Page 103 of If Ever

"Do I look like I'm sure?" I raise an eyebrow.

She swallows and nods.

"Good. Let's get your stuff."

The rest of the day is a whirlwind. Over her objections, I clear out two dresser drawers and a section of my closet. I once spent three months on tour and came to loathe living out of a suitcase. We're moving fast, but it feels right.

I'm tempted to take her straight back to bed, but resist her alluring smile long enough to do more respectable things like walking with her through Central Park, feeding the birds, and catching a late lunch. I've blown off my workout, but it was well worth it.

Only as I'm leaving for the show, when I look at the dead plant in the living room, do I doubt my sanity at inviting her to stay, but I push the thought aside, and trust my gut. Chelsea is different. She's the kind of girl who makes me fly across country on my one day off so I can spend a couple of hours with her. She’s never asked me for a thing, and she's the first girl I haven't jumped in the sack with at the earliest possible moment. I want to be a better person when she's around.

Chelsea insists on seeing my show again tonight, despite seeing it twice already. It's flattering as hell that she loves it so much.

Max walks into my dressing room at intermission as I'm laughing about a text from Chelsea. He sprawls into a chair with his leg hanging over the armrest. "I take it things are going well with Chelsea."

I grin. "Why do you say that?"

"Because you've been grinning like a fool every time I see you backstage. She must be excellent in bed."

I raise an eyebrow and say nothing.

He waits for my response and then laughs when I say nothing. "Well, I'll be damned? So that's how it is?"

"Yes, Max. That's how it is."

After the show Chelsea meets me in my dressing room. She waits patiently on the love seat while I go through my post show routine, removing my mic packs, wiping off my makeup, and arranging my dressing table for tomorrow.

When we step outside, there's a small crowd of fans. I explain to her that it'll be a good twenty minutes before I can get to everyone. She's a total trooper and waits under a street lamp out of the way, while I complete my last obligation of the night.

"You're so good with everyone," Chelsea says later as we're walking home. The night is mild with no wind. We head up Ninth Avenue, away from the theatre district.

"As compared to what? Was I supposed to be mean?" I laugh.

"Of course not, but you gave each person time and actually looked at them when they talked to you. Not everyone does that."

I take her hand, linking my fingers with hers. "When I was a kid and someone at the stage door talked to me, it meant the world. Of course, now it's a whole different deal with selfies and social media."

"Yeah, I'll admit I've checked you out online. There's hundreds of pictures of you with giddy fangirls."

"Hardly. I'm a tiny blip compared to television or movie actors. In fact, I did a bit of stalking you online after we first met."

She stops in the middle of the sidewalk. "You did?"

I tug her forward and slip my arm around her. "Of course. I wanted to know more about the cheeky girl with the charming smile. Those two-minute packages the network airs before your dances are hardly enough."

"Bet you didn't find much." Her arm wraps around my waist and she snuggles closer.

"Mostly I found pictures of you from the show. I loved the ones where you look bored or annoyed with Dominic. They're the real you."

She looks aghast. "Which makes me wonder why you cleared out dresser drawers for me."

"With you there's nothing fake. You're not hiding anything. I love that."

"Is that what you think?" She laughs. "You have no idea how hard I'm working not to say something stupid and embarrass myself."

"Really? In that case, I can't wait for you to mess up and will call it a brilliant success when you do." Back at the flat, Ryan's door is closed, but the light shines from under the door.

"Did you tell Ryan I'll be here?" Chelsea whispers, eyeing the door.

"Relax. He's fine with it. He has friends over all the time." I hang up our coats.

"I'm your friend?" She says.

I run my finger along her rosy cheeks, down her jawline and tap her on her nose, red from the cold. "You're my very special friend," I say suggestively.

"Oh, great. I sound like some cheap prostitute you picked up after an office party."

I burst out laughing. "If you were a prostitute, you sure wouldn't be cheap." I take her face between my hands and kiss her. I've been waiting all day to have her all to myself again. When I pull away, her eyes are dark pools and I know she feels the same. Without a word, I lead her to my bedroom and lock the door behind us.

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