THE HEARTBREAK RULE

STEPHANIE ARCHER

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

The Heartbreak Rule. Copyright © 2022 by Stephanie Archer. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

Cover design and illustration by Chloe Friedlein.

ISBN 978-1-7779780-1-3

For Tim, who I couldn’t forget even when I tried.

Contents

1.  Gemma

2.  Reid

3.  Gemma

4.  Gemma

5.  Reid

6.  Gemma

7.  Reid

8.  Gemma

9.  Reid

10.  Gemma

11.  Gemma

12.  Gemma

13.  Reid

14.  Gemma

15.  Gemma

16.  Gemma

17.  Reid

18.  Gemma

19.  Reid

20.  Reid

21.  Gemma

22.  Reid

23.  Gemma

24.  Gemma

25.  Reid

26.  Gemma

27.  Gemma

28.  Reid

29. Gemma

29.  Gemma

30. Reid

31. Gemma

30.  Reid

31.  Gemma

32.  Reid

33.  Gemma

34.  Reid

35.  Gemma

Epilogue - Reid

Want a bonus spicy scene with Reid and Gemma?

Also by Stephanie Archer

Author’s Note

About the Author

1

Gemma

“I SLEEP WITH EARPLUGS.”

The blinding stage lights focused on me and my heart rate slowed down. I gripped the mic and wandered down the stage.

“I live here in Vancouver. It’s noisy. There are garbage trucks at seven in the morning, ambulances, drunk people yelling, and I wear earplugs so I can sleep and everybody’s happy.”

One deep breath to get my bearings, inhaling that familiar stale beer smell. Water stains bloomed on the ceiling above me. I’d tell Oscar about those later.

My heart slowed down from the agony of waiting for my turn and my brain clicked into gear. I knew what to do. Normal people thought performing was nerve-wracking, but the second I stepped on stage, I was in the zone. Present, focused, and ready to kill, because I wasn’t a normal person.

I was a stand-up comedian.

“I woke up this morning, and I was having the most excellent dream about eating candy, but the texture was all wrong.”

Silence. Perfect. I liked a little tension before the joke. It made the laughs louder, sweeter, warmer. I’d done this a thousand times, and I’d do it a thousand more because nothing made my heart soar like making a room full of drunk people laugh.

“I woke up and there was an earplug in my mouth.”

A decent laugh from the audience. The first laugh of the night always brought me back to center. The first rush always made me feel more myself.

My jacket caught the stage lights, illuminating me. I wore a bronze tuxedo jacket Matilda had found, toned down by jeans and white Converse sneakers. Some of the other male comics made comments about my outfits sometimes, but I wasn’t interested in bro-ifying myself to fit in. The last thing I wanted was to fit in on stage. Audiences wanted authenticity, and I owed it to them to be my truest, most transparent self up there.

“The real problem is, I’ve been losing earplugs for years.”

The bar filled with laughs. Right on time. I’d told this joke seventeen times. I could mark the script where the audience would laugh.

My brain bubbled with warmth. All the late nights on stage, all the hours spent at my kitchen table writing jokes, the occasional heckler shouting for me to get my tits out—it was all worth it for this.

I didn’t tell jokes on stage to feed my ego. The sound of people laughing was the best damn thing in the entire world. Laughing so hard you couldn’t breathe? Euphoria. An entire room full of people connected in laughter was better than finding money in an old jacket pocket. That feeling had me on stage three nights a week, minimum. It had me carrying a little black notebook around, jotting down anything I could turn into a joke. For years, I had watched every Netflix comedy special I could, sat through hundreds of shows, and studied the craft, so one day, if I worked hard enough and the universe was on my side, I could have a special of my own.

I leaned toward the front row, out of the spotlight so I could see the audience members.

“Where did they go?” I asked one of our regulars.

“I don’t know,” he answered, laughing.

“I ate them.” The room laughed, and I shot them a cheeky grin. “You all know I ate them in my sleep. My stomach hurts.”

I sat at the bar sometime later while another comic was on stage. The owner and manager, Oscar, poured beers for a table of college kids having too much fun while Dani waited with her tray. Dani and I had been roommates back in university, with our two friends Cady and Matilda. Dani worked here in the evenings while completing her PhD in psychology during the day.

“Those water stains are getting bigger,” I told Oscar, pointing over to the ceiling above the small stage.

He shook his head. “They shouldn’t be. I had a plumber look at it last week.”

“They are. I’m not imagining it. What did the plumber say?”

He sighed and glanced between Dani and I. “There’s a ton of mold and all the drywall needs to be ripped out.”

Dani and I both deflated with disappointment. “That sucks,” she told him.

The Indigo was a divey old bar with dim lighting, creaky wood floors, and tables and chairs dispersed in front of a small stage with a mic. A battered sign outside was barely legible, but the regulars could find this place in their sleep. The smell of stale beer permeated the floors. It was kind of a shithole, because Oscar put all his care and attention into the people instead of the structure. The place was old, though. Heritage-building old. One good bar fight could knock a wall down.

“When do you need to rip the drywall out?” I asked.

Oscar shrugged. “When I can afford it, so probably 2050.”

A series of whoops and cheers came from the audience as one comic introduced the next. Trevor stepped up on stage with his backward baseball hat and white-rimmed, very reflective sunglasses slung around the back of his neck.

I tipped my chin toward Trevor on stage. “He did it again tonight,” I told Oscar.

He filled another beer from the tap. “Gem.”

