Page 19 of Just One Bite

Chapter Fourteen

Olivia

Parker Owens is just a man. I have to keep reminding myself of that as we share the common bathroom, staring at each other in the mirror and brushing our teeth.

He spits his toothpaste in the sink, then goes back to brushing and winks at me.

It’s disgusting, so I’m not looking at his bare chest or thinking about those lips covered in toothpaste and how mere minutes before they were pressed to my lower thigh.

No, because he’s just a man. Nothing more.

Parker is so many things, and I’ve seen him scarf down an entire plate of food at orientation in seconds and now brush his teeth, so I can confidently say he is gross.

But he’s kind. And his hands are sure, and I know what his tongue feels like pressed to the underside of my breast. I spit my toothpaste in the sink, gazing over the veins in his forearms and hands as they grip the edge of the sink, and I remember the tenderness of them digging into my back.

How soft, careful, and deliberate his touch was.

It’s just lust because of that dream. It’s nothing more than that.

Though, I guess it wasn’t lust that drew me into his bed and had him happily hold me all night long.

And he could have kept touching me. I could have asked him to.

I wanted him to. More importantly, he could have asked me but didn’t.

We spit the last of our toothpaste out and rinse in sync.

It’s early enough that it’s just the two of us in the coed bathroom.

Apart from someone in the showers. The steam lingers in the air and billows up into the arched ceiling while the warmth creeps in as condensation at the edge of the mirror.

It’s large and elaborate like everything else at Doxlothia and has silver inlay with filigree lining all edges.

Parker smiles, tousling his hair with his fingers. I make quick work of wetting my brush and tugging my hair into a bun for ballet. I should have started warming up for auditions earlier, but when he turns to look down at me and our chests nearly touch, I can’t bring myself to regret it entirely.

“Wow.” He looks me up and down. “Hot.”

“Move.” I finish pinning my hair and drag my warmers up over my tights. “I take it you don’t know many ballerinas.”

“You’re the first.” His teeth are perfect, with his blue eyes sparkling. It’s distracting.

Parker is beautiful. To deny it would make me a liar.

“What made you want to become a ballerina?”

I pause, take a breath, and focus on the mirror.

I have two answers to that question. Both involve the truth, but only one involves mentioning my mother.

I’d been roped into too many awkward conversations about her, so I developed a way around the madness that makes everyone comfortable.

But Gavin’s words are still fresh in my mind.

Parker lost his mother too. He can take the real answer.

“My mother was a ballerina.”

“Was?”

“Was.” That’s all I care to offer. I’ll let him make up any assumption he desires. “She had a lead role in her company. I practiced nearly every day with her. She’s the one who taught me.”

I try not to think of her. Not in Noxx House. A place she once roamed. Had she pinned her hair in this very mirror? Was she ever late because she was lying in some man’s bed all night? Surely not. My mother would never.

Parker smiles from ear to ear. It’s so distracting I forget we’re still standing in the bathroom.

“What?”

“You just lit up a little.” He leans with his back against the sink counter. “Keep talking. Tell me more about her.”

“Her name was Olive. She named me specifically after her while my sisters got our dad’s family traditional names that start with an E. Ballet was her entire life, and she was a legacy. Noxx House was her house too. I knew when I filled out the test I’d get into the same house. Just a feeling.”

“So you’re like a miniature version of her?”

My cheeks heat and my heart stutters. It feels like a compliment.

“Yeah … that’s how I like to view it.”

“She sounds amazing,” he says it with a big tight-lipped smile that seems too genuine for me to find any faults with.

“I came to audition.”

There’s a blue-haired girl with a pixie cut blocking the entrance to the dance studio.

Her pointed glare and black nails clicking on the stone next to my face have my bitchiness dialed up a couple notches.

I let it show only through the disinterest plastered on my face and the way I try to weasel past her in the door.

Ballet is a competitive art, so I’ve grown up learning to deal with competitive people. It’s a reflex at this point but requires a level of confidence if you want them to back off. Even if you don’t believe it, you have to show it; they smell fear.

