Julian
I SUFFER THROUGH another restless night and drag myself out of bed the next morning. If I’m not careful, the quality of my rest will depend on whether Ashley’s around, and that’s not healthy. After sleepwalking through my morning routine, I take several groggy steps to the kitchen and make myself a protein shake. When I unscrew the lid of the whey powder, the particles rush out like a small storm cloud. The floor and my face are among the casualties.
I mutter to myself as I get down on all fours and clean up the mess I’ve made.
Not long after, Ashley snorts above me. “You okay down there?”
“Yeah, I’m fine,” I mutter. “Just a little mishap.”
The truth is, despite what I know to be the rational thing to do, I spent way too much time last night imagining a scenario in which Ashley and I were lovers, not friends. It was a cruel exercise, and my brain and body are battered as a result.
“That’s what you get for not making yourself a proper breakfast. Eggs, bacon, hash browns. No powder involved.”
“That’s a weekend meal,” I say as I take one more pass at the floor with a damp dish towel. When I stand, I find a fully dressed Ashley wringing her hands. “What’s wrong?”
She jumps at my question and repeatedly shakes her head as she answers. “What? Nothing’s wrong. Why’d you ask?”
“Ash, it’s six o’clock in the morning, you have the day off, and you’re awake. Something’s wrong.”
Her shoulders drop. “I didn’t sleep well. It’ll pass, I’m sure. Figured I could explore the neighborhood more before I leave for my next trip.”
Given how we left things last night, I’m guessing her thoughts weren’t all that different from mine. As long as they remain unspoken, we should be fine. “When do you have to check in?”
“Tomorrow night. Red-eye to Chicago.”
I feel like an insensitive shit for not thinking of this sooner. Ashley’s not familiar with my neighborhood, and all I’ve done is point her in the direction of the nearest Whole Foods. I should have offered to show her around. My phone, which is always either in my pocket or within reach, buzzes on the counter, a fitting reminder that my time is rarely my own. I swipe it up and read a message from one of my clients letting me know she’s on time for her New York audition. It’s a small miracle, and I’ll take it. Turning back to Ashley, I say, “I have to head into the office soon. Won’t be back until late, so . . .”
She straightens. “Oh, don’t worry about me. I’m in LA. Entertaining myself won’t be hard.”
As I watch her and consider my schedule, she pulls her lower lip into her mouth and scans the space. We’re dancing around each other, and I place the burden on myself to correct that. Fortunately, I know exactly how to. “Hey, a potential client invited me to a play at the Pasadena Playhouse tonight. An experimental show of some kind. It’s supposed to be groundbreaking and”—I make air quotes—“ ‘edgy.’ Want to join me?”
Her eyes brighten, and her pinched expression softens. “Sounds like fun.”
“I won’t be able to take you. Too much going on at work. But I’ll arrange for a car to pick you up. How does that sound?”
She nods. “Great. What time?”
“Be ready at seven.”
She gives me an ear-to-ear smile. “Perfect. I’ll be ready.”
See, Julian? That wasn’t so bad. The awkwardness between us is only temporary. Ashley and I will be fine. Years from now, we’ll sit together with our respective spouses and laugh about how we avoided a catastrophe. I’m certain of it.
I SEARCH FOR Ashley when I arrive at the theater, but I don’t see her anywhere. After confirming she hasn’t called or sent me a text, I lean against a column in the lobby and check my email as I wait for her. A few minutes later, Ashley spins through the revolving door, catches sight of me, and strides my way. Her long hair frames her face in soft waves, and she’s wearing a frilly sundress and strappy flat sandals, as if she decided to cosplay as the perfect spring day. I’m not the only person who notices, judging by the people following her progress. Still, they’re probably not imagining her like I am—tangled in my sheets, her back arched and her limbs trembling as I lick her swollen clit. Jesus. Straightening as she approaches, I put a fucking muzzle on my thoughts.
“Hey,” she says in a breathy voice. “Sorry I’m late. The driver was showing me pictures of his newborn granddaughter, and I couldn’t figure out a polite way to tell him a dozen pictures was enough.”
People gravitate to Ashley, opening up to her in a way they’d never act with me. Maybe because I don’t give off vibes that I want to hear anyone’s life story. Still, Ashley could get a nun to cackle in church if she tried hard enough. “No problem,” I say as we walk inside the theater. “How’d your day of sightseeing go?”
“Um, not great. I kind of got sidetracked. Did you know there’s an ice cream shop two blocks away from your place? You can watch the batches being made. I was mesmerized.”