I threw my hands up. “He only shows up late so he can get the closing spot. He tells everyone he’s the featured comedian.” The Thursday-Friday-Saturday show at The Indigo was a mix of comedians in random order, instead of the usual featured comedian with a series of openers.

He set the beer down and leveled me with a look. “And that means you get to do an extra ten minutes while we’re waiting for him. Everybody wins.”

I shut my mouth. He had a point. “You’re right. I’m being ungrateful. I’m sorry.”

He winked at me. “It’s okay, buddy. One day, you’re going to have your own Netflix special and I expect free tickets. Don’t forget us when you’re famous.”

I smiled at him. “Never.” I owed him everything.

A customer waved Oscar over and he disappeared, and Dani and I turned to watch Trevor’s set.

“I was talking to this chick in the bar last night,” Trevor said on stage.

I shook my head and Dani winced. “No. No, Trevor,” I said under my breath and she laughed.

“She tells me she eats a plant-based diet.”

“And I’m like, what’s that?” I whispered to Dani.

“And I’m like, what’s that?” Trevor asked the audience. “She tells me she doesn’t eat meat,” he said, while Dani mouthed the words beside me. “But now I’m confused, because we went back to my place after,” he continued.

“No, Trevor, don’t do this,” I muttered, and Dani pre-emptively put her hand over her face.

“And she ate my meat all night!”

A crew of bros in the audience laughed and clapped. Dani groaned and I pretended to barf.

“You’ve all been great tonight, thanks!” Trevor waved and left the stage.

I shook my head at Dani. “Why does Oscar still book him?”

She pressed her lips together. “He said Trevor brings in the type of customer who drinks a lot. Good for business. And you know Oscar.”

I made a face. Yes, I knew Oscar. He couldn’t say no to people. “Last week, Trevor said if men and women were paid equally, women would spend the extra cash on hair products.”

Dani glanced over her shoulder and then back at me. Concern washed over her face. “I think he’s tight on cash these days.”

“Trevor?”

“Oscar.”

“He told you that?”

She winced. “He asked if I could bank my last pay cheque.”

My eyebrows went way up. He had never said anything about this. The bar was almost full every night. “This feels like I found out my high school teacher is getting a divorce.”

She noticed a customer staring at her tattoos. “Another drink?” she asked in a flat voice.

He looked startled. “Yes, please.”

I snorted. The Danielle Liu charm, everyone.

She left to make his drink on the other side of the bar and I pulled out my notebook to jot down notes on my set tonight.

A guy rested his arm on the bar beside me. “Loved your show tonight.”

I gave him a quick, tight smile. “Thanks.”

“Do you perform here a lot?”

I nodded at my notebook, studying it. “A couple of times a week.”

“Very cool.” Out of the corner of my eye, he shifted against the bar counter. “I was wondering if you wanted to grab a drink sometime.”

Another tight smile. It was easier if I smiled while saying it. “I can’t. Thanks, though.”

He put his hands up. “I understand. Have a good night.”

“You too.”

I didn’t get asked out a lot, but it happened sometimes, especially sitting at the bar alone. People took I can’t as me being in a relationship. Much easier to digest than sorry, I don’t date. I’d made that mistake a few times. It always led to more questions.

“Yikes.”

My head snapped up. That familiar rush of adrenaline shot into my blood. Here we go.

He was one of the regulars, Oscar’s best friend, and Satan’s grandson, and he sat on the other side of the bar with a beer and a smirk. How long had he been sitting there? He was always around at the worst moments. It was like he got an alert on his phone and raced over.

He leaned back in his chair with his close-clipped beard, dark blonde hair and forest green knit sweater.

“Whatever it is, Beardo Fuckface, I don’t want to hear it. Don’t you have a theater to run? The rats miss you.”

Beardo Fuckface owned an independent movie theater down the street from The Indigo, but I didn’t meet him here. I met him back in university. He dated my friend Cady for years. He crushed her dreams while pursuing his own, and she left him. Tale as old as time.

But now Cady was free of him and Beardo Fuckface was haunting my comedy club.

He took another pull of his beer. “Another one knocked down, huh? This bar is like target practice for you. Another day as the Ice Queen. And my theater doesn’t have rats. Stop telling people that.”

Ice Queen. My shoulders hitched. I hated when he called me that.

I leaned forward on the bar toward him. “While you’re here, can you give Lucifer a message for me? Can you ask for a transfer? Nothing personal. I just can’t stand you and want you to leave forever.”

I wasn’t an Ice Queen. I just didn’t date. No love, and no attachments. Those were the rules. Hookups and flings were fine as long as they had an expiration date. They had to, because someone would get hurt. It wouldn’t be me, though.

He raised an eyebrow. “You didn’t even give him a chance.” He shook his head in disappointment but his eyes gleamed. “The guy is looking for the love of his life and you broke his heart. Talk about a femme fatale.”

My cheeks warmed and my heart pounded, like when there was a heckler in the audience. Bickering with him always got my blood pumping. He was trying to get to me. He was flicking at my Achilles heel. I knew this, but I couldn’t help myself.

I smirked right back at him. “Yes, poor random guy at the bar who’s trying to get laid. What are you, the Men’s Rights Fairy? Flying around town, ensuring men are treated fairly?” I put my hand up to my ear, listening. “Did you hear that?” I gasped. “A white man’s feelings are hurt! Someone doesn’t want to sleep with him.” I did a superhero pose, my back rigid with my hands on my hips. “I’m on my way!”

A grin grew on his stupid handsome face and he rubbed his stubble. “Who’s your next victim?” He surveyed the bar before pointing at the table of college kids. “How about them? Young, inexperienced, eager. They’d fall head over heels.” He cocked his head. “You could store their virginities in a locket around your neck.”

