The Redhead Revealed (Redhead #2)(25)
Author: Alice Clayton

Grace

I’m going to f**k you until you can’t see straight tonight.

Are you ready for that, Crazy?

Sweet mother of pearl…

George

Get. Over. Here. As. Soon. As. You. Can.

Make me see God!

Last one:

Grace

Will pick you up at the theater at 9 for dinner.

Will be in a black town car.

Panties are unnecessary.

That motherfucker. I still had four hours of rehearsal. How the hell was I going to get through this?

***

As I clicked my phone off, I giggled a bit. I could feel my face flushing. He never failed to get a reaction out of me, which was exactly his intent. As I smiled to myself, I noticed Michael watching me. He nodded to my phone.

“What?” I asked, still flushed.

“Hot date?” he asked, taking the seat next to mine.

“Um, well, yes. He’s only in town for a day, so we’re going out for dinner. He’s so busy right now. You should see the schedule they have him on.” I brushed my hair back from my face and tucked it into a sloppy bun, my constant hairstyle these days. There was one piece that never quite made it in, and I was forever fussing with it.

“That’s good. I mean, good that you get to see him for a night,” Michael said, watching me futz with my hair. “Your schedule’s been pretty busy too. Is he going to make it back out for the show?”

The curl fell out again. I pushed it back. “He says yes, but who knows with the amount of press he’s doing. He’s heading to England for the London premiere, and then to France. So I don’t know. I know he’ll try.” I sighed, feeling myself slump in my chair a little.

“Well, you’re going to be amazing. I know he’ll want to see that,” Michael added, still watching me struggle with my stupid curl.

“Thanks. We’ll see. I’m starting to get really nervous,” I admitted, making my eyes huge to mask how nervous I truly was.

“You’re not going to ruin another pair of my shoes are you?” he asked.

I immediately laughed. When we were in college, I had the lead in a musical—my biggest role since junior high. Michael was running the light board for the show, so he watched us rehearse each day. He’d offer me his critique each night as we walked home. His opinion was always important because as much as he enjoyed my singing, he was never just a Yes Man. He always gave honest feedback.

Opening night I showed up at his apartment, shaking. I was so nervous that when he opened the door, I threw up on his shoe. After he removed the unfortunate Adidas, we sat on his couch and listened to Toad The Wet Sprocket. He wrapped his arms around me and told me everything would be fine. That I would kick ass and take names. That I should never second-guess my talent. To trust myself.

In the end, I did kick ass. But I still tend to get nervous on opening night.

“Well, we’ll see won’t we?” I said, smiling as I returned to the present. “It’s been almost ten years since I’ve been on any real kind of stage, so I’d steer clear of my mouth.” I laughed, and the curl fell out one more time. “Blasted hair,” I muttered. We both reached for it at the same time.

He got there first. As I stared with wide eyes, he tucked it back into my bun, his hand lingering maybe just one second too long.

In that second, things began to change for us.

He looked at me with those brown eyes I remembered from all those years ago. Those brown eyes that used to light up when we’d laugh together. Those brown eyes that would deepen when we argued.

We’d been such great friends. We spent countless hours alone together—doing laundry, watching movies, cooking dinner—but the friendship we had was never anything more. Although I had very strong feelings for him that were definitely more than friendly, he seemed not at all interested in me romantically, so I kept them to myself.

But when I was onstage it was a different matter entirely. Every so often I would catch him looking at me, when his guard was down. The way looked at me when I was singing gave me hope that someday he might come to return my more-than-friendly feelings. I was head-over-heels in love with my friend Michael, and I wanted nothing more than for him to want me in the same way.

And then, that night came. In those brown eyes I had once, just once, seen my love for him mirrored back. Those brown eyes had closed tightly in passion during our one night together.

I’d thought of those brown eyes occasionally over the years, wondering what had happened to him and where he was. And now I’d come to know those brown eyes, trust those brown eyes, all over again. This time in New York.

Those brown eyes now looked back at me with confusion and trepidation and…something else? Was I imagining it? Was I just seeing what I wanted to see?

Wait, did I want to see that?

My phone beeped, and the eyes changed.

He pulled his hand away from my face as I looked at my phone.

I smiled sheepishly. “Holly,” I said.

He nodded and stood up. He started to walk away, then seemed to pause for a split second before continuing on. I pressed ignore on my phone and settled back into my chair, stunned by the rush of emotions I felt.

What the hell was going on? Michael was looking at me in a way that, well, I would have loved to have him look at me.

Ten years ago.

Not now.

Right?

I shook it off. I had to. I threw myself into the last part of rehearsal, losing myself in the show and the work of creating Mabel. This ate up the rest of the evening, and All Things Michael were locked safely in The Drawer to be forgotten.

When we finally broke for the night, it was only a few minutes before nine, and I was anxious to see Jack. I’d brought along some clothes for dinner, and I quickly changed—abandoning my regulation yoga pants and cami for a heather-gray wool wraparound dress Leslie and I had found at Bergdorf’s a few weeks ago. I paired it with knee-high black boots, giant hoop earrings, sassy red lipstick, and a huge smile.

I waited for him in the lobby of the theater, saying goodbye to some of the other cast members as they left. Several of the guys from the crew wolf-whistled at me, and I grinned. It was nice to know I could still clean up pretty well.

Michael walked out and said goodbye quickly, stopping at the door. He looked back as if he was about to say something, but then continued through the doors.

I was still pondering this development when my phone buzzed. It was the Brit.

“Hi,” I answered.

“Hi yourself. Are you ready?” he asked in a low voice.

“I’m ready. Where are you?” I asked, smoothing my dress once more.