Andi
“You did ah-mazing.” I grab Lisa at our designated meeting spot outside the club, each of us locking hands around the other’s forearms, doing a little girlish dance in the style of Ring Around the Rosie. “You’re a star, Lisa!”
“That scared the shit out of me.” Lisa’s eyes shine like two beams of light, and I can feel the nerves, the exhilaration, the adrenaline sizzling in the air. “I hated it, but I loved it. Damn, I don’t know what’s happening. I am going crazy! This is amazing!”
A shadow moves at my elbow. “You’ve reminded me how much I like going to comedy shows.” Ryan slides one arm over my shoulder, the casualness of his gesture feeling natural. It’s nice; I could get used to it.
Before my traitor of a brain wanders to dangerous territories—like wondering if Ryan Pierce might actually enjoy the company of the world’s worst delivery girl—I pat Lisa on the shoulder again. “Congratulations. That was an awesome show. You nailed it, really.”
“I have to agree.” Ryan grins. “So, when’s your next show?”
“What?” Lisa blinks up at him.
“Your next show,” I say, patting Ryan on the chest, not sure how or why we’ve become so comfortable so quickly. I turn back to Lisa. “When is it? We’ll be there—or, I mean, I will, and maybe Ryan too, if he wants to come?”
“Of course,” he agrees. “That’s why I asked.”
Lisa opens and shuts her mouth a few times. “That’s a good question. Bruce, you got any more openings this week?”
Bruce the bouncer shrugs. “They don’t tell me those things.”
Lisa can’t wipe the shit-eating grin off her face. “It feels different, Andi, when there’s more than one person in the audience—different in a good way. And they laughed! At things I said! Can you freaking believe it?”
Another laugh bubbles up in my giddy friend.
“Of course I can believe it!” I tell her. “They loved you in there. I’ll be surprised if you don’t get a call to do the show next week. Hell, I’ll be surprised if they invite Luke Donahue back at all. I think you might’ve replaced him.”
“You think?” That flash of desperation, the self-doubt that never quite leaves a comedian’s soul, appears in her eyes. “Anyway, I’m not gonna worry about it now. A few of the others are grabbing a drink at the bar. You guys wanna come?”
I flick my eyes up to Ryan and wait for his answer.
“I have an early meeting in the morning, so I can’t make it,” he says, “but Andi, if you want to stay, I’ll call a cab and leave you my car, or vice versa.”
“Of course, I understand,” Lisa says. She releases me from the best-friend pact with a whisper. “Go with him. Thanks for coming in the first place.”
“We wouldn’t have missed it.” I stop, clasping a hand over my mouth, wondering where on earth that we came from. Praying Ryan didn’t notice, I continue quickly. “Your first big show was a success. You should celebrate all night long.”
Lisa gives me one last hug and a knowing look, then disappears among the catcalls from her friends waiting at the bar.
I turn to face Ryan. He’s wearing a grin the size of a banana.
“Where are we going next?” he asks, looping his arm through mine.
“Shut up,” I say. “I thought this whole thing was fake, anyway.”
“I didn’t say I’d fake date you,” he says. “I have to convince you to spend a weekend—or at least a few hours—with my family. I might as well make it worth your time.”
“You’re right,” I say. “I could use a ride home, then.”
“You got it, sweetheart.”
CHAPTER 15
Andi
“This is neither my home, nor your home.” I glance out the window after a short drive from the comedy club. We haven’t yet entered the ritzy area of Los Feliz, but we also haven’t made our way back to my stomping grounds. We are somewhere in between.
“You are accurate, but it is the best coffee shop around.” Ryan looks across the center console to where I sit huddled in the passenger’s seat. “Fancy a cappuccino?”
I narrow my eyes at him. “Is this another fake date?”
He climbs out of the car, and I beat him to the door this time. He takes my hand anyway and marches me to the front of the cafe. “It feels pretty real to me.”
“I thought—”
“I’m kidding,” he says. “Your car is at my house, and I assume you want to drive home tonight. You probably need another hour or two before you’re good to go. I figure I might as well show you a good cup of coffee.”
Of course, I say to myself. All in one sentence he’s told me that I’d better find my way home tonight, that he has no intention of this being a real date, and that I’m probably an idiot for thinking this was anything more than an attempt to sober me up.
So I do what Andi Peretti does best—I make awkward conversation until the mugs arrive. Thankfully, they give my hands a nice distraction as I play with the spoon and the sugar packets.
Sitting across the table from Ryan Pierce is hard work. He’s intimidating because he’s so nice, not to mention smoking hot. So, I play with more sugar packets.
“This is the best espresso I’ve ever tasted.” I sip my frothy, foamy, milky cappuccino. The diner is cute, small, and out of the way, so out of the way of normal LA traffic that we’re the only customers at this hour, even though it’s now two thirty in the morning. I suspect that soon, we might encounter the post-bar-closing rush.
My mind travels back to the way Ryan led me inside, his arm never leaving the small of my back, his fingers brushing the skin between the bottom of my tank and the top of my jeans. He didn’t remove his hand when the waitress greeted him by name, or when she showed us to his “usual” table in the corner. Only when I removed my leather jacket and slid into the booth did he move to sit across from me.
“Hang on, you’ve got some foam right here…” He extends a thumb, hovering it above my lip. “May I?”
“Embarrassing.” I swipe at my own lip, saving his fingers from having to remove the bit of froth just hanging out on my upper lip.
I’m an adult—I should be able to control where the food goes when I consume it.
Ryan brings his hand back, looking almost disappointed. Then, he reaches for my cup. “May I?”
“Have a sip? Go ahead.” I look over at his cup. “I’d ask for a sip of yours, but I can’t handle black coffee. It looks like mud.”
Ryan takes a sip of my cappuccino, and when he pulls the cup away from his mouth, his lips are coated in foam.
I laugh at the image, a surprisingly loud sound in the quiet diner. A waitress looks our way with a frown, but Ryan is oblivious to her. I shift in my seat and try to be oblivious, just like Ryan.
“May I?” I extend my thumb toward his lips, mimicking his actions.
Ryan’s hand snakes out and clasps my wrist.
“You may…” His eyes twinkle. “But you can’t use your hands.”
My mouth goes dry. Then I say the dumbest thing that could possibly pop into my mind. “What do you want me to use?”