Page 46 of If Ever

11

Los Angeles

"Whoa, look at that shiner?" Dominic says when he sees me the next morning at 9 a.m.

"All the credit goes to you." I went to bed with a bruise and woke up with streaks of black, blue and purple. Exhausted and still recovering from the excitement of Tom's kisses, I'm now faced with disappointed reality. It's like he opened up this exciting door and then walked away with it swinging shut in my face.

"What's the matter? No word from Lover Boy?"

"Spare me. I'm not in the mood." I stare out the window and wish for a second cup of coffee.

"Chin up. We've got a great number for this week, and after our scores, we may finally be gaining the momentum we need."

After a couple hours of plugging through the steps, I admit the number does seem fun in a playful, quirky way. But I can't shake the feeling of how a couple days with Tom has changed my whole outlook. How have I done the show all these weeks without his fun distraction? And now that he's gone, how am I supposed to go back to the status quo?

After a short break, I'm on the floor stretching again. My bruised muscles are still rebelling from yesterday's nasty fall.

Dominic checks his phone, looks up at me, and grins.

"What?" I snap and immediately regret being bitchy.

"Someone just asked for your number.”

My body hums on high alert. He had better not be teasing me. "Who?" I act like we both don't know it's Tom. Dominic aims his phone at me and takes a picture.

"What are you doing?" I cover my face too late.

Dominic laughs and sends off a message. "You'll see."

But I don't. It had to be Tom. I'm sure of it. For the next hour I'm desperate to hear my phone ping, but nothing. I check the ringer, it's on high, but no missed calls or texts. By the time I leave the rehearsal hall at five o'clock, I'm all crabby pants again, not to mention hangry.

Back at my apartment, I realize I should have grabbed something on my way home. I find a half-eaten bag of Cheetos and hope it'll tide me over until I have enough energy to go out. Maybe I'll just order pizza instead.

A couple hours later, I'm about to give up on ever hearing from Tom and grab a shower when my phone rings. I freeze and am hit with an adrenaline rush. I scramble to look at the screen. It's an area code and number I don't recognize. It keeps ringing. My heart pounds double time.

What if it's not him? What if I'm disappointed? What if it's a telemarketer trying to sell me lawn service?

It rings again. Who am I kidding? I snatch it up and blow out my breath and answer as nonchalantly as possible. "Hello?"

"How's your shiner?" a delicious British voice asks.

I laugh and hope it doesn't sound like a high-pitched giggle. "Pretty bad. I don't think it's going to be gone by next week's show."

"Send me a proper picture, would you? I couldn't get a good look at it in the shot Dominic sent."

"Absolutely not!"

His laugh is a low rumble that reminds me of when I danced with him. "Why not?"

"Because it's hideous. You'll have to wait to see it like the rest of the country when they air it on Monday night."

"It was a pretty spectacular crash."

I sit on the couch and play with the fringe of a throw pillow. "I'm sure you'll be replaying it all night once they play the video." We laugh and I wish so badly he were here with me.

"How was your flight home?" I ask, because I have no idea what else to say. I want to ask him everything, and yet it all seems too personal, or stupid, or inappropriate.

"I couldn't sleep. Honestly though, I haven't slept much since I met you."

---