Page 82 of Make The Cut

“Okay. Love you!” My mom kisses my cheek before I dart off in the direction of backstage again.

Tonight is going to be nothing short of eventful with all the Blacks together.

And I still have one card up my sleeve.

* * *

Backstage, everyone is in a bustle of activity: backup dancers are getting dressed; singers are warming up; and the emcees are getting the final touches put on their makeup. I spy an actress who just won an Emmy last year and a comedian finally shaving off his too-long beard before I finally reach Naoya’s dressing room.

It’s empty, which is unexpected. I scan the room, and am surprised when I find yet another door in it. When I peek out and open it, it doesn’t just lead me backstage. It leads me to the stage itself, albeit the very recesses of it, nearly hidden behind the heavy red velvet curtains.

If I exited from this door, I might very well end up onstage. Under the spotlight that I’ve avoided and feared and desired for so long.

I shut the curtain as music begins playing in a swelling crescendo, announcing that the emcees are onstage. As the hosts tell jokes, announce the first performance—an R&B duet that slinks through the air in a sultry sway of notes—and keep the night moving along, time seems to rush through my fingers. Right before Naoya and Ryder’s duet, my heart pounds. What am I doing here?

Am I in the right place?

Five minutes before Naoya is due onstage, the dressing room door bursts open. “You’re not supposed to be here.”

“I’m Naoya Sugawa’s stylist.” I hold up my badge that says stylist, which I’ve handily clipped to my lapel. “Or I was, last time I checked.”

Naoya walks toward me, setting down a bouquet of flowers on the dressing room vanity. “You’re still my stylist. Until you go off and create a fashion line with Colette.”

“Good to hear.” I glance at the bunch of flowers, and he follows my gaze.

“They’re from my mom.”

“That’s sweet.” I lean back against the vanity, and Naoya steps toward me. “Shouldn’t you be outside, getting ready for your performance with my brother?”

He grins. “I have a few minutes. He can wait.”

I hook my fingers into his belt loops and tug him toward me as he leans down, his lips meeting mine. Letting my hands wander, I run my fingers through the soft blue strands of his hair, my eyelids fluttering as Naoya is flush against me, his body pressing mine against the vanity. I could live in this moment forever. But no matter how much I want to, it has to end.

“I guess I’ll get going.” He looks hopelessly disappointed as he pulls away from me. “I’ll see you after the show?”

“Yes.” I smile, taking a deep breath. “Yes, you will.”

But as he leaves, running onstage, and announces that he and Ryder will be performing a brand new song together, the lyrics fill my ears… As all of that happens, I keep wondering why I’m still hiding.

And whether I should hide at all.

After all, if I’m dating a celebrity, the truth is going to come out at one point or another.

And what better time than right now?

The curtain lifts, ostensibly for the back-up dancers to filter through. I sneak behind them and fix my gaze on Naoya, who has his gaze not on the audience, but on the gap between the curtain and the stage. I take a deep breath and walk towards him.

He’s all I see. And without hesitating—without knowing anything except that this moment is better—more right, more genuine—than any other, I get on my tiptoes and kiss him.

Chapter Forty: Naoya Sugawa

When the shock of the moment fades, all I feel is pain.

Not because of Poppy. No, not even because she’s kissing me in front of a live audience of a few hundred people and God knows how many more watching on TV.

Because her brother just yanked us apart and punched me in the jaw.

“What the hell?” Ryder Black yells, a vein popping in his jaw. “Did you seriously just kiss him? What is wrong with you?”

---