Free Amour Amour by Krista Ritchie, Becca Ritchie

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.”
    I’m not a fan of that reality—the one that says the hardest-working individual will always lose out to the most sociable. And I don’t want to live in that