Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 92043 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 460(@200wpm)___ 368(@250wpm)___ 307(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92043 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 460(@200wpm)___ 368(@250wpm)___ 307(@300wpm)
As it was he’d been holding back from biting Tam’s head off for only one reason—he didn’t want to ignite Ansel’s protectiveness and have them start with the interrogation. So, yeah, his silence was actually a form of self-preservation, not kindness.
He chugged down half a bottle of water, wishing it could give him energy to get through this fucking day. Not only had Tam broken a speed record with KORR-A’s “Fiyacraka,” but then he went and created an intense combination of jazz, hip-hop and twerking to Iggy’s “Bounce” that had them all panting by the end.
“Jesus, Tam, what’s gotten into you?” Ansel wiped the sweat from his brow.
“You don’t like it?”
“Sweetie, it’s not that. It’s just wicked fast.”
“It’s super sexy though. I mean, if I don’t die during the performance I bet I’ll earn a ton of tips after,” Lirim said.
It was true. Tam’s routines were always provocative, but this one was in-your-face sexuality. It was raw and powerful and direct. Not Tam’s usual style.
“Yeah, not dying is the key point there,” Ansel said.
“Practice makes perfect,” Tam countered.
“Slave driver.” Ansel put down his towel and took his place. Z and Lirim followed suit and waited for Tam to start the music.
The routine began with them posing as KORR-A whispered her intro. Then the rhythmic beat slowly rose, and with it they brought their hands together in synced claps. They didn’t move from their positions until the electronic reverb powered through the speakers. Then it was full power, full energy and full sex.
They jumped around, whipped out their arms, twisted and shook with the music. It was four minutes of exertion with only a short break during the bridge when they slowed down enough to breathe. But the interlude didn’t last long and soon they were moving their bodies and flipping their hair until the song ended.
Thirty seconds later “Bounce” started and they were off again at an even quicker pace.
The final combo had them throwing their hands up and getting crazy along with the lyrics. Z bounced in place, waved his hands in the air, and threw his head around. His lungs burned from trying to suck in air too fast and his head began to spin.
Coming down from one of the final jumps, he landed wrong. Pain shot up his leg, and his ankle twisted. Even above the music he heard the terrifying grind of bone as he fell to the ground.
“Fuck!” he shouted, catching his weight before his head hit the stage. His hands scraped on the wood and his elbow strained and pulled.
Tam immediately ran to the music player to shut down the noise.
“Oh shit, Z. What happened? Are you okay?” Lirim asked.
Z took a moment to blink back the tears that threatened to spill. Holy shit, his body hurt. His ankle pounded like it was being tortured by a hundred hammers. Fuck. He breathed through his teeth and tried to roll so he could sit up.
“Landed funny, goddamn it.” He couldn’t help cursing or a single tear from escaping.
Ansel knelt near his feet, looking down at the injury. “Shit, this is bad.”
Z didn’t want to see it because if it looked half as bad as it felt, then a bone was probably sticking out. He focused on the lights hanging above the stage instead.
“Oh God,” Tam whispered.
It was the horror and concern in his friend’s voice that got him the most. He swallowed again and again tried to stop the tears, even bit the inside of his cheek. But it didn’t work. They leaked out anyway.
“Can you move your toes?” Ansel asked.
Z tried and hissed at the shooting pain.
“It might be broken.”
“No, it’s not. I just need a minute. I’ll be fine. Help me up.” But they didn’t help him up. In fact, Lirim pushed him down until he was flat on the floor.
“It’s already swollen to the size of a softball.” Lirim’s cool fingers combed through Z’s sweaty hair. And thankfully, he didn’t say a word about the evidence of his weakness currently pouring from his eyes.
“I’ll call Fitch. Tam, get ice from the bar.” Ansel’s voice was calm and in control, which helped to keep Z’s panic at a manageable level.
Liar.
Z closed his eyes as the severity of the situation ate at him. He was already in trouble with his landlady—no matter how many extra shifts he got at Sal’s, there was no way he would’ve been able to pay the full sum of what was owed by Monday. He’d hoped to at least earn half of it by then and beg for more time. He hadn’t been able to find another roommate and his apartment search wasn’t looking good either.
If his ankle was broken he wouldn’t be able to walk. If he couldn’t walk, he definitely couldn’t work. If he couldn’t work, he couldn’t dance. No dancing meant no tips. He closed his eyes and bit his tongue as everything roiled together in his gut until he was sure he was going to be sick.