Funny thing is, the minute you think you have a genius idea, everyone wants to stop you because it seems like it’s too out of the norm.

  Haneul and I live in the same apartment we used to live in with the group, except we now have spare bedrooms since the other two members left for the military.

  The whole point was to go together.

  But they decided to do it without us, disbanding the group right after we started truly taking off with worldwide recognition.

  And now it’s back to ground zero.

  You can’t really be a K-pop group with two rappers. I mean, you could, but that wasn’t the look we had from management.

  We can sing, but two of us? Who’s going to come to see two guys missing their other lead vocalists?

  I’m still pissed, honestly.

  I’m pissed because things were strained since the beginning with the group. When the label put us in the supergroup, Haneul and I were both solo artists, but the other two guys had already been a part of two groups and had basically grown up together. Shit, talk about creative differences between the four of us. We kept everything behind closed doors, though.

  On stage, everything was perfect. Sold-out concerts, millions upon millions of views on our videos. We were trending worldwide when our last mini-album dropped a year ago.

  And now? They’re gone.

  They weren’t happy.

  They needed a break.

  And while I can understand how hard they worked since they were sixteen, and how much traveling and crazy scheduling they had to go through, I’m being selfish. Because while I can sell the hell out of a skincare line, I wanted to be a part of something bigger.

  And I thought I’d found that with them.

  At least Haneul and I had each other and were able to form a friendship based on utter betrayal and sadness.

  Yeah, we had at least four drunken nights in a row once the guys announced they were taking a break and going into the military, leaving Haneul and me with the choice to go back to our solo projects or do something new.

  Maybe it was the soju talking, but at two in the morning a month ago, we came up with an idea. What about a group with two guys and two girls? What if we played both sides and pulled in fans from everywhere? Created a new bias for K-pop? I knew of only one group that had successfully done it, and they’re still busting ass at another label.

  Which brings us to this predicament.

  Haneul and I basically told the label that we needed to compete with them if we wanted to stay relevant.

  They fucking went for it but didn’t want to invest a ton of money or time into it. So, they dropped the entire plan into our laps, gave us a timeline, and that was it. If we do well on the debut stage, get a certain number of views on our music video, and can get on the Billboard charts with our first song, they’ll financially back us one hundred percent and actually pay us right out of the gate.

  If not?

  Game over.

  I asked my dad to invest, and he even said he wouldn’t make a bet he wasn’t sure he could win and would wait and see.

  Haneul’s dad said the same thing.

  So that left us…panicked.

  The songs for the mini-album are ready.

  The concept for the MV—the music video—is completely drawn out.

  And we already have another girl, a rookie who looks nervous every time Haneul or I talk to her, which brings me back to the dark horse. Ah-Ri.

  She’s got a mouth on her in more ways than one.

  And we’ll need that attitude.

  Plus, she’s not just a visual. She can dance, sing, rap—she can do it all. Sure, she’s a bit tall, not as thin as some of the other trainees, and is so fucking argumentative I want to slam my head against the wall, but she’s really all we’ve got at this point.

  Every other person we approached said they didn’t want to take the chance on us and would rather do a variety show before trying a co-ed group.

  I go knock on Haneul’s door and wait for him to answer. Finally, he pulls it open, his blond hair messy around his face, blue contacts out, and his brown eyes showing. He’s wearing a Nike shirt and joggers and looks like he’s just waiting for disappointment.

  “So…” I gulp. “She texted.”

  “Let me guess.” He sighs. “A giant middle finger followed by a shit emoji?”

  “Not exactly…” I lift my phone and show it to him.

  He looks ready to pass out as he grabs it. “Is this a prank?”

  “Nah.” I shove my hands into my pockets. “She’s in.”

  “So, we have a group!” Haneul says. “We have a fucking group!”

  I smile; I can’t help it. “We have a group.”

  His smile suddenly falters. “That means we need to get our schedules figured out. The songs are already written. They’ll need to learn them and the choreography. Why don’t we divide and conquer at first? I’ll work with Jisoo, and you can work with Ah-Ri separately for the next two weeks. Then we’ll combine and do all the joint tracks and choreo.”

  “Wait, why do I get Ah-Ri?”

  “Because.” He smiles. “I might actually murder her if I’m in the same room with her and her smart mouth for longer than zero seconds.”

  “That’s not even mathematically possible.”

  “Exactly. Because it’s not possible.” He snorts. “Look, maybe you can soften her up a bit so I don’t go to prison when we start our joint practice sessions.”

  “Murder’s a death sentence in Korea.”

  He hands my phone back and smirks. “So, I guess you’re saving my life in a way.”

  My thoughts go to her smart mouth and shit attitude, and then I’m thinking about her outfit, the sweat running down her cheeks, and the way her skin glistened under the lights.

  I hate her, I remind myself, but only because the alternative is acknowledging the major crush that I’ve had on her ever since watching her dance. My hate is all I have, and it’s mostly directed at myself for hurting her feelings. For being that guy.

  The truth is, I hate myself.