I leveled him with my best don’t fuck with me look and pointed my finger at him. “I don’t know why you’re pretending to be fixated on my love life when we both know you don’t care about anyone but yourself. I see you, Fuckface.” The harder I poked my finger toward him, the higher his eyebrows raised. “You’re selfish and self-centered and you step on other people to get what you want.” He looked delighted I was insulting him, which only annoyed me more. “Like you did to Cady.”

The smirk dropped off his face.

If he were less of a demonic asshole, or if I didn’t know him, I might consider him “attractive,” whatever that meant. Beardo Fuckface could have been on the cover of a men’s health magazine with those broad shoulders, hazel eyes, and cutting jawline. I could picture it—his lips smirking at me from a magazine cover in the grocery store checkout line. But while his outsides turned heads, his insides were a swirling mess of egotistical toxicity, crushed dreams, and those giant balls of cooking oil and baby wipes that clog up sewer systems.

He blinked. Before he answered, I stood and gathered my things.

“I hate you and I hope a bird craps on you at an inconvenient time,” I told him in the same tone as if I were telling him he left his headlights on. I turned on my heel and left.

On the walk home, electricity surged through me after that argument with Beardo Fuckface.

So I didn’t date like regular people. There were things I wanted in life. I had dreams. I wanted to tell jokes for a living and sell out theaters. Relationships ruined everything. Men ruined everything. Love ruined everything.

Like my mom did. Like Cady did. Like I did.

My hands clenched at my sides in the foyer to my apartment.

Screw Beardo Fuckface.

He wanted to call me a man-eater? Let him. Femme fatale? Have at me. Ice queen? Yours truly.

I was protecting myself.

2

Reid

“WHY ARE YOU STILL HERE?” I asked Naz.

She fiddled with the end of her braid. Her eyes darted around behind her glasses. “Restocking the concession.”

We were in the lobby of my theater. Naz held a box of popcorn bags and I leaned on the counter across from her.

I pointed at the clock. “You have an exam tomorrow. I saw you studying during your break. Go home. I got this.”

She sighed, gathered her things, and left.

“You’ll thank me one day,” I called after her onto the street before locking the door. The problem with hard-working employees was they didn’t go home.

I headed upstairs to my apartment above the theater to take my dog for a quick walk. Sally was an Australian Shepherd with the energy level of Homer Simpson. She spent most of the day napping, but I still had a dog walker come by several times a week to give her some exercise while I was busy with the theater.

Back in the office, I continued sorting receipts. I had put this off all year and now a mountain of papers and receipts sat on the table.

Oscar said I needed an accountant but some asshole CEO who I worked for once said knowing your numbers was the key to a successful business. He was a garbage human who couldn’t tell you one of his employees’ names, but his chain of theaters had expanded all over the country.

That’s what I wanted. The thriving business that provided jobs and contributed to my community, not the part about him not caring about his employees.

An hour later, the tiny numbers began to blur in front of me and my mind kept wandering to the Ice Queen snapping at me across the bar last night. I glanced at the clock, logged off my computer, and grabbed my jacket.

OSCAR TIPPED his chin at my near-empty glass. “Another?”

I nodded and he pulled a glass off the bar.

On the stage in the corner of the bar, one comedian introduced the next. The audience clapped and gave a couple woo’s.

Oscar frowned and paused. “That meeting is tomorrow, right?”

I nodded again. Once a month, the local business council discussed community initiatives, problems in the area, and furthered the relentless fight against developers vying to turn our small character buildings into towering glass penises.

They were ugly, boring, and lacked personality, and I would continue to call them that.

I took a pull of my beer and glanced around at the full bar. “Busy in here tonight.”

He leaned against the bar and crossing his arms over his chest. “It’s fine. Any extra dollar goes straight back into this dump.”

Oscar’s bar was a heritage building, over a hundred years old. Original wood beams and flooring. On the surface, it had nostalgia and character, but underneath, it was a money-sucking monster. I got it, though. I understood how you could love a building and put everything you had into it to make it shine.

He surveyed the patrons. “My girl Gemma brings people in with the jokes and Dani hasn’t killed any customers yet, so things are just dandy.”

My shoulders tensed at the words my girl. For a split second, I wanted to punch Oscar in the face. One of my best friends and I wanted to hit him, all because he referred to a woman I couldn’t stand as my girl.

I shook it off. Oscar didn’t have a thing for her. If he had a thing for her, I’d only be opposed because he was my friend. I didn’t want to see him broken into a thousand pieces by a woman whose heart was frozen solid.

“We’re closed next week for repairs,” Oscar told me.

“Right.” Water stains had been growing on the back half of the bar for weeks. I’d been bugging him to get it looked at. They always got worse if you left them.

“So.” He wiggled his eyebrows at me. “One year.” Oscar meant me opening the theater.

“Don’t change the subject.”

A customer caught his attention. “Be right back.”

He left and I stared at my beer, thinking about the last year in my movie theater, all the work I’d put in, and the new life I’d created.

The front door opened. My head turned. The air inside the bar thinned, like at the top of a mountain. She strode in. She didn’t walk like a normal person, she glided in with this confident, self-possessed energy, and it was like someone put a filter on the lighting, sharpening her.

My pulse picked up like I was on a roller coaster about to drop. Here we go.

