“Which brother would that be?” Timo’s brows furrow slightly as he skims his cards. A five and a seven against John’s eight.
“Oh you know, the one who gets off on tattooing question marks and arrows on girls’ asses.”
I internally cringe.
Timo taps the table, and John deals him a ten. I add the numbers in my head quickly. Nikolai’s little brother busts at twenty-two.
“Fuck,” Timo curses, setting his hands on his head. Then he glances at me. “Nikolai tattooed your ass last night? That was you?” He appraises me swiftly like he’s trying to fit an image to the memory.
He was there? I wonder if I saw him… “No…” I trail off, half in thought as I scrutinize his features a little more. “He pierced me.”
Timo’s face breaks into a giant grin. “That’s right. You’re the titty piercing. I thought I recognized you.”
Titty piercing. My eyes bulge. That’s what I’m being referred to as?
Timo snaps his fingers in remembrance. “I even cheered for Nikolai to lose that round.”
So he was the lone guy, rooting for me. Wait—I hone in on the way he phrased that. He just wanted his brother to fail that time, not necessarily hoping I’d win for any other reason. Way to go, Thora.
His gaze flits down my body for a quick second. “You look different in the day, you know…maybe it’s because I’m sober right now.” He stretches his arms over his head and turns back to the table like let’s do this thing.
Just like that, the ordeal rolls off his back, like it was a small moment, insignificant and ordinary. It encourages me to do the same, even if Nikolai believes it was monumental.
“The world has laws for a reason,” John tells him as he deals the cards. “You should abide by them. It’s called being an adult.”
“Really?” Timo asks. “I think it’s called being a stiff.”
I ask John, “Are you one of those people who never cross the street on a red signal?”
“Yeah, because I want to fucking live. I like my life.”
“Really?” Timo says again, actual surprise coating his face. “You should be an actor, man, because you have the whole ‘I hate everything’ vibe pretty down pat.”
John’s gloomy face actually darkens, and Timo connects with it, locking eyes, never shying away. His pink lips slowly curve upward the longer John glowers.
Then Timo puckers his lips, kissing the air and winks at him.
“God,” John groans and looks to the ceiling like why me? I’ve had those moments with God myself. Usually I feel like I’m complaining to the ceiling tiles though.
Timo waves his hand to stay over his cards, and he wins the next round. John shakes his head, aggravated the longer he has to endure Timo. After a few more hands, a server swings by and asks for drink orders. I pass since I may head to the gym later, for more practice.
“Can’t,” Timo tells the server. “I have a show tonight.”
His easy brush-off of the liquor surprises me. Maybe because he seems more irresponsible than I thought. But being in John’s presence doesn’t help. He makes everyone under seventy-five look like a rebellious teen.
Timo wins another round and throws his hands in the air. He laughs into a grin as he looks to me, and he points. “Why didn’t you tell me you’re lucky, Thora James?”
I think back to the piercing. “I’m usually not.”
“You are for me,” he says. “Stay comfortable. We’re in this for the long haul.”
John grumbles under his breath like Timo just speared him in the chest. And he starts dealing again. Timo leans forward, and when he glances my way, with sparkling, dazzled eyes—full of youthful energy—he ropes me in. Lassoing me with charm. Just like his older brother.
Nikolai possesses a darker version of it, but it’s a talent that I find myself envying again. It’s something that separates an ordinary person into something captivating. Spellbinding and extraordinary.
I can’t take my eyes off Timo, and he’s not even on stage.
I wonder if this is a gift you’re born with. If it’s something that I’ll never be able to learn. Part of me, the more cynical side that I try to stomp away, believes so.
But the brightest side says—maybe. Maybe I can be something more than I am. If I can learn at all, the best place is here. Vegas. Where the Kotovas reside.
Act Six
I lie wide awake, not because I’m tormented by tomorrow’s final cut or the discomfort of Camila’s couch.
My mind snaps alert because of the sounds that emanate from Camila’s bedroom. Her breathy moans puncture the air, mixing with her boyfriend’s heavy groans. The squeak of the mattress springs is even audible through the thin walls. I’ve only ever heard noises like this from HBO’s True Blood.
And as soon as the sounds of ecstasy in the apartment end, a new type of sound begins. Screaming. Yelling. Not-so-pleasurable noises that vibrate the air. My imaginative mind starts to create visions of Camila having rough, angry sex with a vampire. Only this vampire is a giant asshole who ends sex by arguing about stupid things.
Needless to say, my imagination is wrong.
Vampires don’t exist.
And just as Camila’s non-vampire boyfriend stops screaming, the pleasurable moaning begins again. It’s a cycle that has kept me awake all night.
In college, I chose to live in a single dorm after my freshman year fiasco. My roommate brought her boyfriend over almost every night, and I slept on Shay’s futon more than I did my own bed. I managed to avoid other people’s sex noises for that long.
My clean record is now broken.
Camila’s boyfriend must be stellar because the bedposts thump against the walls. I smash my pillow over my face and exposed ears. I just don’t want to be half-asleep tomorrow. Zombies can’t act like felines in heat.
Sleep, I command myself.
Camila cries out in pleasure.
Sleep, Thora.
Please.
* * *
My eyes are heavy-lidded, and the gym’s fluorescent lights sear my pupils. I yawn into my jacket sleeve as Kaitlin slumps down on the blue mat beside me.
“Late night?” she asks with a mild look of disdain. I catch the very, very hidden meaning.
“Not with anyone,” I tell her. Definitely not Nikolai. “I was by myself.” That sounds like a lie for some reason. “I just had bad sleep.”
She nods, her guards dropping. “Me too.”
Not only did Camila go at it on the bed last night, but she switched to the shower. To top it off, when I finally caught some shuteye, I had a nightmare.
And I fell off the couch, face-planting, hard. Which triggered a bloody nose. Now I have a bruise on the bridge and another bruise on my cheekbone to show for it. Concealer covered some of the purplish tint but not all.
“You nervous?” Kaitlin asks. Her brunette bun is so tight that the follicles along her hairline look ready to snap.
“Kind of,” I say honestly with another yawn in my arm. “Are you?”
She nods and leans in close to me to whisper, “Elena has been chatting with Ivan in Russian all morning.”
Her gaze drifts to the aerial silk, where Ivan and Elena stand. As though about to instruct her. Like she’s already been awarded the role.
Kaitlin reaches for her toes, stretching. “I swear these things are made for people who can talk their way into them.”