Roomies
Page 48
I slide my hand into his and he looks down at me, anchoring.
“Ready?” I ask.
He nods.
“Don’t follow us.” I don’t even recognize my voice. Never in my life have I been this firm.
We walk alone for half a block; at least it seems the mob has turned back the other way, or decided to be decent humans and not chase him anymore. Calvin isn’t letting go of my hand, and I swear I can feel his heart pounding through his skin.
“That was insane,” he says.
I stop, pulling him into a little alcove of a closed clothing store. He stares down at me, pulse hammering in his neck.
“You okay?” I ask.
He bends, hovering just in front of my lips before making contact. It isn’t a morning kiss where we’re sleepy and giggly, or a tipsy kiss where we’re all teeth and filth. This feels like the way he would kiss me if he loved me: with both hands cupping my face, soft kisses all over my mouth with no need to go farther in. He pulls back, and in the light, his eyes seem to be the same exact color as his hair—a light brown, amber.
“You’re unbelievable,” he says.
“I was a bitch.”
“No.” He kisses me again. “I was literally terrified, and . . . you weren’t.”
By the time we get to Dutch Fred’s it is packed. Calvin and I cut a path through the crowd, ducking between diners in wicker chairs and people cluttered around the tiki-themed bar to a table in the back where Lulu is already seated.
“Fucking finally.” She stands, giving each of us a hard, tight hug. When she drops back into her seat, the chair skids backward a little, but she doesn’t seem to notice.
“Sorry. The crowd was huge tonight.” I nod to Calvin as he takes my jacket with still-shaking hands. “He was mobbed outside.”
“Ooooh, fancy-pants.” Lulu turns to the waitress, who has appeared to replace an empty wineglass with a full one, and mumbles her thanks. I’m tempted to tell her what happened, but it’s obvious she doesn’t care about anyone but herself tonight.
The waitress turns to us. “What can I get you guys?”
I nod to Lulu’s drink as I settle into my chair. “I’ll have what she’s having, and . . .” I lift my brows to Calvin in question.
“I’ll have the Left Hand Milk Stout, please.” He unwinds a charcoal scarf from around his neck and gives her a shaky smile. “Cheers.”
“Cheers,” Lulu repeats. “God. You are so adorable,” she says, but she sounds faintly disgusted.
“How long have you been here?” I ask, covertly checking my watch. We’re only about twenty minutes late, but it looks like Lulu is already a few rounds in.
She picks up her glass and brings it to her lips. “Awhile. I had an audition earlier and they interrupted me halfway into my first line to tell me they’d seen enough.”
I slide my hand over hers. “Ugh, Lu, I’m sorry.”
With a sneering eye roll, she pulls her hand away to cup it around her wineglass. “I figured since there’s nothing else going on in my life, I might as well head over and get drunk.”
I’m caught like a snag on her tone. Lulu is clearly in A Mood. Again. And after what just happened outside the theater with Calvin, I’m going to have to work to put on a convincingly sympathetic voice. “I’m sorry, sweetie, I don’t remember you mentioning an audition. I would have helped you with—”
“Of course you don’t.”
I sit back in my seat like I’ve been shoved, looking to Calvin for confirmation. Am I misreading this? His small shrug tells me he’s as baffled as I am.
I’m cut off from asking what the hell her problem is when the waitress returns with our drinks. Before she leaves, Lulu orders another glass of wine.
“And maybe some food,” I suggest. “Have you eaten anything tonight?”
She regards me blankly over the top of her glass. “Is this your not-so-subtle way of suggesting I’ve had too much to drink?”
“It’s my way of saying that it’s nearly eleven, and you might be in a better mood if you ate something.”
Lulu blinks pointedly down to the bar menu and orders a plate of shishito peppers and garlic parsley fries for the table to share, adding that the waitress should make sure to split that on the checks.
Calvin shifts beside me, moving closer.
“So, any other auditions on the horizon?” he asks her sweetly.
“Nothing new coming up. This was for a commercial for some electronics store, but apparently they wanted a fetus to play the part. Blah blah blah, just like all of them.” She lifts her wineglass, draining it.
I can tell she’s had a shit day; I’ve seen Lulu like this before. Normally I would walk over to her side of the table, put my arm around her, and tell her how amazing she is. Tonight, it’s like watching her through a warped set of glasses; I’m not even remotely interested in placating her. She’s being a complete asshole—not amazing in the slightest.
