two-and-two together. “What about you?”
He pockets his keycard. “My home is the circus.”
“Timo said he was born in Munich,” I remember.
Nikolai stiffens at the mention of his brother. I forgot that they had a small fight tonight. I internally grimace. Way to go.
But he alleviates any awkwardness by saying, “My mother traveled with the circus, even pregnant. Where it went, she went. Moving around is all I really know.” He rests his shoulders against the elevator wall. “Of all my siblings, Timo was the only one born outside the United States. And he likes to tote that fact around like a prize.”
I try to absorb these facts and let them distract me from my swirling thoughts. Tampons. It’s truly sad, but I can’t stop wishing I had a beautiful pink box of them. Actually, any color box. I’m not picky. I’d even take the giant, uncomfortable cardboard applicator kind.
“You’re nervous,” he points out. I really wish he wasn’t so good at reading body language. I must be standing with my arms glued to my sides.
“I’m not,” I refute, trying to loosen my limbs. I end up cracking my knuckles which sounds violent.
He snaps off his red glow necklace. “And you’re a bad liar.”
“I just…I don’t have my bag.” There. I let it out. Now I feel…not any better. Fantastic.
“I probably have everything you need.”
I snort, on accident. I cover my face with my hand. A serious face-palm. I’m feeling a lot lamer than usual. I mean, I know I’m half-lame most of the time, with flat comebacks and unintentional demonic glares. But I’m reaching new levels.
“A toothbrush,” he guesses, playing into it like a game. I peek at him through my fingers and realize he’s smiling. “I have an extra one, never used.”
“That’s…convenient.”
“One of my brothers is a kleptomaniac and likes to steal pointless things from the gift store.” He adds quickly, “Don’t tell anyone I said that.”
“Timo?” I wonder.
“Luka. He’s nineteen and another pain in my ass.” Even as he says it, there’s an incredible amount of love in his voice.
The elevator makes a stop on the twentieth floor. I expect more people to gather on, but it’s empty, just delaying our ride.
“Pajamas,” he guesses.
I didn’t even think about that. My suitcase will never know how much I miss it. “I’m going to sleep in what I have on.” I immobilize for the thousandth time as he inspects my long coat and stilettos again. Probably imagining what little there is underneath. The corset wire is definitely poking into my boob.
“You can sleep in one of my shirts,” he offers, not as a sexual advance or anything. I think it’s a friendly gesture. But then those gray irises inadvertently tear through my defenses and practically shed my clothes—I can’t tell anymore. That’s not a look you give to a friend.