The One That I Want Read online

  I swallowed and walked toward the table with the food, needing to take a few steps away from the man—both literally and figuratively. “Bet this would be a great time to have a sandwich,” I said, lifting the plastic wrap off the tray. “Mmm. Too bad you’re otherwise occupied, huh? They’re all mine now.”

  He snorted and leaned back, less gracefully than usual, against the corner of his dressing table until he’d finally managed to rub the cuffs against something jagged enough to flip the latch. He set the cuffs down with an air of deliberation and massaged his wrists. “That was a little tighter than I’d expected. You have some background with S&M or something?”

  “Okay, whose idea was it to have me put them on you?” I pointed an accusatory index finger at him, which made him snort again. Then I reached for one of the sandwiches, more as my own personal prop than as any form of sustenance.

  He approached me, slow and panther like.

  I inhaled quickly and held the sandwich out to him like a shield. “Egg salad?”

  He shook his head.

  I scanned the sandwich tray and blindly grabbed another offering. “Ham and cheese?”

  He just laughed and kept walking toward me.

  “Um, I’m not sure, but it looks like there might also be chicken—”

  “Julia?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I’m not hungry—for sandwiches.” His gaze hovered at my lips and then rose upward.

  My heart was sprinting against itself, as if trying to break a world’s record. Could Shar have been right? Would he really try to kiss me? “I see,” I said.

  “I don’t think you do.” He tilted his head and studied me. “We were almost neighbors growing up, you know? You were very nearly the girl next door.” Again with the head tilting and the long analytical look. “We didn’t go to the same high school, and I would have been a few years older than you if we had, but we were probably close to running into each other a hundred times. We lived just a few suburbs apart during our childhoods. And, yet, we never met until three weeks ago.” He exhaled slowly. “I’m so damned glad.”

  His words began to sink in. I wasn’t sure I’d heard them correctly. “You’re glad? Glad we didn’t meet earlier?”

  “Yes. Trust me on this, you would’ve hated me in high school.” He ran both sets of fingers and palms through his professionally highlighted hair. “I would’ve had some crazy-ass crush on you that would’ve only ticked you off. You’d have thought I was an arrogant prick with a chip on my shoulder. It would’ve been bad.”

  “And how was that so different from three weeks ago?”

  “Ouch!” He clutched at his heart, pretending to be struck.

  I burst out laughing. “C’mon, Dane. You know I’m kidding. I got over the shock of our disastrous first meeting at least—oh—four days ago.”

  “Thank God.” His blue eyes twinkled at me. “Did you really throw away your Fan Club card? Wish you’d burned it?”

  I began to nod, just to tease him, but then shook my head. “Would you believe that I still know where it is?”

  “Really?”

  “Really. I kept it with my favorite high-school mementos.”

  I noticed his gaze dropped for a split second and I caught the briefest glimpse of pride in his expression.

  “Thanks for saying that.”

  “It’s true.” I shrugged, trying to appear less affected by him than I clearly was. Just below the surface of my skin, my pulse was doing some kind of syncopated dance that felt suspiciously like the flamenco.

  He cleared his throat and took another step forward. “Uh, Julia—”

  A knock on the door interrupted us.

  “Yes?” he called.

  “Makeup in five minutes,” a woman’s voice called back.

  “Gotcha. Thanks.” Then, to me, he said, “The next few hours are going to be a circus back here. You’re welcome to watch the play from the auditorium, if you’d like. Or, if you’d rather not see it again—one viewing of ‘The Bachelor Pad’ was probably plenty—you can make yourself at home in my dressing room or in the green room. Your choice.”

  “Actually, I’d really love to watch the play again. I can sit in the back, though, if seats are scarce.”

  He smiled. “No worries. We’ll find you a good one.” He paused and cleared his throat again. “What I was going to say earlier, Julia, was thanks. If, somehow, I forget to tell you later, I’m really glad you came tonight. You’ve already made this a great evening.”