She hopped onto a bar stool nearby, waiting for her spot on stage. She didn’t see me, no surprise there, and she didn’t see the glances she was getting. Gemma captured attention. Even sitting in this crappy bar, humming to herself and fiddling with her phone, eyes wandered to her like moths to a lamp at midnight. It wasn’t just that she was beautiful. She was, and she knew it, but it wasn’t just that. There was something intangible about her, something that sparkled under her skin and coursed through her blood.

But whenever she laid eyes on me, it was like someone hit a switch. Sparkle off. Simmer on. She couldn’t fucking stand me. Something about how I left one of her best friends hanging for years, crushed her dreams, and wasted the best years of her life.

She had a point.

She looked up and her gaze cooled. “You’re doing that glaring thing again, like your hemorrhoids are acting up.” She drew out the word hemorrhoids into three long syllables.

Something swelled inside me. Not hemorrhoids. Amusement. Excitement. Dim the lights, the match is about to begin.

It wasn’t always like this. A decade ago in school, I was invisible to her. We all went to the University of British Columbia here in Vancouver. Her eyes would flicker over me with disinterest at parties or in the residence cafeteria. She lived with Cady and her friends. I’d see her at the library or at the campus bar, surrounded by people, talking and laughing and joking around. She noticed me when things went south with Cady, though. In Gemma's eyes, I held Cady back from her dreams.

Cady was an improv comic. Throughout university, she’d talk about moving to New York, Los Angeles, or Toronto and making it onto the house teams of the comedy schools. The house teams led to opportunities in the comedy world. It was all Cady wanted.

I got into the MBA program at UBC as soon as she graduated, so she stayed. I encouraged her to go, but she wanted to wait until I finished school so we could go together. When I graduated, I landed a job in the head office of a movie theater chain here in Vancouver. Again, I encouraged Cady to go to New York, but she stayed, so I dropped it.

When we were in our mid-twenties, she had come over to my apartment and told me she had accepted a job teaching improv in Amsterdam. That was it. She was leaving.

Something I’d never admit to anyone? When she left, I felt relief. I didn’t want to go to New York or Amsterdam or LA, but I didn’t want her to put her life on hold for me, either.

I worked for the theater chain for six years, starting as a data analyst, working my way up to an executive role. By the end, I couldn’t do it anymore. I couldn’t go in, wear the suit, and attend endless meetings that should have been an email. I couldn’t endure the “profits over people” mentality any longer. Cady left her life, so why couldn’t I? I had seen the FOR SALE sign outside last year and couldn’t get it out of my head. After I paid the down payment, I stood on the sidewalk and surveyed the peeling paint. The place needed work, but a weight had lifted in my chest.

Imagine my surprise when I walked into The Indigo one year ago, the new owner of a theater, to see Cady’s best friend onstage, the woman who ignored me for the majority of my relationship with Cady. Years ago, Cady had mentioned Gemma did stand-up at the bar Dani worked at, but I didn’t know it was this bar.

I could have sat there in silence, drinking my beer before going home. I could have found another bar. But I didn’t, because a sick part of me enjoyed sparring with her. I looked forward to it. Watching her swat away any male in her periphery, save for Oscar, was more entertaining than any movie, and watching her get pissed off when I called her on it? I should have sold tickets.

“I don’t have hemorrhoids,” I said, fighting to keep my composure.

This was what we did. She turned down any guy that looked her way, I made cracks across the bar, and she got annoyed. It was our thing.

Her gaze zeroed in on me and my skin prickled. Her light brown hair was curlier than usual tonight, falling just above her shoulders. She wore red lipstick, the one that made her skin luminous like she just sprinted around the block or bit into an innocent victim’s main artery.

“You’re always here. Why don’t you go outside?” She leaned forward over the bar, gaze sharpening. “I’ve heard good things about playing in traffic.”

“I go outside during the day, in the sunlight, when you stay inside in case you burst into flames.”

She gave me a flat look. “Can you stop glowering at me? You’re scaring the customers away.”

I watched her bright red lips as she said this and I tried not to grin. That was the hardest part—trying not to laugh.

I took another pull from my beer. “It’s a public service sponsored by the city. Too many men crying in emergency rooms, clutching their hearts.”

She rolled her eyes.

Despite how much I enjoyed riling her up across the bar, I knew that was as far as it would go. Men were an annoyance to her, a hindrance holding her back. She swatted them away like a mosquito at a picnic. In ten years, I’d never seen her give any man the time of day. She wasn’t about to start now. If I’d learned anything in my thirty-three years of life, it was that people didn’t change.

Dani appeared beside her. “You’re up in two.”

Gemma stood and shook her hands out. “Another day, another dollar.”

“Hey, pal,” Dani clapped a hand on my shoulder. I nodded hello at her. Dani and I had never been close, but she’d always been friendly with me. She didn’t harbor the contempt for me that the Ice Queen did.

Gemma stuffed her bag under the bar and shot me a look as she passed. Her shampoo whooshed past me, vanilla and oranges. “Next time you go to the grocery store,” she whispered, “I hope your card is declined in front of a long line of people.” Her brown eyes pierced me.

Adrenaline spiked in my chest and I suppressed a laugh. There it was. This was my favorite part.

I stole a glance at her right before she stepped on stage. If I were smart, I would have left, but I was cocky. I figured if I circled the venomous spider, I wouldn’t get pulled into her web.

3

Gemma

“I BOUGHT A NEW BED.”

Someone in the audience whooped and I grinned. “Yeah, give it up for beds!”

They laughed. I nodded toward where the whoop came from. “That guy gets it. He must have a bed too. I bought a king-sized bed. I’m a single woman living alone, and no one told me huge beds come in huge boxes. And the delivery guys did not take the box with them. Very rude.”

