Founded on Goodbye by Kat Singleton

I bolt out of that small room as fast as my legs will take me. My nerves are already shot after that brief interaction with Nash.

He was everything and nothing like I expected him to be.

As soon as he walked through the door, I should’ve taken my call with Riley elsewhere, but I couldn’t force myself to leave his presence. I was sucked in by his brooding attitude and the anger in his blue-green eyes.

I’m familiar enough with pop culture to know how attractive Nash Pierce is, but seeing him in person is a whole different ball game.

A. Whole. Different. Ballgame.

There’s no denying how sexy he is in magazines, but in person his good looks are magnetic. The slight tan to his skin only helps bring out the light color of his eyes; a color that isn’t blue or a green but a mixture in between. His caramel-colored hair fell haphazardly across his forehead in an effortless manner. The pair of jeans and old concert tee covering his body only added to his relaxed demeanor.

Nash Pierce is freaking hot. And I was all too aware of the way my body felt heated under his stare.

It isn’t a feeling I want to persist. If I do manage to get close to him, I know I need to keep my own feelings locked up tight.

Even if the end goal is technically to get Nash to fall in love with me, I won’t be doing the same. No matter how much that small interaction with him is still lingering in my head.

Gently pushing the doors open to the crowded studio, I find my bag and water bottle up against the wall. As I slide down the cold wall, I watch the chaos of the auditions continue in front of me.

When I arrived two hours early, I didn’t expect the line to wrap all the way around the door. Which in hindsight was completely naïve of me, because we’re talking about a Nash Pierce tour. Dancing backup for him is any dancer’s dream.

Now, four hours after I arrived, they’ve narrowed the group down to about fifty people. While we were learning choreography and performing what we’d been taught, if we were tapped on the shoulder it meant they were asking for us to leave.

Luckily, I have yet to be tapped on the shoulder. Not like I’m expecting to be, though, since Monica is sitting at the long table of people deciding our fate today. I know my dancing talent has little to do with me getting a spot on Nash’s team of dancers.

That doesn’t mean I haven’t given my all to these auditions. I’ve been going full out no matter what, the energy in the room only helping me to do so.

“You’re fucking killing it out there,” a guy says to me from a few feet away.

“Thank you,” I say, hiding my smile behind my water bottle.

He must take my response as an invitation to sit next to me, because he plops down right next to me, his tan knee now resting inches away from mine.

Reaching his hand out, he keeps it hanging between us. “I’m Ziggy.”

After staring at his hand for a few moments, I finally take it, wrapping my fingers around his warm palm. People are usually only friendly in LA if they want something from you, so I’m hesitant to put too much weight into his introduction. Even though his brown eyes are inviting and his smile seems genuine.

“Nora,” I respond over the sounds of one of the choreographers yelling out the counts.

They have us auditioning in different groups, learning a technical routine before performing it. There are two more groups before I’m up again, and I use the time to rest and stretch my body.

I give myself a mental reminder to step up my cardio in the coming weeks, preparing my lungs for the long days of dancing ahead of me.

“Nice to meet you, Nora. So tell me, where’d you learn to dance like that? Because, girl, I would bet every dollar in my checking account that you’ll be dancing on this tour.”

“Stop the music!” Derrick, the other choreographer, shouts, pulling at his long dreads. “We’re going off a simple eight count here. We’re looking for you to stand out in your group. To go all out. Some of you are dancing like your spot is guaranteed on this tour, which is hilarious because, honeys, that isn’t the case. Nash is the best of the best. We will only have the same dancing with him.”

As if on cue, Nash pushes through the doors. The small humor he had on his face in that office is completely wiped from it now. Replacing the humor is a look of indifference as his eyes roam around the crowded room.

Every single person in here has completely frozen in time, as if his presence hit a pause button on their life. I half-expect his eyes to linger on me but his gaze dances away from my direction as fast as it landed there.

“Well, shit, he’s even better looking in person,” Ziggy whispers next to me. He uses his large hand to fan himself dramatically, purring softly under his breath.

Rolling my eyes, I look away from Nash and focus on unlacing my dance shoes. I don’t bother to tell Ziggy I came to that same realization myself after meeting Nash mere minutes ago.

For the next portion of our auditions, we have ninety seconds to show off our personal style to the judges. They don’t tell us what we’ll be dancing to, other than it’ll be a song by Nash.

I have the most technique in ballet and contemporary, so I opt to go barefoot for whatever song they give me. Ballet and contemporary are my favorite styles to perform, but I’ve been classically trained in almost everything. My two feet have been in a dance studio since I could walk, my younger sister following closely behind me.