  ~*~

  Dane got me a premier seat. Of course. Third row center, and a few rows closer to the stage than the VIP tickets would have placed me, had I kept them.

  I knew this for a fact because Elsie and Shar were sitting in those very seats. I spoke with them a few minutes before the curtain was slated to go up.

  “Oh, honey, you look like a vision!” Elsie gushed.

  I thanked her and pointed at Shar with my play program. She was grinning at me like a sweet but slightly egotistical little sister. Then again, she’d known what she was doing. “I wouldn’t have managed to wear anything but jeans and a pullover without Shar’s help,” I told Elsie.

  My best friend rolled her eyes. “Wasn’t much of a trick, girlfriend. You looked fabulous before, but now you’re glowing.” And when Elsie wasn’t looking, Shar leaned close to me and whispered, “Did he make a pass at you backstage? Try to feel you up? You’ve gotta give me something juicy here.”

  “No, he didn’t. And, no, I don’t.”

  She frowned. “Spoilsport.”

  Then we both started giggling until the lights blinked three times and Elsie said, “It’s showtime!” She patted my arm and added, “See you at intermission, dearie.”

  Shar just fist-bumped me and winked. “Later, Gator.”

  ~*~

  As I settled into my seat and the house lights darkened, I couldn’t help but compare this viewing of “The Bachelor Pad” to the one back in June. My stomach had been fluttering with excitement that night, too, but the cause was different this time. Well, everything was different this time. I got to watch Dane Tyler—my friend—onstage tonight, rather than just getting a voyeuristic viewing of the dream man from my teen years.

  When I saw Dane step into the spotlight, my pulse began to hopscotch, and I was filled with an emotion that was as complicated as it was wholly unexpected: Pride.

  I was proud of Dane.

  Watching him perform Act I so cleanly. The way he held the audience in the palm of his hand so expertly and charmingly. I appreciated his efforts like an impressed critic, rather than merely a longtime fan. I recognized some of the little changes he and the cast had made over these past few weeks to improve their dynamics onstage and heighten the comedy.

  He was just so good.

  I wanted to give him a standing ovation after only the first scene.

  And, although I knew the bright lights had to make it impossible for the actors to see anyone out in the audience, I could have sworn that Dane looked directly at me in that moment when the opening scene ended.

  And again, a few scenes later.

  And again at a number of places during Act II. Too many times to count. It was almost unsettling.

  I told myself this was probably just my imagination at work. Dane was and would always be exceptionally professional. He would never break character in an obvious way. He’d most likely worked on this “searching gaze” thing in the weeks since the dress rehearsal. Maybe the director had even suggested it? (I pondered that for a while.) I’d bet half the women in this crowded theater felt as if he could be looking right at them.

  During intermission, I spoke briefly to Elsie and Shar, then slipped off to a quiet place to text Analise and to remind her that I would be up at her camp for Parents’ Day tomorrow. She’d been going through one of her “down” days on this week’s emotional roller coaster so, when the play ended—after much cheering and multiple curtain calls—I stood as unobtrusively as possible off to the
side to check my phone again, just in case she’d sent any new messages during Act II.

  There was one.

  “Parents can start coming in at 10 tomorrow morning,” she’d texted. “Don’t be late, okay?”

  I exhaled in relief. This request I could handle, unlike her last one (which involved having me hire a professional helicopter pilot to fly her out of camp before bedtime).

  “Okay,” I texted back, and then added a row of “XOXOX.”

  “Hey. How’s everything?” Dane’s breath tickled my neck.

  I turned around to answer but was struck anew at how handsome the guy was. He’d changed quickly out of his last costume, scrubbed his face free of all stage makeup, and dressed himself in a dark suit and tie.

  He was, in a word, HOT.

  For a moment, I just stared at him, aware that I was gaping but unable to stop myself.

  “F-Fine,” I managed to say. “That was a fast change. Is there anything else you need to do here before we go?”