Another decent laugh.

“The boxes sat in my apartment for six months. Does anyone else have that hang-up where you know you need to get rid of something but maybe if you try hard enough, you can hide it or make it part of the decor? I tried to put them under the couch but the mouse that hides in my apartment was like—” I made a face of complete disgust, “—‘get rid of these boxes, you slob.’ ”

That one got a bigger laugh.

“‘What’s wrong with you?’ he asked. He’s very judgmental.” Another small wave of laughs crashed at me. I took a sip of my drink. This was the part of the joke where I killed time and built the tension. Stand-up comedy was about control—control over yourself and control over the audience without them realizing it. The comedian is the driver, and the audience needs to feel like you won’t run the bus off the cliff. That night, my brain was calm and my heart beat at a normal pace, and we were having a conversation, the audience and I. We were old friends hanging out over a drink, happy to see each other.

I jerked a thumb over my shoulder at the imaginary mouse. “He thinks I’m gross for leaving a couple of boxes around? That guy poops in my closet.” A hearty laugh erupted at me and dopamine bloomed in my brain.

Hello, old friend.

“My recycling wouldn’t fit the boxes so I had to cut them down. I got out my kitchen knife and sawed them into pieces. Cardboard dust everywhere, my arms and back burning, it took like an hour, and I’m like, if this is anything like what serial killers do to cover up their murders—”

Pause. They were hooked, waiting in silence.

“—RESPECT.” My face was complete reverence. Laughter erupted at me while I took another drink.

“It’s hard work and it makes a hell of a mess, so if someone’s going to go to that trouble? Let them. They’ve earned it.”

A drop of water hit my face. I flinched and wiped it away before peeking at the ceiling. I thought Oscar had the plumber in. A new dark stain blotted the ceiling.

Another drop hit me in the forehead and I stepped to the left. I’d tell Oscar later.

“Any of you have a matchmaker in the family?” A couple laughs, a couple nods. “It’s the worst.”

Another drop amid the laughs. A crack had formed, straight through the dark blotch. I took another step and my foot skidded in a puddle of water on the stage. Jeeze, this place was falling apart.

A red blinking light behind the speaker caught my eye, a light that signaled the end of my set, but a glance at my phone timer told me I was only four minutes in. I had ten minutes up here, so I ignored it. Oscar probably leaned on the switch or something.

Focus, I told myself. I took a split second to pull myself to center, hearing the shift of people in their seats as their listened, the clink of ice in glasses, an occasional cough, a skid of a chair. The smell of stale beer soaked into the wood floors. The creak of the stage under my sneakers, the hard plastic of the mic in my grip.

“I was at my grandmother’s funeral, and a woman comes up and says, ‘I’m so sorry for your loss. Are you single?’”

Some laughs. The drops dripped onto the stage faster, making a light padding noise as they hit the stage. Half the audience watched the water drip onto the stage. Hell, it even distracted me.

Movement at the side of the stage caught my eye. Beardo Fuckface stood there with his arms crossed, frowning up at the ceiling. I locked eyes with him and he tilted his head, gesturing for me to get off the stage.

“Uh,” I say into the mic, ignoring him. Focus, damn it. “She says, ‘my son is a total workaholic and he’s looking for a wife.’”

The ceiling crackled above me. The audience looked up. I’d lost their attention and driven the bus off the cliff. We were barreling through the air and I had zero control.

Beardo’s frown intensified. “Gemma,” he said quietly.

“‘And he has a brother in case that doesn’t work out.’” The words rushed out of me, nothing like I’d practiced. Was the ceiling bulging?

Fuck it. My set was done. There was no getting them back now.

The crackling noise got louder, and the drops were now a trickle of water.

I gave them a quick wave. “Ladies and gentlemen, you’ve been great. Thanks.” I put the mic back in the stand and stepped off stage. There was a smattering of applause but their gazes stayed on the bulging ceiling.

“Thanks for killing my set,” I muttered to Fuckface as I passed.

I turned back to shoot him a look and as he opened his mouth to say something, the ceiling ripped open like a seam. Water poured out and people screamed. A huge wooden ceiling beam fell onto the stage where I stood seconds before. Instinctively, I reached for Beardo’s sweater sleeve and yanked him away from the stage. Dust clouds plumed in the air. Everyone within ten feet, including Beardo and I, was soaked.

My stomach twisted. Holy crap. That could have landed on us.

Everyone was silent, staring at the gaping hole in the ceiling and the beam laying on the stage. Water was now trickling onto the floor from the ceiling. People slowly got up and headed toward the exit. I could hear Oscar’s voice directing people outside, but it sounded very far away.

Beardo Fuckface’s warm hand came to where I was still clutching his sleeve. I let go like it burned me.

“Are you okay?” he asked, running his hands over my arms and leaning down to my shins. “Did anything fall on you?”

I stood there, staring at him with my mouth open. Beardo Fuckface is touching me.

His wet sweater stuck to his chest and flat stomach. A dormant part of my brain woke up.

I’d bet my pinky toe he had a ridged stomach full of abs under that sweater. I’d never thought about that before.

His hand went to my shoulder with a serious expression. “Did you hit your head? You look weird.”

Heat flushed up my neck. I gestured at the ceiling. “Look at what you did!”

Annoyance replaced the concern on his features and he huffed a humorless laugh and started pulling me to the door. “Now I know you hit your head. Let’s go outside.”

Somewhere deep in my brain, I knew he had nothing to do with what happened. He was watching out for me, which made no sense. His large hand wrapped around my upper arm, and I could feel the warmth of his skin through my sleeve.

