We’re too close for me to miss how he stiffens beneath me.

“They offered you a spot on the show?” His voice holds no emotion, just the question, but I know how loaded it is.

“Not yet,” I say quietly, looking up to meet his eyes.

“I’m sure they will.” He drops a kiss on my nose. “How could they not?”

“You’d be happy for me?”

“Pep, I know you don’t believe me, but I want your success more than I want my own.” He pushes one strong hand into the hair at my neck. “And I know you probably say that’s easy for me to say because I already have my own.”

I chuckle because that sounds exactly like what I would say.

“But if this happens,” he says, stretching his thumb to trace the curve of my mouth. “I’ll be dialing those eight-hundred numbers every week with the rest of America to vote for you over and over.”

“You would?”

“I’d even make Bristol vote for you.”

I shake against him laughing. He pushes the hair back off my face, bending to kiss me. His hand cups my jaw. Our tongues get tangled up. He leisurely, slowly, wetly, sweetly fucks my mouth into submission until I’m limp against him and basically just receiving his tongue.

He pulls back, eyes glazed, lap hard beneath me.

“You’d better tell me how it went before we get started, or I’ll never hear the story.”

What is he talking about? What story? I lean up, pulling his head back down to me, sucking at his chin, the stubble harsh against my tongue. He smells so good. I follow the scent down his neck and pull his warm skin hard into my mouth. I want to mark him. I want all those little fangirls wearing their Mrs. Rhyson Gray T-shirts to know he has a girl and she sucks hard on his neck.

“Baby,” he laughs, pulling back. “The audition.”

Oh. The audition. That story.

It takes me about thirty minutes to tell him about a five-minute audition because I walk him through every emotion, every drop of sweat, every expression on the judges’ faces.

“I wish you’d been there.” I link our fingers on my thigh and lean my head on his chest. “You were the only one missing. I felt Mama, Grammy, and Pops there with me. I know you don’t believe in stuff like that, but I know what I felt.”

He’s so quiet, I look up. I can’t read his face.

“Rhyson?”

“No, yeah. I believe you. I wish I could’ve been there too.” He smiles, brushing his thumb over my wrist. “So you were at the end. Then what happened?”

“Oh my gosh.” I sit up, turning to face him, my knees on either side of his thighs. “This is the best part. John Malcolm himself comes up to me.”

“He did, did he?” His eyes narrow.

“Rhyson, be nice. I know you don’t like him, but he was really nice.”

“Of course he was. What’d he say?”

“He said, and I’m not making this up, ‘I look forward to working with you.’” I let out an eeep. “Can you believe that? He actually said he looks forward to working with me.”

“That’s amazing, Pep,” he says quietly, lashes lowered, hiding his eyes from me.

“Hey, I know you wanted me to come on tour, but Luke says things start pretty soon for the show. The rest of the group has already been selected.”

“Luke was there?” His lashes lift, eyes sharpening. “You spoke to Luke? When? What’d he say?”

Surely he’s not jealous of Luke? Or still feel weird about that lap dance in the video?

“Baby, I barely spoke to Luke. He was there talking with John Malcolm because he’s about to go on tour himself in the next few weeks.” I place my hands on either side of his face, dropping a light kiss on his unsmiling mouth. “He just mentioned that they do a lot of pre-production stuff before the live shows start airing next month.”

“So when do you think you’ll know for sure?” Rhyson asks.

“They said very soon since they’re down to the wire.” I shrug my shoulders. “Could even be tomorrow.

Rhyson nods, his face neutral. I’m not used to it. He’s so expressive with me, holding nothing back. And right now, for whatever reason, that guard I remember seeing slam up after he played the piano that first night, is blocking me out. I’m ready to probe when my phone rings from the leather ottoman where I dropped it. I look at the screen lighting up with a number I don’t recognize. What if it’s them? What if it’s John Malcolm offering me a shot that could catapult me into the destiny I’ve been working for all my life? I can’t move.

“You gonna get that?” Rhyson grabs the phone and hands it to me.

I nod and answer, walking a few steps away to lean against the pool table.

“Hello?”

“Is this Kai Pearson?” A woman asks from the other end.

So not John Malcolm. I’m sure he’s busy.

“Yes, yeah. Hello, this is Kai.”

“Kai, this is Julie Schwimmer, one of the producers from Total Package.”

“Hi, Ms. Schwimmer.” The words get locked in my throat for a second, so I take a deep breath. “How are you?”

“I’m great. I gotta tell you, we were blown away by your performance today. You were one of the strongest auditions we had this season.”

Oh my gosh. Oh my gosh. Oh my gosh.

“Thank you.” I grin so hard it hurts. “Thank you so much.”

“Unfortunately, we’re going in a different direction,” she says. “We have no doubt we’ll see you again. Your talent is truly remarkable and will take you so far.”

But not this season. Not with them. Not on this show.

This conversation started with my heart as a balloon so inflated with joy I thought it would burst. And it just did. She stuck a pin right through it, but the sound of it popping didn’t even make me jump. I guess on some level I knew to brace for it. Another delay. More waiting. Still not my turn.

“Kai? Are you still there?” Julie Schwimmer asks, her voice soft.

“Yes. I’m sorry.” Hurt and disappointment take turns pushing a lump up my throat, but I gulp it back down. “Yes. I heard you. I understand. Thank you for . . . for listening. For the opportunity. Um, for the chance, I mean.”

Lord, get me off this call without blubbering. Rhyson comes to stand in front of me, frowning so hard his eyebrows almost meet.

“What are they saying?” he whisper-demands. “What’s wrong?”

I shake my head, dropping my eyes to my boots to give me time to clear away the tears.

“You’re really talented, Kai,” Julie says. “It was a tough decision. Good luck.”

I stand there with the phone against my chest for a few seconds, feeling the last of my hope drain away. What happened? I just knew. I felt them there with me. John Malcolm said he looked forward to working with me. I don’t understand.

“Pep, talk to me. What happened?”

Rhyson unwittingly echoes my question. I don’t know what to tell him, so I just tell him what they told me.

“They went in a different direction.”

His arms immediately encircle me, pressing my head to his shoulder. As soon as he touches me, whatever was holding me together, lets go, like it was waiting for him to take over. And the tears won’t stop. I cry so hard my chest hurts. My eyes burn. My stomach muscles ache. Rhyson sits up on the pool table and brings me with him, sitting me across his legs and letting me soak his T-shirt.

“It’s their loss, baby.” His cool fingers wipe at the tears on my hot cheeks. “Your big break is soon. Someone will see what you’ve got, just like I see it. And you’ll be ready.”

God, I love him. Why am I refusing to go with him on tour? I’ve quit The Note. The girls’ dance competition is over. I could quit teaching too. Grady’s already found a new assistant. Mama’s medical bills are paid off. San is making good money at Spotted. He could handle the rent by himself. I could move in with Rhyson. Go on tour with him for six weeks. Come back here and start grinding again. Dub has several dance jobs lined up for me, and I’ll have more time to audition if I’m able to focus without the distraction of three jobs.