I take a sip of my own drink. “Where’s Gene?”
“Working, I think. Who knows.”
Calvin and I exchange a look.
“So what’s going on with you two?” she asks, lifting her chin to us. “The show going well?”
“Other than the madness just now, it’s brilliant,” Calvin says, grinning. “I swear I sit down and the lights dim and it still doesn’t feel real.”
“I lose my shit every time I see him up there,” I add. It comes out as a jumble of breathless words and Calvin laughs at me, leaning over to kiss my jaw.
As if on cue, a woman approaches, clutching a Playbill, and although Calvin initially looks mildly wary, she ends up asking—very politely, with a shaking voice—for an autograph. Calvin smiles at her, charming with his crinkly eyes, and she goes into full-on fangirl mode, asking for a selfie, a hug, practically offering to birth his firstborn. He reaches for me, his hand landing on my thigh, and the cold press of his wedding ring through my tights makes heat spread in a wave across every inch of my skin. I clench my thighs together; for crying out loud, I’m still sore from last night.
It’s obvious to anyone watching that this still feels surreal for him, and I love witnessing him soak it up. How many of us in our lifetime get to experience this type of adulation? But across the table, Lulu is playing on her phone in dramatic boredom.
With the Playbill signed and selfie taken, Calvin looks at me in question before turning back to Lulu and offering, “I can get you tickets if you want to come?”
“Thanks, but no.” She slides her phone back onto the tabletop. “I see enough of it every freaking place I go. Wasn’t Ryan Gosling there the other night or something? People were wetting themselves all over my Twitter feed.”
Calvin grins—it was a huge commotion and, honestly, a ton of fun backstage. “He was. He’s a friend of Ramón’s.”
“Did you meet him?”
“I got to talk to him for a few minutes.”
Lulu looks at me, and then back to him, clearly expecting more fanfare. “Did Holland lose her shit?” She nearly knocks her wineglass over. “I think she’s seen Blue Valentine about five hundred times. I mean, it was nothing compared to the crush she had on you before you met, but—”
My heart stumbles in my chest and I quickly cut in. “Did Gene mention he was looking for another job? Jeff’s friend is opening a—”
“Ready?” I ask.
He nods.
“Don’t follow us.” I don’t even recognize my voice. Never in my life have I been this firm.
We walk alone for half a block; at least it seems the mob has turned back the other way, or decided to be decent humans and not chase him anymore. Calvin isn’t letting go of my hand, and I swear I can feel his heart pounding through his skin.
“That was insane,” he says.
I stop, pulling him into a little alcove of a closed clothing store. He stares down at me, pulse hammering in his neck.
“You okay?” I ask.
He bends, hovering just in front of my lips before making contact. It isn’t a morning kiss where we’re sleepy and giggly, or a tipsy kiss where we’re all teeth and filth. This feels like the way he would kiss me if he loved me: with both hands cupping my face, soft kisses all over my mouth with no need to go farther in. He pulls back, and in the light, his eyes seem to be the same exact color as his hair—a light brown, amber.
“You’re unbelievable,” he says.
“I was a bitch.”
“No.” He kisses me again. “I was literally terrified, and . . . you weren’t.”
By the time we get to Dutch Fred’s it is packed. Calvin and I cut a path through the crowd, ducking between diners in wicker chairs and people cluttered around the tiki-themed bar to a table in the back where Lulu is already seated.
“Fucking finally.” She stands, giving each of us a hard, tight hug. When she drops back into her seat, the chair skids backward a little, but she doesn’t seem to notice.
“Sorry. The crowd was huge tonight.” I nod to Calvin as he takes my jacket with still-shaking hands. “He was mobbed outside.”
“Ooooh, fancy-pants.” Lulu turns to the waitress, who has appeared to replace an empty wineglass with a full one, and mumbles her thanks. I’m tempted to tell her what happened, but it’s obvious she doesn’t care about anyone but herself tonight.
The waitress turns to us. “What can I get you guys?”
I nod to Lulu’s drink as I settle into my chair. “I’ll have what she’s having, and . . .” I lift my brows to Calvin in question.
“I’ll have the Left Hand Milk Stout, please.” He unwinds a charcoal scarf from around his neck and gives her a shaky smile. “Cheers.”
