“I’m sorry, Jocelyn. This isn’t going to work for me.”
I leave for good this time, my head pounding as I walk away from the best opportunity my career has ever seen. When the Hollywood sunshine hits my face, however, I’m calm. Finally, I know what I need to do. I may not be a saint—far frigging from it—but this time, I’m doing the right thing.
I call another Uber, climb in, and give him directions to Peretti’s Pizza.
“Good pies,” the driver says. “I love what they do to a sausage.”
“Don’t I know it,” I say, smiling at the image. “Let’s make this quick. Big tip if you can get me there in thirty minutes.”
“Got a pizza all hot and ready, huh?”
“Something like that.”
“Good man,” the driver says. “We’ll get you there no problem. She’ll be waiting for you, man. I can feel it.”
I’m not sure if he’s talking about a pizza or a girl, but I need the latter to be true.
Anything else is just not an option.
CHAPTER 48
Andi
I refuse to admit that I’ve been crying for the last two hours.
After my dad brought me home this morning, Angela agreed to take over my shift, and Lisa swooped by to distract me. We spent the afternoon sipping mimosas and plotting out new material for our pilot audition.
The new material is crap, but it served its purpose—a distraction from him. I can’t hate him, can’t even bring myself to talk bad about Ryan Pierce. I care for him, even after just a short time together. There is nothing wrong with him except timing.
Lisa argued that Ryan should’ve stood up to the Blonde Bitch earlier, and I understand her logic, truly, I do, but I also understand where he is coming from. He made a deal with her before I ever entered the equation, and it is hard to fault Ryan for being a man of his word.
I also understand his desire to follow his dreams. I have dreams of my own, and I don’t intend to roll over on everything I’ve worked for my entire life. My ovaries might want to drop everything to move to Minnesota and have Ryan’s babies, but my brain fights against that urge.
I have a life here, dreams, passions. If I am going to be true to myself and happy—honestly happy—I need to see them through. Otherwise, what sort of mother, wife, daughter, or friend would I be?
“There.” Lisa finishes applying eyeliner to my eyes. Minutes ago, she had frozen spoons pressed against my eyelids to dull the post-tears swelling. “You look beautiful.”
I glance in the mirror, and it is movie magic at its finest. Lisa, bless her heart, has transformed me into a fox—smoky eyes, seductive red lips, and a low-cut, lacy black tank top over a new pair of dark jeans. She’s dressed similarly in black, though her lips are pink and her eyes are dotted with glitter.
“Can you believe it’s happening?” She holds my arms and squeals. Finally, it’s not forced excitement for the sake of cheering me up. Her eyes sparkle with the same sheen of the glitter on her lashes, and she’s squealing. “You and me, together—shit, Andi, we’ve been dreaming of this day for years!”
My heart speeds up a bit, and it’s the first sign I’ve had all day that my decision to return to Los Angeles was the right one. I smile at her. “I wouldn’t be here without you,” I tell her. “You are… You mean everything to me.”
She blinks, and if I’m not mistaken, there’s a hint of mistiness in her eyes. “We’re a team. You and me, Andi. We’re doing this together—and guess who’s going to be in the audience?”
I moan. “I don’t want to know.”
“Better that way.” Lisa winks, but it doesn’t help the butterflies flapping about in my stomach.
She met with Nick Bennett shortly after I did, and he told us to start practicing our material for the audition in front of a live audience. This is our first show ever performing stand-up together, as a duo, and it’s happening because Nick Bennett worked his magic in bringing the show to life.
There’s a crowd out there; I can feel it. Rick was whistling when he came backstage a few minutes ago to announce the ten-minute countdown to show time, and he never whistles. He hates people.
But tonight, people must be making him money, because Rick made his son show up to sling drinks. For the first time ever, Phil (from the mailbox) doesn’t have a front row seat. He lives here, and even he didn’t arrive in time.
“Agents, other comedians, casting directors, producers, directors.” Lisa flops on the couch. “Is this what it feels like right before we make it?”
“Don’t jinx anything! We haven’t made it yet. I haven’t retired from Peretti’s Pizza, and until I have, I’m not jumping to any conclusions.”
“Capisce,” she says. “Then let’s get our asses out there and make it.”
We grasp hands for a moment, our fingers squeezing, the excitement zinging between as we make our way toward the stage. Rick is shouting that it’s show time, Phil is whistling from the back row, and preshow chatter is at an all-time high as the guests wait for the main event.
Lisa lets go of my fingers just before we head on stage, but not before she takes a second to wink at me, smile, and give a word of encouragement. “You ready to dream big?”
I laugh, because I can’t help it. I’m nervous and exhilarated, a feeling I never thought would be possible so soon after leaving Ryan’s bed this morning. A pang of longing hits me, and I find myself wishing he were in the audience tonight too, sitting next to his buddy, Nick.
I shake off the wishful notions as we emerge underneath the lights. All thoughts of Ryan disappear as I stare into the crowd. Lisa is laughing, smiling, waving at everyone, but I freeze. It’s a full house, a full frigging house. I don’t care that the house is small in the scheme of things—I’ve never played a club where there was standing room only. People are standing at the back, and every chair is taken.
Thankfully, Lisa has her wits about her and opens the show, cracking a joke about this being both of our first times, and it goes over well. I turn to face her, still trying to make my feet move forward. This is how it’s going to end, I think. I’m going to die right here of stage fright, and poor Lisa’s going to be left doing the show alone.
This isn’t how I planned to die.
Then, I see him, and I decide that maybe I can’t die yet.
That shaggy brown hair, those fairytale eyes that could melt a woman’s heart from across the room, that powerful torso that’s built to play, to protect, to hold me close under the shelter of the stars. Ryan Pierce.
In his hands there’s a stack of pizzas—at least ten of them—and I recognize the logo on the edge of the box: Peretti’s Pizza. He’s in the middle of handing out slices to all of the audience members, and everyone looks thrilled by the hot and ready pies. He’s even given an entire pizza to Phil.