We’re swallowed by the crowd, both content to lumber along until we get to our row.
I hand her a program. “Luna Creamery?”
“That’s the one!” Her eyes brighten and grow wide. “And they have ice cream flights. I inhaled those miniature scoops of deliciousness like I was throwing back shots of vodka. I’m sorry, but fresh ice cream beats an LA tour any day.”
“I’ve never been there. Always wondered if it was any good.”
She halts midstride and squeezes my arm. “We need to get you out more. See, there’s this thing. It’s called fun. Are you familiar with it?”
Ignoring that wisecrack, I place my hands on her shoulders and steer her forward. It feels good to have my hands on her. Too good. I drop my arms to the sides because feeling good with Ashley isn’t wise. At the front of the theater, I motion for her to proceed me. “Here we are. Row B, seats seven and eight. We’ve got nine, too, but none of my coworkers jumped on it.”
She places her purse in the empty seat and leans over. “Who’s the target?”
I chuckle at her attempt to make this an undercover stakeout. “Well, Agent Williamson, the target’s name is Gabriel Vega. He’s done commercial work and public theater mostly. He reached out to me a couple of weeks ago—got my number from someone he knows in the television division—and he made a good first impression.”
Her playful expression turns serious. “Was that okay? Passing on your number like that? I imagine you don’t give it out to just anyone.”
“My direct number, definitely not. But in this instance, it was the right move. He made a compelling case.”
Within two minutes of the call, Vega told me about his struggle to land quality television and film roles, attributing it in part to his Puerto Rican heritage. I suspect he’s right. Tinseltown is notorious for typecasting Latino actors. Sure, there’s no shortage of small parts as the neighborhood ex-gang member or the Colombian drug lord, but leading roles in which a successful Latino saves the day or gets the girl, or both, are few and far between. I can’t share his concerns with Ashley—it wouldn’t be appropriate, especially if Gabriel becomes my client—so I flip open the program and point to his head shot. “That’s him.”
Ashley stares at his photo. “Wow. He’s gorgeous.”
“You know you said that out loud, right?”
She blinks up at me, and her cheeks go rosy. “Well, consider me the one and only member of your focus group, then. If his acting and personality match his looks, you have a winner.”
It’s all good. She’s entitled to admire another man’s appearance, obviously. Just feels weird to hear her be so blatant about it. And if her interest in Gabriel is any indication, I’m nothing but a temporary diversion to her, which for my own sake is exactly what I need to be. Plus, I know something she doesn’t. “He’s married.”
She rolls her eyes. “Why am I not surprised?”
The lights in the theater flicker, and the audience’s chatter fades to indistinct murmurs.
“What kind of show is this anyway?” Ashley asks just before the curtain rises.
“Experimental improv, whatever that means. Should be interesting.”
WHEN THE PERFORMANCE is over, Ashley and I stroll to center stage to meet Gabriel.
A small circle of people surrounds the cast, and Gabriel gracefully accepts everyone’s congratulatory remarks. His face is open and friendly, and he carries himself with ease, all positive signs for someone wanting to be in the public eye. His face brightens even more when he sees us. After breaking away from the group, he claps me on the shoulder and shakes my outstretched hand. “Hey, you made it.”
“We did. Thanks for the invitation.”
Next to me, Ashley clears her throat.
“Gabriel, this is Ashley. She couldn’t resist coming along and getting a taste of the LA theater scene.”
Gabriel shakes her hand, too. “Great to meet you, Ashley.” Then he launches into a five-minute explanation of the show concept, and I pretend to be riveted by it. Not Ashley, though. Beside me, she stretches her arms behind her and stifles a yawn.
Gabriel glances at her. “Uh-oh. I’m boring your girlfriend, Julian.”
She straightens and gives him a flirty smile. “Oh, I wasn’t bored. Just low blood sugar, I think. And he’s not my boyfriend. We’re old family friends.”
“And I represent her brother,” I add.
“Really?” Gabriel says. “Who’s your brother?”
“Carter Williamson.” She gives him a sheepish grin. “I guess you’d know him as Carter Stone.”
“Oh, wow. Stone’s your brother? I guess good looks run in the family.”
Gabriel’s spouse wouldn’t appreciate this conversation; neither do I, for that matter. Time to move it along. I scan the area around us. “Does your wife attend your shows?”
Gabriel slants his head and looks at me quizzically. “My ex-wife? No, it’s been years since I’ve seen her.”
