Infini (Aerial Ethereal #2)(33)

The poles scare me.

About twenty feet above the trampoline’s net, mini-trampolines are secured to the poles. Higher up, and I spot tiny black-metal platforms on those same four poles.

So one monstrous trampoline.

Four tinier trampolines.

Four pole platforms.

And a gray forty-foot back wall.

Since this act is part of the dreamscape, the back wall is usually painted periwinkle blue onstage, cotton fluff attached to resemble a sky. I remember the angelic costumes from New York: white spandex, shimmery gold detail. It made all the guys look like celestial gods.

I always thought Luka looked hot, and he was just a boy back then.

Stop thinking. About him.

I drop my sports bag off my shoulder, juggling balls and clubs inside. All of the Kotovas already begin scaling the poles to reach the trampoline. Effortlessly, they use their hands and balls of their feet to shimmy up to the taut net.

Yeah…I don’t know if I can do that. There aren’t ladders. Seriously, the only way up is by one of four poles.

Geoffrey begins giving them direction, and I hang back and rummage in my sports bag. I hear him talk about me, and my neck heats.

“You’ll be assisting Baylee with an eight-ball, seven-up pirouette, among other tricks. One ball falls, and the entire act will be ruined. You must work closely together…” he trails off. “Baylee, get up there.”

Great.

I gather my red-and-orange stitched balls, four gripped in each hand, and I approach the apparatus. On the trampoline’s taut surface, all eight of the Kotovas stand in a line.

Confident. Intimidating. Gray eyes radiating with charisma—I forget how magnetic they are together, side-by-side.

Even if I haven’t spoken one-on-one to all of them, I know who they are. Dimitri and his two younger brothers: Anton and Robby. Then there’s Luka and Sergei.

Plus twenty-five-year-old twins Matvei and Erik, and their younger brother Abram.

Don’t look at Luka.

Don’t look at Luka.

It’s easier concentrating on work if I avoid, but it also heightens something inside of me. Tension? Nerves? All of the above?

“Dimitri,” I call out the tallest and largest Kotova. “Catch.” Easily, I throw each ball to Dimitri, and he collects them for me.

I sprint to the front-left metal pole, encased in a rubber material. I grip it and try to use my bicep and quad strength to scale this thing. Six feet up, I slip and slide down.

Ouch.

The rubber burns my palms, and I wipe my hands roughly on my thighs.

“Baylee.”

My stomach backflips at Luka’s voice. I turn my head, just as he lies down and reaches over the metal frame of the trampoline. He extends two hands for me to grab hold.

I’m trying to restrain my emotion, but it barrels forward. Flooding me full. Luka’s compassion softens his eyes, and he gestures me forward with both hands like, it’s okay.

I nod as though saying: I read the email.

His nose flares a little, smothering his own sentiments, too.

I dazedly walk towards Luka Kotova. Like I’m the girl in Infini’s dreamscape. Dimitri isn’t yanking him away from me, and Geoffrey—I glance once at the choreographer. Impatient, he taps his foot repeatedly and points at Luka, telling me to hurry into his arms.

It reinforces the unbelievable notion—that this is allowed.

We’re allowed to touch.

I blink, suppressing water that tries to well.

This is allowed.

It rattles my bones. I blow out a short breath, and Luka nods at me the closer I approach. I hate being the one that keeps everyone waiting. I hate being the one who consumes all the extra attention. A weird pit wedges between my ribs, so I pick up my pace.

I stand beneath Luka Kotova. Half his torso off the trampoline to grab me.

And despite all that we’ve been through—despite aching to just look at him, to take five-trillion years to absorb every detail of his features—there’s no hesitation between us now. No pause or reluctance.

I jump as high as I can jump, and Luka seizes my wrists. Easily, he lifts me up, his muscles flexing. Biceps supremely sculpted, even more so than I recall from our past.

Wow.

He’s older. I see how much older again.

I see how much time I missed.

My feet gracefully meet the trampoline, and his hands stay still on my wrists, warming me. Skin-to-skin. We breathe deeply. Inhaling raw breath.

I feverishly soak in his chiseled, charming features, afraid that this is the only time I have with him.

Afraid it’ll all be taken away again.

He’s beautiful. Inside. Outside. All of him.

His eyes dance across my face, as though he’s remembering a thousand moments together. As though he’s protecting this new memory from harm. From destruction and erasure. Luka licks his lips and then tries to draw me closer, towards his firm chest.

Dimitri grasps the back of his shirt and tugs him away from me. We’re physically separated in probably a snap-second, even if it seemed longer.

I try to shake out my feelings, still dazed as Dimitri passes me the juggling balls.

Geoffrey points at the apparatus as he speaks. “For now, let’s have Baylee sit on the back-left platform before we add her in.”

How the hell do I get on the back-left platform? I think and then realize, I jump.