“You can’t.”

“This says sign-ups right here.” I motion gracefully to the piece of paper pinned to the door.

“Humans almost never make the Doxlothia company.” She sniffs the air, and I have no idea if she’s Were or vampire.

Maybe there are subtle signs I should have learned. Yet another thing to graciously thank my father for when I see him again.

“You’re Parker Owens’s mate, aren’t you?”

Guess the scenting worked. My mind flashes to the long sniff Parker took of me before he left me for the ice rink. His ears reddened and he beamed.

I sigh, trying to emphasize how bored I am. “Can you move? I need to warm up for the audition.”

“There’s no point. I’m saving you the trouble.”

I’m contemplating how hard this girl can punch versus starting my warm-up outside when another girl strolls up.

She’s got straight, shiny cinnamon-colored hair, and freckles peppered across her cream skin. She is in head-to-toe pastel pink and puts an arm around me like we’re friends.

“Don’t listen to her. The company takes anyone with talent. Don’t think having boosted strength and extended stamina will gain you a spot alone. They take all things into account, including technique and artistry and those who work hard.”

“Who are you?” I ask.

“I’m sorry. I’m Octavia Vix.” She holds out her hand in a greeting as if she hadn’t already welcomed me by drawing me toward her and her floral perfume.

Her nails are also pink. I think Emma would squeal.

And then I remember Emma did squeal. When Octavia entered the dining hall with the other members of the council.

“You’re on the council.” I inhale. “I’m Olivia.”

“I know. Your name has come up quite a lot lately at breakfast. I’m one of two other humans on the council, the daughter of the director, and a second-year if you really want to get specific.” She turns her attention back to the blue-haired girl. “Fia, move.”

And then promptly thanks her as she lets me inside.

“You’re the daughter of Mrs. Vix?” I ask.

“Yes! You’ll love her. I help her out in the studio with things like organizing her calendar and setting up the room.

I might have seen your video submission.

” Octavia fluffs her hair, like she’s testing my reaction.

“I’m in charge of handling emails for her.

Your fouettés were so clean. I could never. ”

“I’d be happy to run through them together sometime. I’m here a lot.”

“Really?” Her eyes sparkle, and she grabs my forearm.

“Of course.”

I miss being in ballet school for that reason, to mingle with people who understand it and crave it.

The satisfaction of helping each other work through weak spots.

I wasn’t always good at fouettés till an older girl helped me practice and refine them after class. You learn so much from watching others.

“I’d love that. I’ll meet you here! I’ve heard you’ve been practicing early.”

“Yeah, I had a routine back at home. I’ve been trying to stick to it.”

My sisters tease me for being unnecessarily rigid in my schedule, but that’s what my mother taught me. Early mornings are my time to be alone with my thoughts and ballet.

The ballet studio is a wide room with mirrors fixed on the front and back walls.

Only one is solid stone, and the other has three large windows that overlook the Central Lawn.

It’s a vaulted barrel ceiling that makes the entire room feel large.

And judging by the amount of people auditioning, they need the space.

I take a spot at the barre next to another girl who is stretching her leg at a perfect vertical. When we make eye contact, she stretches farther to make a slight bend. There are others watching me too with their back bends and extended splits.

I put on my headphones and get to work. Like those who enjoy the routine of curating a perfect cup of coffee, I enjoy perfecting my warm-up routine.

They have foam rollers to the side, so I take the time to roll out my legs and body.

I plop on my warming booties and move to stretching my legs and ankles, listening to the playlist I’ve curated with the perfect amount of songs that hit at just the right intervals if I stay on task.

I finish with my more extreme stretches, examining the room as I do.

Maybe it’s due to Parker’s scent, but no one is paying attention to me, so I breathe a sigh of relief and study all the men and women I’ll be auditioning with. Octavia has set up chairs on the other side of the room for the director and anyone else in leadership who’s coming to watch.