  “Nope.” He pointed vaguely in the direction of the front doors. “I just saw your friends, Shar and Elsie, heading out to the reception. Ready to join the party?”

  Was I ready? Hardly. But I said, “Sure.”

  Before I knew it, he’d ushered me out into the parking lot—“I’ll drive,” he suggested—then into his rental car, and then onto the road. We were at the private Carmody Room, located in a sectioned off floor of Dane’s swanky hotel, in under fifteen minutes.

  After Dane gave the keys to the valet in charge, got our names checked off by the security guard manning the private elevator, and escorted me into the heart of the reception, I thought, “Now it’s really showtime.”

  The VIP party, for want of a better description, was like an office holiday party on steroids. Everyone was dressed beautifully and, initially, they were on their very best behavior. As the first half hour turned into the second half hour, guests began to drop their guard, the alcohol began to flow more freely, and the dancing started, which signaled the beginning of the end of most formalities and proprieties.

  We chitchatted with my friends, of course, but it was obvious—to me, at least—that Shar and Elsie had made a pact to leave me alone in the company of Dane Tyler as much as possible. Before they could come up with an excuse to rush off, though, Rosemary, the stage manager, spotted all of us talking together, and she and her husband joined our merry group for a little while.

  “Wonderful Closing Night performance,” Rosemary said to Dane. “I thought it was your best show yet.”

  “Thank you,” he said graciously. “It seemed…almost electric out there tonight.”

  Shar glanced at me and raised her eyebrows.

  A few more theater folks sidled up to us, and we all ended up chatting about the appreciative crowd, while the various cast and crew members said many times over how glad they were to have gotten to work with Dane and each other and how it would be so exciting if they were able to join forces for another show again. Yadda, yadda.

  Shar and Elsie excused themselves at this point and went off to meet other members of the production. Shar was soon flirting with the director of the play—the famous Zachary Leeward. (Although, when I pulled her aside for a moment, she confessed it was all in good fun. “The guy’s been married five times!” Shar hissed in my ear. “Seriously, this won’t go anywhere. I read his IMDb bio. My brothers would dismember him if he showed up at a family gathering and said he was my date.”)

  Rosemary’s husband Thomas was nice—some sort of building contractor—but she and Thomas were mix-n-minglers. They reminded me of one of those teacup rides at an amusement park, just spinning around from one side of the room to another, in a seemingly endless series of circles. Rosemary looked, admittedly, rather surprised when she realized and Dane and I had come together on a date, but she was very kind and welcoming.

  Aside from the people we both knew, though, Dane had some other social duties to perform, and he gave me a heads up on that.

  “I’m apologizing in advance for the dry conversations ahead,” he told me. “But there are some people here that have greatly supported the theater and who made a point to be very attentive to me when I arrived in June. I need to at least acknowledge everyone and thank them personally.”

  “Of course. Do you want me to wait for you—”

  “No! No, stay with me. I just wanted to explain what was about to happen.” He reached for my hand and squeezed it. “I’d much rather be having a long, private conversation with you. But it’s really nice having a friend to do this with. I’m so used to always having to struggle through these things alone.”

  “I’m sure you’ve brought many dates to many parties in the past, haven’t you?”

  “Yeah, but it was pretty obvious early on that, in most cases, there was an agenda. Making strategic contacts. Networking with agents or directors. At least four or five times a lady I brought to a party left me within a week or less for some dude she met there.” He paused. “So, maybe you want to take a few minutes to look around. Chances are high you’ll find someone else here tonight that you’d like a lot better.”

  I rolled my eyes. “I don’t think so.”

  “Why?” he said with a wry grin. “Because you actually like me better or because you’ve already checked out the men who are present and none are to your taste?”

  I laughed at this. “Insecure much?”

  The moment the words were out, his eyes widened in surprise. I felt almost guilty but, really? Could he actually have worries like that? Looking at his face, the answer was…maybe.

  “Oooooh, okay,” he said with a chuckle. “Yeah, perhaps a little.”