“Cheers,” Lulu repeats. “God. You are so adorable,” she says, but she sounds faintly disgusted.
“How long have you been here?” I ask, covertly checking my watch. We’re only about twenty minutes late, but it looks like Lulu is already a few rounds in.
She picks up her glass and brings it to her lips. “Awhile. I had an audition earlier and they interrupted me halfway into my first line to tell me they’d seen enough.”
I slide my hand over hers. “Ugh, Lu, I’m sorry.”
With a sneering eye roll, she pulls her hand away to cup it around her wineglass. “I figured since there’s nothing else going on in my life, I might as well head over and get drunk.”
I’m caught like a snag on her tone. Lulu is clearly in A Mood. Again. And after what just happened outside the theater with Calvin, I’m going to have to work to put on a convincingly sympathetic voice. “I’m sorry, sweetie, I don’t remember you mentioning an audition. I would have helped you with—”
“Of course you don’t.”
I sit back in my seat like I’ve been shoved, looking to Calvin for confirmation. Am I misreading this? His small shrug tells me he’s as baffled as I am.
I’m cut off from asking what the hell her problem is when the waitress returns with our drinks. Before she leaves, Lulu orders another glass of wine.
“And maybe some food,” I suggest. “Have you eaten anything tonight?”
She regards me blankly over the top of her glass. “Is this your not-so-subtle way of suggesting I’ve had too much to drink?”
“It’s my way of saying that it’s nearly eleven, and you might be in a better mood if you ate something.”
Lulu blinks pointedly down to the bar menu and orders a plate of shishito peppers and garlic parsley fries for the table to share, adding that the waitress should make sure to split that on the checks.
Calvin shifts beside me, moving closer.
“So, any other auditions on the horizon?” he asks her sweetly.
“Nothing new coming up. This was for a commercial for some electronics store, but apparently they wanted a fetus to play the part. Blah blah blah, just like all of them.” She lifts her wineglass, draining it.
I can tell she’s had a shit day; I’ve seen Lulu like this before. Normally I would walk over to her side of the table, put my arm around her, and tell her how amazing she is. Tonight, it’s like watching her through a warped set of glasses; I’m not even remotely interested in placating her. She’s being a complete asshole—not amazing in the slightest.
I take a sip of my own drink. “Where’s Gene?”
“Working, I think. Who knows.”
Calvin and I exchange a look.
“So what’s going on with you two?” she asks, lifting her chin to us. “The show going well?”
“Other than the madness just now, it’s brilliant,” Calvin says, grinning. “I swear I sit down and the lights dim and it still doesn’t feel real.”
“I lose my shit every time I see him up there,” I add. It comes out as a jumble of breathless words and Calvin laughs at me, leaning over to kiss my jaw.
As if on cue, a woman approaches, clutching a Playbill, and although Calvin initially looks mildly wary, she ends up asking—very politely, with a shaking voice—for an autograph. Calvin smiles at her, charming with his crinkly eyes, and she goes into full-on fangirl mode, asking for a selfie, a hug, practically offering to birth his firstborn. He reaches for me, his hand landing on my thigh, and the cold press of his wedding ring through my tights makes heat spread in a wave across every inch of my skin. I clench my thighs together; for crying out loud, I’m still sore from last night.
It’s obvious to anyone watching that this still feels surreal for him, and I love witnessing him soak it up. How many of us in our lifetime get to experience this type of adulation? But across the table, Lulu is playing on her phone in dramatic boredom.
With the Playbill signed and selfie taken, Calvin looks at me in question before turning back to Lulu and offering, “I can get you tickets if you want to come?”
“Thanks, but no.” She slides her phone back onto the tabletop. “I see enough of it every freaking place I go. Wasn’t Ryan Gosling there the other night or something? People were wetting themselves all over my Twitter feed.”
Calvin grins—it was a huge commotion and, honestly, a ton of fun backstage. “He was. He’s a friend of Ramón’s.”
“Did you meet him?”
“I got to talk to him for a few minutes.”
Lulu looks at me, and then back to him, clearly expecting more fanfare. “Did Holland lose her shit?” She nearly knocks her wineglass over. “I think she’s seen Blue Valentine about five hundred times. I mean, it was nothing compared to the crush she had on you before you met, but—”
My heart stumbles in my chest and I quickly cut in. “Did Gene mention he was looking for another job? Jeff’s friend is opening a—”