It was confusing, so defensiveness reared up in me and I spat out the first thing I thought of.

“You interrupted my joke.”

He pinned me with an incredulous look. “I interrupted your joke so a ceiling that looked like it was going to blow at any moment wouldn’t fall on you. You’re right, you should call the police. I’m a real dick.”

“You two okay?” Oscar rushed up to us. “I’m so sorry, Gemma, I can’t believe that happened. Jesus Christ. Lucky Reid was there or you’d be toast.”

My stomach twisted again while Beardo shot me a smug look that said see?

“I’m fine, I was already getting off stage before he got there,” I said, sending Beardo a look that said you didn’t save me and please stop being around me at inconvenient times and I don’t like your face.

LATER, Dani and I stood outside, surveying the fire fighters. I was soaked and shivering and there was drywall dust in my hair. Dani frowned and crossed her arms over her chest.

“Oscar has insurance,” I told her.

“Still, this fix is going to take weeks.”

I bit my nail. “No more shows.”

I would be fine because I had a day job. I was an accountant, because comedy money barely kept me stocked in moisturizer, let alone paid my rent. Monday to Friday, I sat at a desk under fluorescent lights and played with a calculator and in the evenings, I wandered around a stage and told jokes.

Dani relied on her income from the bar, though. The bar was a flexible job that allowed her to work evening shifts so she could take classes and do research during the day.

“Can you afford to take a couple weeks off?” I asked her.

She pressed her lips together. “I’ll figure something out.”

I knew what that meant, but she was too stubborn to ask for help. Dani would sell her organs before she asked anyone for anything.

Oscar waved her over and she left me standing alone against the brick wall.

A couple weeks without shows, at least. I couldn’t go that long without performing. I’d lose my mojo, forget all my jokes, and the second I got on stage, some weird screeching noise would come out of my throat. If I wanted to move up, I had to be on stage multiple times a week.

The city had a handful of comedy venues, and I’m sure I could do other shows, but I couldn’t leave Oscar and Dani behind. Oscar gave me my shot when no one else would and Dani was one of my best friends. The Indigo was my home and I’d been performing there for years. Regulars came to watch me do stand-up at the bar. I couldn’t drop Oscar and Dani for a new spot. I could perform in other venues, but it wouldn’t be the same without Oscar behind the bar, laughing in that bellowing way of his at my jokes, and Dani zipping around, serving drinks with that wry smile on her face. Leaving them behind wasn’t an option.

I had to find a way to get us out of this mess.

4

Gemma

“BUT YOU’VE BEEN PAYING them thousands of dollars a year for years,” I told Oscar over the phone a few days later. “What do you mean, they’re only covering half?”

“I screwed up and told them about the water stains. They said the damage was preventable.”

Half was better than none, but I’d seen Oscar’s books. There wasn’t a lot of wiggle room in his finances and paying for even half the repairs out of pocket would be a struggle.

Dani and I had spent the day hunting for temporary bar spaces while Oscar dealt with insurance. The first option was sparkling clean and within a block of Whole Foods, and thus far, far out of Oscar’s price range. The second option was a mid-priced bar in a decent area, but Dani had tapped my shoulder, opened a drawer, and shown me the scattering of brown pellets. A mice problem was the last thing Oscar wanted right now. The third place smelled like bleach and was still being investigated as a crime scene.

We walked from the Skytrain, Vancouver’s train line, back to our neighborhood.

“So, the only available properties in the city are insanely expensive, infested with mice, or crime scene murder holes.” I chewed my lip.

“Pretty much.” She nudged me. “Don’t worry. We’re going to figure this out.”

We had to. The Indigo was flexible with her schedule. If she found a new job, they may not be as accommodating. The area above my eyebrow began to throb. We passed a brewery a couple doors down from The Indigo. “Drink?”

“WHISKEY SOUR AND RED WINE,” the bartender said, placing the drinks in front of us. “You know we’re a brewery and have over thirty beers on tap, right?”

Oscar ordered beer from here, so we knew the staff. Dani, Matilda, and I would go here once in a while if The Indigo was closed or too busy. Matilda was our other roommate from university.

I winced at him. “I know but we don’t like beer, Jin.”

Dani shrugged and gave him a flat look. “Beer hurts my stomach.”

“I like whiskey sours.” I leaned forward to sip mine. “That’s what I drink at The Indigo.”

He leaned on the bar. “I heard about the ceiling. Was everyone okay?”

I nodded. “Everyone was fine, thank god. The bar is trashed, though.”

“Bummer.”

“Mega bummer,” Dani added.

“We spent all day looking at rental properties for Oscar. I’ll tell you something,” I pointed at him. “This city is fucked for real estate. Nothing is affordable.”

He laughed. “Yeah, I’ve watched the news. I know.”

I glanced around the brewery. Spacious, brightly lit, clean. I gave Jin a sharp, assessing look with a raised eyebrow. He was immediately suspicious. “Hey, I have an idea.”

“What.”

I gave him a winning smile and gestured between Dani and I. “We could move in with you guys here. We’d be like roommates, but at work.”

He thought about it but winced. “We hired two servers last month.” He glanced over our shoulders with a nod. “Hey, man. Here for the pickup?”

“Yep. A keg of the sour raspberry ale,” Beardo Fuckface said and leaned on the bar counter beside me, and my stomach dropped out.

