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“Sam? Can you play ‘Sally Walker’ by Iggy?”
I laugh, my head tipping back while shoving Kenan. “You’re an idiot.”
The song plays, and I step forward, twerking and dancing around the place, finally ignoring whoever else is in here. When the verse starts again, we all fuck around, and eventually manage to merge the choreography into the song. When the chorus comes back on again, I start flossing, and Kenan dives toward me, swinging my body over his shoulder.
“Okay you two!” Callan crosses her arms in front of herself. We continue through twice more and then I tell Perse that I need to practice my fires.
Slipping in and out of the cubicle, I’m now wearing workout shorts, mid-top Nike sneakers and a sports bra. Everyone else is finished rehearsing, with the Angels, Val and Mischa playing with the aerials to the side, giving me the bigger part of the stage. Killian, King and Keaton are still in their seats, but Kyrin and Lucifer have gone.
“Ignore him,” I whisper to myself before realizing I don’t have my damn Zippo.
“Fuck!” I mouth, and just as I’m about to turn around to find a lighter, the gold Zippo lands near my feet in a thud. I look down at it, and then up at Killian, who is smirking his smug fucking face from his chair.
“Asshole,” I grumble, picking it up, along with the remote control to the sound system. I flick through it and find a song to train with, pushing play.
Lighting up the wicks, I begin rolling it over my arm, warming my body up to not just the staff, but the song too.
I find I like the song and push repeat.
“Devil” by Niykee Heaton plays and I roll the staff over my body, flicking it around and up against my neck, while using my body in all the ways that I know how, incorporating my flexibility into it more as I become more familiar. I land in the splits, picking up the staff and flipping it through my legs as I slide up. Slowly, I tilt backward with both hands still securely on the staff, dropping into bridge. I flick my legs up to a handstand. I can’t stay up long, unless I want to set fire to the floor.
The song finishes and the next one comes on. Another fitting song. “Horns” from Bryce Fox. I giggle smugly as I become more confident with it. Stomping out the fire, I pick up the rope and start on that. Kicking it around, wrapping it around my neck, and using it as a weapon against my body.
Val comes over to me, smirking. “You work as hard as me.”
I turn the music down, swiping the sweat off my face. I catch the time and freeze. “Holy shit!”
Val nods, sipping her water. “Yup. You trained for four hours straight.” It’s three pm, and I need to eat and rest before tonight, get myself back into my zen.
“You’re the same?”
Val’s cheeks flushed. “Well, I don’t usually, but with you right beside me I found I lost track of time too.”
I start cleaning up my mess, before making my way to the back to put it away.
I come back out and Val is still there.
“You okay?” I ask, eyebrow raised. I haven’t talked to Val much, and because of her old beef with Perse, we naturally just didn’t hang out together.
“Yeah,” she exhales. “Listen, I never see you drinking or partying, but would you want to come over to our bus tonight after the final show? It’s sort of a ritual and it’ll be weird without you there. Again. You know, people start wondering why you don’t hang.” She’s not lying. It’s not really my scene. I’m not a heavy drinker because I make enough mistakes sober. Though that doesn’t mean I don’t drink. I do. When I need to.
“Sure,” I say, shrugging.
What’s the worst that could happen?
I slip in and out of the shower, drying off just in time for my phone to ping with a notification. Thinking it’s Hope, I dive onto my bed, towel wrapped around my body, hair dripping down my back. It’s a notification from Instagram.
@killiancornelii started following you on Instagram.
I freeze.
My heartbeat thunders through my ears. He started following me?
My finger hovers over his name. I click on his profile, not wanting to follow him straight back. When I get there, I wish I didn’t click on it.
21.2M Followers: Following 87
“Who the fuck has twenty million followers?”
“Me,” a voice says from my doorway and I yelp, tossing my phone onto the bed. Spinning around, I glare at him.
“What are you doing here?”
“Stand up.”
I gape at him. “What?”
He grins, and it’s then that I realize he’s not wearing a shirt and his jeans are sitting sinfully low.
Shit.
“Killian…” I warn, squeezing the towel around my body.