I massage the back of my head as I consider this new information. “Sorry. You mentioned on the phone that your wife always thought you overshared, so I assumed . . .”
He waves away the misunderstanding. “No worries. She’s in my past.” With a wistful expression on his face, he says under his breath, “Or I’d like her to be.”
Hmm. If I’m not mistaken, Gabriel’s not over his ex-wife. I make a mental note to check whether she’s an actor as well.
A fellow cast member tugs on the sleeve of Gabriel’s button-down. “Hey, man, we’re heading out soon. You comin’?”
Gabriel nods. “Be there in a bit.” He turns back to us. “Hey, I don’t suppose you’d want to join me? We’re going to Muddy’s Bar to grab a bite to eat. It’s just across the street.”
I hate neighborhood bars. People are too loud, and the music is never anything I want to listen to. Plus, the possibility that some fool will drink too much and say something stupid means I never relax enough to enjoy the experience. I open my mouth to decline, but Ashley lays her hands on my chest, and her delicate touch wraps around my brain and neutralizes it.
Her eyes are wide and dancing when she speaks. “Oooh, I’d like to go, but you’re my ride. Can we go? It’ll be fun. And I’m so hungry I could eat granola.” She winks at me, and even if it’s at my expense, I like that we’re sharing a private joke. Way more than I should, actually.
“Well, we can’t have you eating granola, can we now? The fiber and iron might cause your body to go into shock.”
She’s grinning as she pushes me away from her.
Gabriel claps his hands together. “Great. I’m going to grab my stuff and make sure everything’s locked up. The cast is on the hook if anyone swipes the theater’s equipment. Meet you over there in ten?”
“Sure.” I offer Ashley my arm. “Shall we?”
She bows. “We most certainly shall.”
With our arms linked, we sprint across the avenue and duck into Muddy’s Bar. The place is dark but not dank, and it appears to be overpopulated with theater and musician types. In other words, I see lots of cardigans and classic rock T-shirts. The crowd’s diverse, too, which isn’t a surprise in this part of town. My suit sets me apart, though. To them, I probably look like an undercover cop.
Ashley points at a table in a back corner. “Let’s snag that one.”
We weave our way through the crowd and settle onto the curved high-backed bench that faces the stage. A middle-aged man is performing a comedy set and swipes at his forehead with a kerchief every few seconds. There’s laughter in the crowd, but it isn’t timed to anything he’s saying.
I lean over to Ashley and whisper in her ear. “He’s bombing.” Her sweet scent wafts over me, and I breathe her in. Damn, she smells good.
She stills and closes her eyes.
“You okay, Ash?”
She nods and fishes inside her purse, damn near burying her nose in it. “I’m so thirsty.” Then she sets her bag behind her, presses a hand against her throat, and swallows, her other arm raised to get a server’s attention. When she finally looks up again, she grimaces sympathetically at our amateur comedian. “I admire his courage, but this is painful to watch.”
Before I can respond, Gabriel and a few of his castmates arrive at the table with our server in tow. We exchange introductions as she waits patiently for everyone to get situated. Once we’re settled, she goes around placing napkins in front of everyone. “Welcome to Muddy’s, folks. We’ve got three- and four-dollar cocktails tonight. They’re listed here.” She points to a long, narrow piece of cardstock in the center of the table. “It’s also open mic night. If anyone’s interested in getting on stage, you can sign up by the DJ booth.”
I nudge Ashley’s shoulder with mine. “What do you say, Ash? Ready to get up there?”
“I’ll do it if you do it,” she says without hesitation. There’s mischief in her eyes, as if she knows her challenge will shut me up. And it does, because there’s no way I’d ever embarrass myself on a stage. We order a round of drinks and appetizers for the table.
Ashley tacks on an order of burger and fries. A few minutes later, she rises and places a hand on my shoulder as she climbs out from behind the table. “I’m going to run to the restroom.” Her casual touches should go unnoticed, but my brain seizes on those moments of contact and tricks me into thinking they mean more than they do. Why did I agree to this? I should have shuttled her home immediately after the show. Before she leaves, she lifts a finger as if she’s scolding me. “If my burger gets here before I do, don’t touch it.”
Gabriel winks at her. “I’ll protect it with my life.”
She winks back at him. “I’m relying on you, comrade.”
He rewards her with a goofy grin just as our drinks arrive. Damn, I gave up freeballing in my sweats at home for this? Eager for something to do besides watch them flirt with each other, I reach for my snifter before our server can get it off the tray.