  And it’s too hard to look in the mirror and take responsibility for the fact that I can’t even look at another girl. I can’t date. It’s always been her. It’s easier for me to blame her for my inability to even look at others than take responsibility.

  Ah, Dad would be so proud.

  Besides, crushing on a girl about to be in our new group isn’t the best idea I’ve ever had, so I hold onto the hate, even though it’s childish and immature.

  This is business.

  Survival.

  This is years of working our asses off and getting betrayed by our bandmates.

  And I’m not a good actor. I’d get eaten alive in any K-Drama—fully.

  If I can pull this off, I can start writing for other artists, maybe producing—which is the real dream. One day I want to start my own label that offers idols more freedom and doesn’t involve falling for the one girl who has the power to get in my way and distract me—even if she is good.

  I swallow the lump of anger and frustration in my throat and nod. “Fine, I’ll text her later and book some of the practice rooms for the next few weeks.”

  Haneul shrugs. “At least you’re good at pretending. I can’t do it, not with her. Plus, you debuted early and were already successful on your own before joining a group. How hard can this be?”

  How hard, indeed.

  “I guess we’ll see,” I grumble.

  “Cool, I’ll call Jisoo now.” He shuts the door, and I walk on numb legs into the main room to sit on one of the couches.

  I drop my phone onto the table and stare down at it.

  I don’t realize my hands are shaking until my text alert goes off again, and I see it’s another one from Ah-Ri.

  Ah-Ri: So? Do you have a plan?

  Fuck. I sure hope so.

  Chapter Four

  Ah-Ri

  He’s late.

  And I’m annoyed.

  He said we should meet at the practice room at six a.m., and I’ve already been here for a half-hour, waiting for everyone else to show up.

  Do we even have a group name?

  Songs?

  Anything?

  When’s the debut?

  I have so many questions and so much anxiety I want to puke. Instead, I stare at myself in the mirror and truly wonder what part of my brain misfired last night when I said yes.

  Other than my parents basically threatening me.

  In a loving, albeit figure-yourself-out way.

  I take a deep breath. I’m wearing a pair of black leggings, a white crop top, and a long-sleeve red plaid button-up, hanging open in case I get cold—though I’m sure they’re about to put every member through hell.

  The door to the practice room opens.

  I look up and feel even sicker.

  It’s Ryan.

  By himself.

  I expect everyone else to shuffle in behind him.

  They don’t.

  This is a problem. Is he going to be cruel with his words again? Is he going to actually play nice? Every insecurity in my arsenal comes flaring back to life, and yet he asked me to be a part of this. Did everyone else turn him down?

  “Where is everyone?” I ask.

  He drops his bag to the floor and then kicks it toward the wall. “Practicing. Just like us.”

  My stomach drops. “Why not with us?”

  He won’t meet my eyes. He has his dark hair pulled back from his face and a black Yankees hat on.

  In fact, he’s in all black right now.

  Black sweats, black shirt, black hat.

  Totally gives dancing with the devil a new meaning.

  “Because.” He goes over to the sound system and taps away on his iPhone. Music starts pouring through the room.

  The beat is fast.

  And it starts off right away.

  Electric.

  Different.

  I like it.

  It feels fresh.

  He sets his phone down. “The plan is to divide and conquer right now. We have next to no time, and no group ever gets this kind of freedom from the label, so we have to prove ourselves worthy of that freedom.”

  Something trickles down my spine. “And why exactly are they letting you guys take the lead? That’s not typical. In fact, it’s not just rare, it’s—”

  “I know what it is,” Ryan snaps in that smooth voice of his. Damn, it matches his skin, doesn’t it? Perfect perfection wrapped in a grumpy attitude. “And it’s none of your business why. Just say ‘thank you’ and get your ass to work.”

  I suddenly realize that he’s speaking in English.

  I’ve gotten so used to talking in Korean that I’m confused why he’s switched it up on me.

  “Fine,” I say in Korean.

  He gives me a funny look but keeps talking as if I haven’t said anything. “We have six singles, all written. Each girl gets a part in each song, and we’re trying to make it even. Haneul choreographed the dance sequences, so they’re not exactly going to be easy.”

  “Me, either,” I say, then realize what I just said and backpedal. “I mean that I’m good at dancing, not that I’m easy. My brain didn’t go there. I was just—”

  “Stop talking,” he snaps. “It’s embarrassing for both of us.”

  He moves to the middle of the room.

  I cross my arms in annoyance and get even more annoyed when he shows me the choreography. It’s good. Like really, really good.

  And hard.

  I hold my head high.

  This is it.

  My last chance.

  And why am I singing Last Dance in my head now?

  Ryan rolls his hips and then drops to the wood floor.

  My jaw also drops as his hips press against it. He flips around to his back and then jumps up. I’m so entranced that I can’t peel my eyes away from his body.

  He’s using the entire floor, completely dominating every inch of space as he moves across it, utterly owning the song and how his body moves.

  Sweat trickles down his cheek, sliding past his sculpted jawline and onto his black shirt. He turns to me once the song ends, then pulls off his tee and wipes his face.

