Ripped Read Free

out?” One brow was cocked. “They need a strong male lead.” Her eyes swept over my torso and down my bicep. “You look strong … and you’re a man.”
    I chuckled as my chest puffed out a little. “Thanks for noticing. I thought I may have to remind you.”
    She turned scarlet and I laughed softly. She was still so easily teased after all these years.
    James Buckshaw took to the stage and everyone fell silent. He introduced himself and then brought out Pierre Delaconte who was to be the director and choreographer for the production. I’d heard of Pierre before and not too favorably—he had a reputation for putting the hard word on the chorus girls. From his arrogant air to his designer dancewear, I took an instant dislike to the guy.
    Next to take to the stage was the assistant choreographer, a woman in her thirties who would be helping to teach the routines to the cast, and finally, the general manager. These were the people who would be deciding the fate of Jaz and everyone else with stars in their eyes who hoped to finally get their big break.
    The first group of numbers were called and Jaz checked hers, even though I was pretty sure she knew she was number eighty-seven and they had only called the first fifty. Her legs jiggled as she perched on the edge of the seat, gazing around the theater with a wide-eyed stare that wasn’t really taking anything in.
    “Babe, you’ll be fine. Relax.” Fuck! I squeezed my eyes tight, hoping she hadn’t heard the babe slip from my lips. It was so easy to fall into old habits even after so long.
    She looked just the same.
    I felt just the same.
    Those adolescent hormones that went straight to my chest, then made their way to my dick had woken up.
    Reaching out, I took her hand and pulled her toward me. “Best out of three. Loser buys dinner.”
    Jaz’s eyes widened before a massive grin stretched across those plump, soft lips. “Oh my God, I can’t believe you remember.” She gripped my right hand with hers, our fingers locked together, thumbs at the ready. “One.” Our thumbs moved to opposite sides. “Two.” They moved back to the starting position. “Three!”
    Of course I could beat her easily in a thumb wrestle. I could back then, and I was pretty sure I could now, seeing as my huge hand engulfed her petite, delicate fingers. But I always let her win, although I didn’t make it easy for her.
    The concentration on her face was hysterical as her mouth twisted with every attempt to better me. It was finally time for the first round to be won as she miraculously managed to pin my thumb down.
    “Ha!” Jaz punched the air in triumph. “I’ve still got it,” she teased cockily.
    “All right, you got lucky that time. Let’s go again. Best out of three, remember?” I bit the inside of my cheek to stop from laughing and we lined up again for round two. This one I knew I’d win. And I did.
    Jaz rolled her shoulders and stretched her neck from side to side before gripping my hand for the deciding round. When she managed to pin my thumb, her arms reached for the ceiling in victory.
    “Yes!” She giggled, crinkling up her button nose. “I can beat you every time.”
    I admitted defeat gracefully, as I always had. “You’re just too good for me, Jazzy. You always were.”
    The first batch of dancers took to the stage one at a time to perform their audition piece that would either earn them automatic entry into the next round or send them home with their tails between their legs, scrutinizing their every turn, foot position and expression while they beat themselves up for not making it. Not being good enough.
    I’d been there far too many times to count. I’d been too contemporary for some roles. Too classically trained for others. Not the right look. Too tall, short, broad and muscular, and definitely too tattooed. Whatever the reason, I’d failed at having a professional dance career so had been forced to find an alternative.
    Jaz had relaxed a little,