Nevin wandered off.
“I need to do the same,” Lisa said.
“Okay.” Stella just longed to sit down for a few minutes, so she went to the edge of the stage, figuring she’d let her legs dangle and rest.
She skidded to a halt on the stage when she saw Lawrence in deep conversation with a very tall, extremely good-looking man she recognized right off as Trick.
What the hell was he doing at the theater? And why was he talking to Lawrence?
“There’s Stella now,” Lawrence said. “I’ll let you go. Nice talking to you, Trick. And thanks again.”
“It was my pleasure, Lawrence. Say hi to Jonathan for me.”
“I definitely will.”
Trick and Lawrence shook hands—like they were old friends. For Christ’s sake, Lawrence even smiled.
That man did not smile. Ever.
What the ever-loving fuck was going on? Had she fallen and bumped her head? Because this had to be some kind of dream.
She walked off the stage and met Trick.
“What are you doing here?”
“I sat in the back and watched your rehearsal.”
“What—how? Rehearsals are closed. Lawrence is a monster about that. No one gets to watch. Hell, he wouldn’t let his own grandmother watch a rehearsal.”
His lips curved. “Well, I don’t know about that, because I just did. You’re incredible, by the way. The way you dance, Stella? I never knew you were that good. I’m really impressed. But I can see why you complain about Lawrence. He’s really hard on you. On all of you.”
Ignoring his compliment, her head spun at the information pouring into it. Not only had he watched the rehearsal, but— “Oh, God, Trick. Please tell me you didn’t say anything to Lawrence about him being hard on me.” She’d die. She’d not only die, she’d get fired.
“Of course not. This is your job, Stella. I’d never interfere in that.”
“And yet here you are. At my job. Don’t you have your own job to go to? You have a game tonight.”
He gave her a warm smile. He was obviously happy about being here, while she was not. It unnerved the hell out of her.
“Warm-ups aren’t until later. I had some time, so I thought I’d drop by and see you dance. Is that a problem?”
“Yes, it’s a problem. It’s a big problem.”
“I don’t understand why.”
She didn’t know why, either, other than she knew he wasn’t supposed to be here. Something just wasn’t sitting right with her. “How did you even get in here?”
“Let’s just say I know people who know people.”
She laid her water bottle down on one of the seats and crossed her arms. “Explain that to me.”
“I found out Lawrence’s boyfriend Jonathan is a big hockey fan. So I might have pulled some strings and said I could get them season tickets if Lawrence would let me pop in this morning to watch some of your rehearsal.”
Stella knew it was really damn hard—if not nearly impossible—to get Travelers season tickets. “It was that important to you to watch me sweat on stage during a rehearsal?”
“It wasn’t that big a deal, honestly. You’re blowing this way out of proportion. I wanted to watch how hard you were working—which is very hard, by the way. I saw an opening and I took it. Lawrence was happy to let me watch. It’s not like I’m in here with some camera taking pictures that I’m going to sell to competitors or to the paparazzi, and he knows that. I wanted to see my girlfriend dance, and he gets to surprise his boyfriend with season tickets to the Travelers games. It’s a win/win.”
There were so many things wrong with what he’d just said, but she’d zeroed in on the one word that made her sweat more than all the grueling hours of rehearsal she went through.
“I’m not your girlfriend.”
“Oh, I see. So I should have said ‘that chick I’m fucking’?”
She rubbed the side of her head. “You’re giving me a headache.”
“And I don’t get why this is a thing. What’s wrong with me watching you dance? I told you the other day I hadn’t seen you dance yet, and I wanted to. I figured this was a great opportunity. I’m sorry it freaked you out.”
It had freaked her out. For so many reasons it made her head spin.
He pulled out his phone. “Listen, I gotta go. You looked amazing up there—like you were born to be on the stage. See you at the game tonight?”
She nodded mutely, and he turned and left.
No good-bye. No kiss. No . . . anything.
Then again, she’d been the one to rain on his parade, hadn’t she? So what did she expect? Flowers and him bending her over backwards with a swooning kiss? He’d tried to surprise her with something sweet, and she’d been a major bitch about it.
She was a moron.
A moron who didn’t know what she wanted.
***
“I don’t understand women.”
Trick sat in the locker room after an intense late afternoon practice with his team.