Page 51 of Eye Candy

I smiled and waved a hand, wanting to alleviate his guilt. “We didn’t have it bad. We had everything we needed. Lower middle-class, I guess. Dad worked hard to stretch a buck, and as kids, we didn’t notice. Or care. All of the kids at my school were the same; that’s what those small rural towns were like. Things in Woodville are a bit different these days, as more people with money have moved out from the cities. I left Woodville when I was eighteen and moved to the capital of New Zealand to hone my burlesque skills at a studio there. After that, I moved from country to country, chasing gigs. Melbourne. Edinburgh. Eventually I worked my way here—New York was always endgame for me. I imagined having slots at all the best bars and billings on all the best tours. The dream was to get big enough to have my own studio and offer scholarships to performers from small island nations.”

Chase leaned his chin in his hand. “What will you call your studio?”

“I don’t know.” My smile fell.

Even if I could keep Gerard from learning about things between Chase and I, working for him at the Dragonfly Den now seemed like staying way too close to this deception. My best hope was probably to get a reference from Gerard and try my luck in another city. Maybe Vegas. It would mean starting again, but at least this time I’d have a connection to give me a leg up.

But I hadn’t figured out the details yet. I hadn’t figured anything out.

Chase was looking at me, waiting for an explanation.

How could I tell him he was my spanner in the works?

Or rather, the way I felt about him was.

“I’ve always been a kid who dreamed big,” I said slowly. “Every afternoon when I wiped down tables and refilled salt shakers at Café Levitate, I imagined my end-of-day routine was taking off my makeup, packing up all my costumes, stretching, and taking the subway home. But I’ve been trying for ten years. I’m good at what I do, and I’ve had some breaks, but none of them were the big one. Now I’m starting to realize I’m just not the kind of person who gets to live their dreams. I thought I was, I thought I could make it happen if I just worked harder, pushed more, slept less, but now I understand all that stuff is predetermined. Nothing I do will change the fact I’m just notthat bitch. I’m not destined to be a star.”

Chase was quiet for a moment. If he gave me an advice-column response I would scream.

Instead, he said, “It sounds like you’ve had a difficult time.”

I smiled my Summer Smile. But as Chase looked at me, those beautiful eyes waiting for a real answer, the mask of polite resilience cracked and my vision blurred.

“Burlesque was—is—everything to me. Failing feels like every sacrifice I’ve made was a waste. Every morning I didn’t sleep in because I had rehearsal. Every date I didn’t go on because I had a gig. Every blister, every burn, every bad gig. Wasted, wasted, wasted.”

Wordlessly, Chase reached out and took my mug from my hands.

My floodgates were open now, loosened by a listening ear, and I couldn’t shut up.

“I’m far away from my family because I couldn’t do burlesque there, and I feel endlessly guilty about that. I don’t own property, or even live in an apartment by myself because you need savings for that. I don’t even have a pet—and I always wanted a bunny to buy novelty collars for—because you need to work regular hours to feed one. But I told myself all of that was OK because I was working toward something better. Shinier. Iwas going to be a star. And now... I’m not.” I sniffed. “It’s just hard to reconcile.”

“You’re grieving.”

“Yes! Exactly. Grieving. And I’m not just grieving my dreams, it’s grieving the version of me that was living them, you know? That’s harder to let go of. Successful Caroline was lively and fun. You would have liked her.”

“I like scam artist Caroline.”

I scoffed. No one was attracted to failure. Especially not someone like Chase. The only reason rich men dated fixer uppers was because they wanted someone indebted enough to them to overlook their bullshit. I’d seen it a million times with guys who came to clubs.

“Is the inquisition over now?”

“I have more questions, but they can wait until tomorrow.” Chase took his first sip of tea and coughed violently.

Despite myself, I laughed at his expression.

“This isn’t what I expected.”

“Chamomile never is. You need Yorkshire tea. And an electric j?—”

“Electric jug,” he finished. “Got it. We should get some sleep; it’s late. If you’d feel more comfortable in a guest room, I can show you down the hall.” He began to blush that way I liked. “Or you can stay here. With me. But just so you know, you have options. I’m not trying to coerce you?—”

“Chase. What do you want.”

“I, uh—” he stopped. “I want you in my bed.”

“Great, me too.”

“Great.”

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