  My nerves are on fire as I try not to stare at his perfectly lean body, his six-pack—no, wait, is that even six? Seven? Eight?

  I put my hands on my hips so he thinks I’m annoyed and unimpressed. In reality, my heart is slamming against my chest so hard it almost hurts to breathe.

  “From the top,” he says, tossing his shirt to the floor.

  “And here I thought Canadians were supposed to be super nice and polite,” I mutter.

  “And here I thought Korean-Americans had something to prove.” He jabs right back where it decimates me.

  As if he knows how hard I’ve tried.

  And how much I feel like I’ll never fit in.

  Maybe it’s all self-sabotage. It’s not like anyone’s been anything but nice to me. Accepting.

  They’re my insecurities.

  I realize that.

  It’s me.

  I’m the problem.

  I’m the one with the chip on my shoulder because I want to be like everyone else.

  And I won’t ever be anything but someone who lacks star potential.

  “Stop.” He grabs me by the shoulders. “See, that’s your problem.”

  “W-what?” I jerk away.

  He grabs me again. “You think too much. You need to feel.”

  “Or maybe I feel too much and think too little,” I counter.

  His smirk is devastating as he jerks me close to him. “Maybe you should just focus on the feeling.”

  His chest is inches from mine.

  My breath hitches as his full mouth lowers, his lips nearly caressing my ear as he whispers, “Feel me.”

  “What?” I don’t mean to shriek; it just happens.

  His chuckle is dark and delicious, like a single bite of chocolate cake you don’t even want to swallow because it tastes like heaven on your tongue.

  “Feel.” He spins me around until I face the mirror. His hands glide from my shoulders down my body. “Just feel before we start with all the counting, the steps, the movement. Because the song is about feeling, emotion…” His voice lowers. “Sex.”

  I gasp, a bit horrified because while I know it sometimes happens between trainees, it is literally never spoken about aloud. “Is that even allowed?”

  He smirks in the mirror. “It’s not like we spell it out, but the hints are there. So, you need to feel. You need to empower the people watching you to feel. And you need to make them believe it, even if you want to strangle me. We’re doing something different.”

  I gulp, then nod my head. My entire body is a live wire as I stand there, staring at myself in the mirror. Finally, I close my eyes. The song starts again. Without realizing it, I’m swaying. Moving.

  Ryan stays behind me.

  I can feel his body heat and hear his breaths. I could probably count his heartbeats if I were closer.

  The song finds its ending.

  My eyes flash open.

  He stares at me through the mirror. “Ready?”

  “Ready,” I say.

  Five hours later, with one break for coffee and a protein bar, my body hurts so bad I want to live in a hot tub. I’m starving and want real food but really haven’t had anything outside of ramyeon and vegetables for years, so why change now?

  I swear my body’s crying for more.

  But I’m still bigger than anyone else.

  Taller.

  I’m still not right.

  My stomach growls when I go to get my stuff.

  Ryan, of course, just happens to be right next to me, grabbing his bag.

  He picks it up and says nothing.

  Embarrassed, I grab mine and follow him out.

  “You did okay for your first day,” he says without looking back. “Tomorrow, you’ll work on your part of the song and do another round of choreography.”

  I run to catch up with him. “How long do we have to get this all down?”

  He stops, and I nearly run into him.

  His head hangs. “We have four weeks until our Showcase.”

  “What!?” I shriek. “That’s impossible! Like literally impossible!”

  “We don’t have a choice. The label gave us that long. It took us a while to find people willing, and”—he shakes his head—“you wouldn’t understand.”

  “Understand what?” I ask. “Why not give us more time?”

  “Because they want us to fucking fail!” Ryan shouts, finally turning around. “Don’t you see? We’re doing something different. We’re trying to break out of an industry that wants you to stay the same over and over again. Perfect skin, perfect bodies, perfect clothes, perfect smiles for your fans. I want to do something different, and so does Haneul. And if this label’s willing to give us that chance, we need to take it. Who knows when or if we’ll get it again?”

  I’m stunned and left speechless for a minute. “Wait, so they’re really letting you take the full reins on this? From clothing to diets to—?”

  “It’s just Haneul and me—and now you and Jisoo.”

  It’s just us.

  I swallow the dryness building up in my throat. “And if we fail?”

  Ryan’s gaze is sharp. “We can’t.”

  “But if we do?”

  “Are you not hearing me?” He slams his hands against the wall next to him. “We. Can’t. Fail. If we do, you’ll be working at Subway. Nothing against sandwiches, but we can’t fail. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

  I squeeze my eyes shut. He’s so mean. And yet, at the same time, I appreciate the honesty.

  No honeyed words.

  Not even any promises.

  This industry will beat you down until you don’t even recognize yourself anymore. He knows it.

  He has a story, too.

  I’m afraid to ask.

  Because it might make me run.

  “Okay.” I nod. “I get it. Don’t become a sandwich artist before twenty over a failed group.”

  He puts his hand on my head and shoves me away a bit playfully.

  Some might see his attitude as cruel, but I know it’s more like, yeah, we’re all in this together.