Ashley steps away, and when I finish a sip of brandy, Gabriel slides closer. “Again, thanks for coming, man. I wasn’t sure you would.”
His friends get into a debate about the greatest movie remake of all time, leaving us free to chat about his work. “The show was interesting. Not what I expected.”
“This isn’t what I want to be doing, and some days it’s hard to keep pounding the pavement in search of better work.”
I’ve heard this complaint before. If an actor didn’t question the prudence of chasing his dreams at least once, I’d wonder if it really was his dream. “But you keep going because you love it, right?”
“Right. When I have a gig, I jump out of the bed singing. It’s like the whole tenor of my day changes. And when I’m acting?” He shakes his head. “Man, there’s nothing like it.”
The sincerity in his voice moves me. He’s in the business because he loves it. And if I’m being honest with myself, I envy him. I’d love to jump out of the bed singing, but that’s never happened. I like what I do just fine. It’s given me the means to provide for myself and help my family. I suppose that should be enough.
Gabriel glances at our tablemates, one of whom is belting out a show tune, and lowers his voice. “Maybe you could help me get out of this rut?”
“Maybe. We should have lunch and discuss your goals. I’ll ask my assistant to schedule something with you next week.”
Gabriel lets out a huge breath and nods. “Sounds great.”
I spot Ashley on the other side of the bar, suspiciously close to the stage. She sidles up to the DJ, and they exchange a few words. He thrusts a sheet in her hand, and she studies it for a few seconds before thrusting it back at him. She backs away, shaking her head and gesturing no, while he motions for her to come back. When she returns to the table, she wedges herself in between Gabriel and me. “Is that mine?” she asks me, pointing to the only unclaimed drink on the table.
“Yeah. Were you considering going on stage for open mic night?””
She lifts her eyebrows and purses her lips. “Nope. Just curious.”
Just curious, my ass. She’s tempted to get on stage but won’t take the leap. I wish I knew what’s holding her back.
As she nurses her drink, she sways to the music piping through the speakers, her body moving like a pendulum and brushing against mine each time she leans my way. As surreptitiously as I can, I slide an inch away from her. There’s only so much I should be expected to bear.
Our server returns with the appetizers and Ashley’s burger and fries. Ash’s eyes bug out as she licks her lips in anticipation of getting her hands on the food. Seeing her wrap her elegant fingers around the thick burger shouldn’t do anything for me—but it does. And it gets worse, because she opens her mouth wide and takes a big-ass bite, moaning her appreciation in a way that sounds torturously similar to the orgasm she gave herself the other night.
“Oh, that’s so good.” She lifts the burger to my eye level. “Want a bite?”
“No, thanks.”
“It’s always the hole-in-the-wall that makes the best food.” She chomps down again. “So good.”
Gabriel laughs. “This place should hire you to sell their burgers. You’re making an excellent case for them.”
She grins at Gabriel as she chews. “It’s fantastic, what can I say?” She holds out her burger. “Here, try it and tell me I’m lying.”
I expect Gabriel to decline her offer—people don’t share food with someone they don’t know, right?—but he leans over and sinks his teeth into Ashley’s burger.
I shut my eyes and pinch the bridge of my nose. He’s ruining my watching-Ashley-eat-a-burger experience. I’m exhausted, too, my eyes blurring as I glance at the person on stage. And now I have an overwhelming need to extricate myself from this scene. Watching Gabriel and Ashley flirt with each other isn’t my idea of a good time, and I don’t want to contemplate the reasons why.
After Ashley dabs her mouth with a napkin and pats her belly to show that she’s full, I check my watch and lean close to her ear. “Tomorrow’s a work day, so we should get going soon.”
She sits up, her brows puckered in confusion. “Oh, okay.” I drop several bills on the table, and Ashley does the same.
“That should cover us, yes?” she asks Gabriel.
“It’s fine,” he says. “No worries. And it was great to meet you.”
Her smile is open and friendly when she says, “Same here,” and I have absolutely no cause to be annoyed by their apparent compatibility, but still . . .
“Gabriel, I’ll follow up about lunch,” I say as I shake his hand.
“Yeah, yeah, man. Thanks for coming.”
We wave at the rest of the group, its members deep in discussion and unmoved to do anything other than nod at us absently.
Ashley holds my arm as we make our way through the crowd. Out on the street, she says, “I didn’t realize we had to eat and run.”
Technically, she was eating, and now I’m running. But there’s no way in hell I’m admitting that to her.