Most of the auditions thus far have been about showing off our technique, especially with hip hop. I choose to change up the pace with my solo, wanting to show them that my style is versatile.

“Speaking of the man of the hour,” Derrick hollers, wrapping his arm around Nash’s neck. “Meet the musician behind our madness, Nash Pierce!”

All the other dancers in the room break out in cheers and clapping. Ziggy next to me is loud enough for the both of us. You’d think the cheers would elicit at least a smile from Nash, but they don’t.

All he does is give a slight nod of his head, the nod the only acknowledgment of all the praise he’s getting.

When the noise dies back down, Derrick pulls Nash closer to him by the neck, looking at him like a proud father when he can’t be that much older than him. “I’ve worked with Nash on music videos before, but I’m so hyped to be working with him for this tour. Any wise words for the people vying for a spot on the tour, Nash?”

The room is eerily silent as a clearly uncomfortable Nash comes up with a response. For someone who has written some of the most poetic lyrics out there, he sure does take a while to begin a speech.

Finally, he answers, pulling himself out of Derrick’s grasp. “Yeah.” My stomach plummets when he makes direct eye contact with me and says, “Impress me.” With that, he swivels, his sneakers squeaking against the floor as he walks toward Monica.

Derrick stares at Nash’s back as he retreats to the table. The choreographer yells to turn the music back on once Nash takes a seat.

It takes a few minutes for the group on the floor to get back in the groove of dancing, but then auditions resume as they were running before Nash walked in. Except now, the nervous energy has increased tenfold.

Now that Nash is here, the prospect of going on tour with him is even more real.

“Any song you’re hoping to get for your solo?” Ziggy questions, biting at the tip of his water bottle. The muscles in his forearm flex as he squeezes the liquid into his mouth.

Pursing my lips, my mind spins with all the songs Nash has released. I was in my senior year of high school when Nash released his first solo album.

“Anything but Your Expectations,” I say under my breath, unease rolling through me when I think of the last time I performed to that song and the meaning behind it.

Never again.

“Not a fan of the slow stuff?”

I laugh, wishing that was the case. “You could say that.”

Ziggy throws his water bottle onto his gym bag and starts stretching out his legs in front of him. “I for one would love one of his new songs. I’m a sucker for that pop-y vibe he has now.”

Ziggy and I fall into comfortable small talk while the two groups ahead of us finish their routines. I learn he’s a year younger than me and has only been dancing for five years. The statement causes me to raise my eyebrows, remembering how fluid his movements were when he was out on the dance floor.

Ziggy asks for some details on my life, and I give him the bare minimum. I’m not one that loves to tell everyone about the past, instead focusing on the future.

As we chat, more people are tapped on the shoulder, leaving no more than thirty of us left.

The time comes for my solo, and suddenly I feel anxious for the first time today.

Monica has pretty much promised me a spot on the tour, but the thought doesn’t do anything to calm the butterflies dancing in my stomach. I try not to put too much thought into the fact that I might be so nervous now because I know Nash will be watching me dance.

I’ve always been the kind to put everything I have out on the dance floor. Dance has been my way to express my deepest thoughts and emotions, even when words have failed me. But now, odd feelings snake throughout my body knowing he’ll be watching my every move.

Will he study me like I want to study him?

Or will his apathetic attitude turn on me?

Turns out I’ll find out sooner than later as Ziggy shoves me on my shoulder, breaking me from my thoughts.

“Nora, you’re up. Go!” He swats at my legs in an attempt to push me up off the ground.

Apparently I was zoning out way longer than I thought, because there are a whole bunch of eyes staring at me, waiting for me to take my spot on the dance floor.

As gracefully as possible, I stand up and walk toward the center of the room. The wood floor is cold against my bare feet, and for a brief second I worry that I should’ve intended on a hip-hop dance instead of the contemporary one I have planned.

Slowly, I turn my body toward the panel of people sitting at the long table. Monica glares at me as if I’m already taking up too much of her precious time.

I don’t even let my eyes wander to Nash.

“Are you ready?” Derrick asks nicely, his hip propped against a large speaker.

I nod, waiting for him to thumb through the phone plugged into the speaker system.

Looking away from him, I choose to stare at my feet, waiting for the music.

Notes start to waft through the speakers, and after a few beats, I instantly recognize the song as Love Me Like You.

In no time, my body is moving as I let Nash’s voice dictate my rhythm. Then, for those ninety seconds, all other thoughts disappear.

For just over a minute, the world fades and it’s just me, the music, and Nash’s voice.