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which had been the aim of distracting her with thumb wresting. She slouched in her seat, her knees bent and her feet resting on the back of the seat in front.
    Dancer after dancer gave their all for two minutes while the audition panelists sat perched up on a raised platform and scribbled notes.
    “She was gooood,” Jaz whispered, leaning over after the ninth dancer had performed and skipped lightly from the stage. “Did she say her name was Tiffany Carter? She’s one to watch.”
    I shrugged. “She was okay I guess.” Truth was, she was really good, but I was here to support Jaz so anyone else paled in my eyes. Mind you, I hadn’t seen Jaz dance in eight years since I’d left Boston for New York, but she’d been graceful and strong all those years ago, and I knew she would be brilliant today.
    Finally, after watching the first fifty dancers, all of varying degrees and ability, the next group were called, including Jaz. Literally jumping from her seat, she bounced around for a few seconds, circling her arms and stretching her body from side to side before reaching into her bag. She tugged out a bunched up slip and shoved it under her arm, then went back into the bag and dug out a lip balm. She swiped it quickly over her lips then hesitated for a split second before kissing me briefly on the cheek and running off.
    Fuck … strawberry lip balm. My eyes closed so I could focus on that delicious sweetness. After all these years I couldn’t believe she still used the same strawberry scent. Sighing, I let my mind wander back to the first time I’d smelt it. We’d been partnered in a contemporary ballet class that I’d almost refused to take. I was a dancer, sure, but there was no way you’d catch me prancing around in tights. She’d been my partner … so shy she could hardly meet my eyes, but when we’d danced she had to let me touch her. She had to let me hold her close and if I was bold, even nuzzle her hair a little. After a while, she’d let me touch her even when the music wasn’t playing. I knew I’d been her first … everything, but even I wasn’t so egotistical to think there hadn’t been anyone for her since. I mean, I’d had girls during the past few years once I read online that Jaz had signed with Boston Ballet and had broken her promise to follow me to New York. But the thought of some other asshole touching what was mine still filled me with anger.
    While each dancer performed their most well-rehearsed routine, I gazed around the theater. Auditions and the entire process had always bored me. So many dancers who dedicated their existence to being the best would run from the theater believing they weren’t good enough because some pretentious asshole had told them they had bad feet, or poor extension, or the wrong body type. Every dancer was beautiful in their own right—what they needed to understand was that they just weren’t right for a particular part.
    Sinking farther down in my seat, I dropped my head back and looked directly up at the ceiling. I hadn’t been to this particular theater before but it looked as though it had recently been renovated. The ornate gold on the ceiling was a bit over the top for my taste, but the seats were wider than normal and well-padded which was just as well, because I had a feeling my ass would be in one for most of the day.
    Guy after guy leapt and pranced around the stage, and I scoffed.
    “Strong male dancer, my ass,” I muttered under my breath when yet another male dancer skipped and fluttered out from the wings. I brushed my hand over my mouth to hide the grin. This guy, in his white tights, pale blue crop-top, headband, nail polish, and eyeliner, looked like he was one step away from getting his period. He looked more suited to the female lead than the male.
    Jaz’s number was called and I sat a little farther forward in my seat. She’d pulled her shoulder-length blond hair up into a messy ponytail. Smart move—she had an amazingly slender,