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Page 110 of The Striker (Gods of the Game 1)

How do you guys feel about poker?

BROOKLYN

Like strip poker?

CARINA

I didn’t realize this was THAT type of group chat **eyes emoji**

Very funny

I thought we could have a girls’ night at my place. Poker and drinks. What do you think?

CARINA

I’m down. I haven’t played poker in so long though, so take it easy on me

BROOKLYN

I’d love to join as well. Just let me know when

BROOKLYN

Don’t worry. I promise not to take too much of your money ;)

“Scarlett! Good, you’re here.”

Tamara’s voice dragged my focus away from the chat and toward the stage, where the rest of the staff was warming up. She was one of RAB’s senior instructors and the rehearsal director for the showcase.

“Yvette had a last-minute doctor’s appointment, so you’ll have to dance in her place,” she said.

My heartbeat skittered to a stop. “Dance in her place?”

“Yes.” She arched her brows. “Will that be a problem?”

“No.” A cold draft swept over me, peppering my arms and chest with goose bumps. “Of course not. That’s—that’s what I’m here for.”

“Great.” Tamara left to speak with the choreographer while my feet remained rooted to the ground.

My palms grew clammy as I stared at the stage. Understudies rarely danced with the whole cast during rehearsals, and I was unprepared for the sudden call to duty.

My job was to fill in during emergencies, but now that one came up, I couldn’t shake off an angry swarm of nerves.

I’d practiced off to the side during rehearsals, and I’d memorized every piece of the performance. But there was a difference between practicing on my own and practicing with the cast.

This rehearsal would be my first full-length, full-cast performance since the accident. I felt like there should be a clear sign marking the milestone, like flashing neon lights or at least a heads-up call from Yvette.

Since there wasn’t, I forced my feet to move across the floor, up the stairs, and onto the stage.

Warm-ups.I could do that. I’ve warmed up before.

My heart crowded my throat. My excitement over getting the understudy role all those weeks ago melted beneath the lights and the sideways glances from the rest of the staff.

They knew about my past. Were they waiting for me to mess up? Did they think my fall from principal dancer to understudy was pathetic?

Stop being paranoid. No one’s judging you.

I took a deep breath, focused on the sliver of floor around me, and started stretching.




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