He had been sneaking into my thoughts more and more since the other night, and I had been shoving him right back out and slamming the door closed. I didn’t care how warm his hand felt over mine. I didn’t care that, up close, his eyes were more green than I expected. And I sure as hell didn’t care that he smelled like that, woodsy and sharp and hnnggg—

Nope.

“Just a minute.” Jin disappeared into the back.

Beardo tipped his chin past me to Dani. “Hey, Dani.”

“Hey, bud.”

His gaze flicked to me. “Ice Queen.”

“Fuckface.”

“Does the neighborhood watch know you’re looking for a new haunt? ‘Alert: Black Widow spider on the prowl for her next meal. Will devour mate for dinner.’”

Dani covered her laugh with a cough.

My pulse accelerated. “What a clever little joke. I’m surprised they let you outside during daylight hours. I thought children were afraid of the Bogeyman. Don’t they run in fear when they see you?” I spotted Jin wheeling a cart with a keg toward us so I lowered my voice. “I hope you get food in your teeth and everyone sees.”

“Gemma,” Jin said when he approached, and both Beardo and I straightened up. “I thought of something. Priya’s talked about adding some kind of live entertainment for a while. I could pitch a stand-up show to her if you’d like. I don’t think we could hire Oscar and Dani—sorry, Dani—but it wouldn’t cost much to set up a mic in the corner.”

Dani nodded at me. “That’s a great idea.”

I shook my head. “That’s a generous offer, Jin, and thank you so much, but we’re a package deal.”

Jin pushed the cart toward Beardo, whose gaze I was purposefully ignoring. “Gotcha. Thought I’d check.”

“Thanks.” I gave Jin a grateful smile and he nodded as he left to help customers.

Dani gave me a beseeching look. “Gem, come on, you should do it. We don’t know if we’re going to find a place.” She raised her perfectly penciled eyebrows. Dani was so good with makeup. “I know you want to find something for us but don’t be dumb about this.”

I gave her a look right back. “This is important to me, so yes, I will be dumb.”

She snorted and rolled her eyes. “You are so stubborn.”

I sensed Beardo shift at my side against the bar, watching me. “Go back to your lonely lair of misery, Beardo.”

The corner of his mouth ticked and his expression turned from thoughtful to smug, still watching me. “No dice on the rental places today, huh?”

Dani shook her head at him.

He tilted his head to the keg beside him before rubbing his jaw in thought. “You know I have a liquor license, right?”

I gave him a double thumbs up and a big fake smile. “Well done. I bet your parents are so proud.”

The corner of his mouth hitched a little more and his eyes were bright. “And you know I would do almost anything for my best buddy Oscar, right?”

Dani cocked her head beside me.

My nostrils flared. He was doing it again. He was poking me with a stick, trying to annoy me.

He leaned in and my pulse picked up. “You wouldn’t know this because you’ve never been inside, but my theater has a stage, lighting, and sound system.”

I stared straight ahead at the bottles on the bar. “The coolest,” I told him, disdain dripping off my words. “Look at you go.”

I knew what he wanted, and I wasn’t going to give it to him. We’d find another way.

I could see his smug grin intensify out of the corner of my eye. “Well, Ice Queen, I have to get back to my theater with a liquor license, stage, sound system, and spotlights. You have a great day. Bye, Dani.”

“Bye,” she called.

“Don’t talk to him,” I muttered.

She snorted. “Yeah, okay.”

He rolled the cart out the door and Dani and I sat there in silence for a moment, listening to the music and bustling inside the brewery.

“It’s not a bad idea—” she started.

“No.”

I threw the rest of my drink back. She tapped her foot against her stool but bit her tongue. The guy broke our best friend’s heart. I would not ask him for help.

DANI AND OSCAR were waiting for me outside the bar the next evening when I rolled up after work.

“Did Dani talk to you yet?” I called to Oscar as I approached. “The rental properties were a complete bust. You can’t afford them, and the ones you can afford are uninhabitable.” I gave him a reassuring smile. “But don’t worry. We’re going to figure this out.”

Oscar exchanged a look with Dani. She pressed her lips together and wiggled in place with contained excitement.

“Do you have to pee?” I asked.

She shook her head and bit her lip. “Hear us out.”

I narrowed my eyes at her before I gasped. “No! Traitor.”

Oscar sighed. “Gem…”

I gave Dani a what gives look. “Are you serious?”

“Do you have a better solution?”

I chewed on my lip while glancing between them. No, I didn’t have a better solution. Dani knew she was right and Oscar didn’t want to make waves, but I could see him leaning toward her solution. If I pushed back on us performing there, I’d be the dick. This was their livelihood.

“I don’t like this but I won’t stand in our way.”

Dani nodded and her gaze flicked toward me. “There’s just one thing.”

I crossed my arms over my chest. I was still in my work clothes, a blue and white striped dress shirt, black pencil skirt, and heels. “What?”

Oscar stared at the ground.

She pressed her lips together. “He says you have to ask him.”

My blood pressure skyrocketed.

Five minutes later, the four of us stood in the empty lobby of The Capitol theater. My heart beat in my ears. I’d never been inside before. If I weren’t such an angsty wreck, I’d have had a hard time taking my eyes off the place. The carpet was an intricate red pattern, and chandeliers hung from the vaulted ceilings. Gold leaf glinted from the walls and ceiling. It was like stepping back in time to old Hollywood.

But I couldn’t focus on the theater right now.

Smugness radiated off Beardo Fuckface like those wavy lines on the highway during summer. The air was humid with it. I could have bottled that stuff and sold it to teenagers who needed a confidence boost.

“Something you wanted to ask me?” he asked, smiling, and leaning his tall, lean form against the counter.

