“He did explain that. Okay. I’d better go raid a liquor store. Be back soon with your bourbon.”
“Wait, you can’t buy booze. You’re, like, twelve.”
“I’m twenty-two, Miss Taylor.”
“Really? You’re legal? Hmmm. I might have to rethink not sexually harassing you, then.”
“Please don’t. Mr. Holt is a large man. He’d crush me like a bug.”
“He doesn’t get jealous anymore.” Cody gives me a look. “Okay, he does, but he’s not an asshole about it.”
“Did you tell him Mr. Bain sent you that massive bouquet of roses?”
“Are you insane? He’d tear the place apart.”
“Really?”
“I don’t think so. Still, maybe lose the card, okay?”
He takes the card and shoves it in his pocket. “It’s gone.”
“You’re awesome, Cody. And pretty.”
He laughs. “Have a great show, Miss Taylor.”
“Thanks. See you when it’s over.”
When he’s gone, I slip into my Act One costume and begin my focusing exercises.
I do three sets of tai-chi before giving up. My focus is screwed. I need …
There’s a knock at the door. Perfect timing.
“Come in.”
Ethan enters. He looks like crap. He’s also in costume, but even through his makeup, I can see how green he is.
He walks over and collapses on my couch.
“You okay?”
“Yep.”
“Really?”
“Nope. Did you hear the asshole from the Times is coming tonight?”
“Yeah, plus every other Broadway reviewer and blogger in New York.”
He clutches his stomach. “Fuck. Also, my parents are here.”
“They’re going to love it. Mine are coming next week. I wanted to make sure I had some time to spend with them away from the craziness of opening night.”
“They send you flowers?”
“Yes. One giant bunch each, because you know, divorced people can’t possibly talk on the phone and organize a joint present.”
“Of course not.” “Tristan sent me a gift-boxed vibrator with a card that read, ‘If the reviewers don’t like your show, give them this and tell them to go fuck themselves.’”
He laughs, then groans. “That’s the best thing I’ve heard all day. He coming tonight?”
“Yep. Bringing his new boyfriend.”
“Oh, good. I’d really like to put a face to the inappropriate descriptions of his ass.”
“Likewise.”
He sits up and sighs. “I see Connor sent you roses.”
My heart falters. “Uh … you did?”
“Yeah, he was dropping them off at the stage door when I arrived.”
“Uh huh. So … you talked to him?”
“Yeah. He wished us both luck.”
“You seem very calm about it.”
“I am.” I give him a skeptical look, and he waves me off. “Connor was a blip on our radar. Despite my fantasizing about beating the shit out of him on the regular, he’s a nice guy. The only thing he ever did wrong was take a liking to the girl of my dreams. Can’t really blame him for that. You are fucking spectacular.”
“So you’re okay with him sending me flowers?”
“Yep. He can send you all the flowers he wants. At the end of the night, I’m the one taking you home.”
“Well, you walk me home.”
“Semantics. I take you back to your apartment, then we say good-night at the door and share a marathon hug that ensures I’ll be hard for hours afterward.”
I laugh. “Hours? Really?” He glares, and I drop my smile. “I’m sorry. You must be frustrated.”
“Nope. I’m fine. Because I know that one night, you’re going to invite me in, and on that night, I’m going to make sweet love to you for hours on end, and Connor will be nowhere to be found. At least, I hope he won’t. If he were, that would be creepy.”
I laugh, and when I go over to him, he pulls on my hand until I’m straddling him. I balk for about three seconds before admitting to myself that I need this. I need him. Of all the things to be worried about tonight, he’s not one of them.
He moves beneath me and makes a noise.
“Am I hurting you?” I ask.
“No. What you’re doing is the opposite of hurting. God, you feel good.”
I snuggle into his neck, and he wraps his arms around me. Within two minutes, our breathing is synchronized, and my nerves have calmed.
There’s a brief knock on the door, and I murmur, “Come in.”
I crack my eyes open to see Marco standing in the doorway, staring at us.
“What on earth are you two doing?”
In unison, Ethan and I say, “Focusing.”
Marco blinks and shakes his head. “Erika certainly taught you some interesting techniques at that school. Still, whatever works. I was going to wish you both luck for tonight, but I don’t really need to because I know you’ll be magnificent.”
Ethan says, “Thanks. We know,” and tightens his arms around me. If I weren’t so relaxed, I’d giggle.
“Well, all right then. Have a wonderful show, and I’ll see you afterward.”
“Bye, Marco.”
When he closes the door, we both sigh.
“I pity those reviewers,” Ethan says.
“Why?”
“Because by the time we’re finished with them, they’re going to run out of superlatives for how fucking awesome we are.”
I smile against his neck. “So true.”
Three Years Earlier
Westchester, New York
The Grove