Page 11 of Torrid Love
“Dom?” Zoe presses.
“Relationships are fragile,” I say. “Guys flake out all the time.” Thanks, Dad, for the lesson. “There are too many options in LA, so of course men here suffer from shiny object syndrome.”
“Yeah,” Holly nods.
“Tell me about it,” Zoe sneers.
“Rod knows everything about my personal ghosts and demons,” I point to my inked arm.
“So there’s more to the intricate tattoos?” Zoe asks.
A lot more.“It’s too heavy to delve into on the eve of your birthday,” I tell her.
“I can respect that,” she says.
I’m relieved she drops the subject.
“If he knows everything about you—the good, the bad and the ugly—why not take it all the way? I mean, there aren’t any more surprises,” Holly insists. “I know I would.”
Wanting more could complicate—or shatter—one of the best things in my life.“Rod and Dom. Best friends forever. That’s who we are,” I explain, hoping I can convince them, although I can’t seem to convince myself lately. “We made a commitment to each other when I was thirteen and he was sixteen—right after he came to my rescue for the first time.”
“He rescued you from danger?” Holly asks.
“Yes. Twice.”
“Oh.” Holly and Zoe’s shock is painted all over their faces.
“Certain things should remain untouched… like a lifelong friendship,” I conclude.
Rod’s been through some heavy shit and his less-than-ideal childhood was as undesirable as mine. I’m an only child with a set of rotten parents. I have no one else but Rod in my corner. I’ve always been there for him and vice versa. I can’t risk losing our friendship. It would break me. I have to find it in me to tame whatever weird feelings have been surging lately. It’s not his fault if I want to move what we share out of the friend zone. It’s not like there’s any shortage of options for a guy like Roderick. It’s so easy for him not to see me as more than his trusted sidekick.
* * *
“What an amazing turnout,” I shout over the music. “You’re one popular girl, Zoe.”
“I was dreading this birthday thing, but now, I love it!” she grins from ear to ear.
After an hour-long dance marathon, Zoe, Holly and I are taking a short respite by the bar located in the back of the room. I love to dance. There’s nothing like moving freely to the sound of the music. I’d still be out there shaking my thing, but my feet hurt. I have yet to get used to these platform heels. Since I’ve had enough to drink for the evening, I’m nursing a glass of sparkling water with a wedge of lime. My companions opted for some red wine. I look them up and down.
Sigh.
Even with these skyscrapers strapped to my feet, I’m still so much shorter than they are. And just like that, my illusion of being a tall Amazonian in my new heels dies a slow death.
Oh, well.
“Nothing beats a milestone birthday like celebrating it in style in a setting like this,” I say.
“I know, right? I never thought I’d see the day where I’d set foot in this place,” Zoe says.
“Same here,” Holly says.
Zoe’s older sister, Emma, threw her a big party with Holly’s help. The upscale venue is a gift from Adelaide McAdams. The Wordsworth is a posh members-only private social club for powerhouses in showbiz. It’s reserved to women, but they make exceptions for parties, galas and events. If you have an extra fifteen thousand dollars to burn on initiation fees and a thousand a month, this is the club for you! It’s a bit too rich for my blood.
The dance floor is packed. Zoe’s guests are moving to the beat of the latest club music. Most of the guests here work with Zoe at UTV.com except for a handful of Zoe’s childhood friends and her cousins.
When the DJ drops a chart topper, the crowd goes wild. Zoe, Holly and I get swept away by the collective energy and raise a hand above our heads, swaying our hips side to side to the catchy tune, careful not to spill our drinks. It’s quite the sight. Gabriel McTillerson pokes his head above the crowd and waves me over. He’s been my dance partner for the better part of the evening.
“I’m taking a break,” I mouth.
