Page 116 of If Ever

"And then there was a fire in the final scene." Her face is adorable as she tries to figure out how she missed this.

"You're making that up," she says.

"I'm not," I say with a straight face. "We had to evacuate the theatre and do bows in the street."

She sits up. "That did not happen."

"How would you know?" I pin her with a stare. Caught in the act, her mouth clamps shut and her face goes red. "Because you were there?" I tickle her and she curls up giggling. "Why didn't you tell me you wanted to see the show again? And again?" I add with emphasis.

She ducks her head. "I was embarrassed."

"Oh my God. Chelsea Barnes, are you a fangirl?"

"No!" she declares, aghast, as if being compared with the fans at the stage door is an insult.

"Admit it. You really like me." My fingers find her ticklish spot again.

She falls into peals of laughter. "No, I don't."

I jump on top of her, pinning her to the couch. "Admit it." I rub my scruffy chin against her tender neck.

She shrieks and giggles. "No. Never!" She squirms against me, making it even more fun. So I give her sloppy wet snogs on the neck and then a little bite. She squeals and then snorts, which makes me laugh.

"Stop, please stop," she calls out, breathless.

I pull back and see happy tears shining on her cheeks.

"Is this a bad time?" Ryan asks. He and Kirk are watching us.

I look at Chelsea and we both crack up.

"Their clothes are on. I think we're okay," Kirk says.

Later, I ease Chelsea onto my sheets. Her warm body responds immediately as I touch her petal soft skin, lightly coasting my hands over her body, down her flat stomach, to her hips and beyond. As her heavy-lidded eyes gaze into my soul, her pulse races, and lips part. She makes satisfied sounds, but this time it's not laughter.

***

Wednesday morning while Ryan and I are playing Minecraft, Tom rushes about trying to get out the door for another meeting.

"Bugger, I'm going to be late!" he says, rifling through papers and files stuffing them in his backpack. Finally set, he kisses me quick and dashes out in a whoosh of energy.

“I don’t understand why he always gets so worked up for a meeting.”

“He doesn’t have a meeting,” Ryan says.

“He doesn’t?”

“He’s got an audition.”

I stare at the closed apartment door. “How do you know?”

“Well.” Ryan sets down his controller and drinks his water. “First off, he’s got his backpack and was freaking out to make sure he had everything he might need, like sides, score, head shots, that sort of thing. He’s also wearing his navy polo, dark jeans, and brown Topsiders. He always wears that to auditions.”

“Why?”

“Why does he do half the things he does? He’s superstitious and more than a little OCD.”

“He is?”

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