  It was my turn to take his hand. “Listen, Dane, I realized I don’t know the complexities of your life, and I have no idea what’s involved behind the scenes at Hollywood gatherings or entertainment industry events, but you were the one who asked me here tonight, and I came because… It’s simple, really. I like you. And I like spending time with you.”

  There was a long, awkward pause.

  Then, suddenly, he pulled me into his arms and just hugged me. “Thank you, Julia,” he whispered in my ear before letting me go. “Means a lot to me to hear you say that.”

  We chatted with some of the VIPs he’d told me we were going to see, but he was always very inclusive of me in the conversations, even when they were focused on topics I knew little about. Funding for various arts events. Theatrical and literary causes. Filmmaking stuff.

  A few more people from the cast came up to us, more small talk. Very pleasant but equally superficial. Dane brought us a couple of glasses of champagne, and a large plate heaped with very elaborate and intricately created appetizers.

  I spotted Elsie and a few crew members laughing over a platter of some impossibly structured shrimp canapés. Shar, meanwhile, was on the dance floor with the director, being twirled around. She looked like she was having a blast.

  “Wanna go out there for a spin?” Dane asked me.

  If I’d ever been forced to explain my high-school fantasies regarding Dane Tyler, I would have to admit that most of them started with him asking me to dance (at prom or some big public event) and ended with us dancing at our wedding. Embarrassing to think about that now, as he took my hand and led me to the dance floor. But, likewise, impossible not to remember.

  The DJ played Celine Dion’s “The Power of Love,” which made me smile. It was one of the major songs featured on the Warriors of Warrenville High soundtrack. I didn’t mention this to Dane, of course, because it would only alert him to what a crazed fan I’d once been, but he seemed to sense my recognition of the music nevertheless.

  “I always liked this one,” he said, bringing his body closer to mine as we swayed to the Canadian songstress’s famous hit from the nineties. I was worried he might be able to feel just how fast my heart was beating, especially when he added, “And, hey, I’m getting to dance with an official card-carrying fan club member.”

  “
Not exactly,” I said, laughing. “The card’s not with me.”

  “But you didn’t throw it in the trash or burn it so…close enough.”

  “True.”

  “Official fan club members get kisses. I told you that, remember?”

  I nodded and started to make some joke when he bent down and kissed me very softly on my mouth. Not much pressure. No tongue. Just his lips lightly on my lips.

  Oh, dear heaven.

  It shouldn’t have felt as electric as it did, but there was no way I could deny the truth. As brief as it was, it was powerful, and the current of his kiss reached all the way down to my toes.

  He smiled at me, his grin growing even broader as I licked my bottom lip right after he pulled away.

  “You’d better be careful, Julia Meriwether Crane, aka number 49202. Licking your lips constitutes as an invitation for another kiss in some circles.”

  I felt myself flush everywhere and glanced away from Dane’s amused gaze, only to catch Shar staring right at me, her mouth agape.

  “Uh, oh,” I murmured.

  “What?”

  “My best friend just saw that. I’m never going to hear the end of it.”

  Dane shot a look in Shar’s direction, smiled at her, and then leaned close to me again. “Wanna give her something really good to talk about?”

  “Dane, you don’t know Sharlene Michaelsen Boyd. She’d do more than just want to talk about it. She’d probably get her brother Blake to broadcast it, too.”

  “Oh, that’s right,” he said, laughing. “I keep forgetting those two are related. I liked Blake. The radio interview with him was the most fun I’ve had at a press event this month.”

  “Yeah, he’s a good guy. Hilarious to talk to and—oh!” My heel caught on something on the floor. A thick piece of black tape that had been used to cover up some wire. The tape had come unstuck, and it was just strong enough to catch my shoe and make me lose my balance for a second.

  Dane caught me, but the weird angle I was moving—my body one way, my foot another—made me twist my ankle.

  “Are you okay?” he asked, as I took a couple of steps forward and hobbled.