“You can do this,” Dani muttered to me. “For all of us.”

Right. For all of us. For Oscar, so he could keep his bar and avoid bankruptcy. For Dani, so she could keep her job. And for me, so I could keep performing and one day, become a comedian.

This was the nasty pill I had to swallow to get to the happy place. I was going to be a big girl. Any minute now.

“Would… you…” I sighed and rubbed the bridge of my nose. Every word was a punch in the gut.

“You’re doing great,” he said, nodding. His teeth flashed.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Dani shoot him a come on look.

I exhaled loudly. “Beardo Fuckface, guardian of the underworld and manservant to Hades himself, would you let us move into your theater?”

He beamed at me. “I would love to. Thanks for asking.”

I LAID in bed that evening, picturing his annoying self-satisfied face. He thought he was so funny. He loved that I had to ask him for help.

Should I tell Cady about this?, I wondered. It would just upset her, and we would be out of his theater in a month. Maybe two, tops.

Two months of close contact with Beardo Fuckface. The thought turned my stomach. I hated that I owed him one. I hated that he loved that I owed him one.

Soon, we’d move back into The Indigo and everything would go back to normal. I just needed to get through this.

5

Reid

“HAS anyone here been to couples therapy?” she asked the audience. A few people clapped. Her white t-shirt was like a beacon under the stage lights so I adjusted the lighting. I leaned against the sound board in the projection room upstairs, watching.

Fucking hell, she was pretty. The way she had looked the other day in that dress shirt and tight skirt, like some kind of business-class wet dream? Jesus Christ. It had taken everything I possessed not to drag my gaze up and down those stockinged legs.

“In couples therapy, the therapist should allow each person to bring a plus one. That person would tell it like it is.” She gave them a skewering look and nodded, which got a few laughs. “The best friend knows all the dirt. They’re going to show up with their notebook.” She read from the invisible notebook in front of her, counting on her fingers. “He forgets her birthday, leaves his socks everywhere, and pretends he doesn’t know how to load the dishwasher.”

The audience of about forty laughed. She paused, tilting her head and narrowing her eyes. “The couple doesn’t even need to show up. Just send the two best friends. The therapist would be like, I have everything I need.”

They laughed again.

She grinned big at them. “You’ve all been great tonight, and thanks for coming out and supporting us at our new venue,” she said into the mic. “Tell your friends and get home safe. Goodnight!”

They cheered again, I brought up the lights and played music, and the audience filtered out into the lobby.

I bounded down the stairs. Oscar and Dani already had a line at the bar. We—Oscar, myself, Naz, Dani, Gemma, and Jaime, another bartender—had spent the day moving furniture, equipment, and stock over to the theater. Oscar and I had placed a few tables and chairs around the lobby so people could mill around and have a drink before and after shows.

This afternoon, Naz had pulled me aside.

“How long are they going to be here?” she had asked, watching Gemma unpack bottles of liquor.

“A couple months. Don’t worry, we’re going to make it work. They’re our friends and they’d do it for us.”

“They’d let you play movies at Oscar’s bar?” She had raised an eyebrow.

I had grinned at her. “He would if I asked. This is our community. We have to help each other out.”

Naz grumbled something about them eating free popcorn and wandered away, but I saw her and Dani laughing after. I knew she’d come around.

“Need anything?” I asked Dani at the bar that evening after the show.

“Limes,” she answered.

I stepped into the hallway with a bag of limes in each hand and bumped into the Ice Queen.

“Sorry,” she said before she saw it was me. Her expression dropped. “Oh. You.” She crossed her arms.

I leaned against the doorway. “Decent show tonight, Ice Queen. I think you even cracked a smile once or twice. Your face must hurt.”

If I had said this to her last week, her eyes would have lit up with fury. She’d spit something back at me. Tonight, though, she dimmed about three notches and frowned.

She pressed her mouth into a tight line and moved to pass me.

“I don’t know how much fun the audience had,” I continued. She turned around and frowned at me again, her gaze searing me. “Pretty quiet out there. Maybe this place isn’t cut out for comedy.” I shrugged.

Come on, play with me.

She blinked and her throat worked. “Performing in a big space like this isn’t working. It’s not enough people.”

“You’d prefer a smaller space?”

“No.” She sighed and leaned against the wall, looking defeated. “I’d prefer a sold-out theater, but a packed smaller room is a close second. A packed space means the jokes are funnier, the laughs are louder, and the energy just…” She paused, searching for the words. “Crackles.” She shifted. “The energy fizzled tonight.”

“It’s the first night. It’s only going to get better from here.” My tone sounded so light, like we were friends or something.

She looked up at me with confusion and curiosity, and my chest felt tight.

She blinked and the defeated look dropped away. “I hope the roaches don’t mind sharing the theater with us.”

Back to normal. The side of my mouth twitched, threatening to betray me. I scanned her outfit: a white t-shirt with little birds embroidered on it, leopard print pants, and neon green sneakers. “You’re dressed like a cartoon character on LSD.”

Her eyes flickered with that familiar annoyance. She surveyed my thick gray wool sweater, worn jeans, and brown, very weathered Blundstone boots. “You’re dressed like an elderly Icelandic fisherman with depression.”

Don’t laugh. I took another step forward, gaze locked on hers, and then another step, until I was almost as close as I was the other night when Oscar’s ceiling fell in.

I could see the pulse going in her neck, and something deep inside me liked it. I liked knowing I was rattling her.

I leaned down so my mouth was inches from her ear. She was a statue. She would never give me the satisfaction of squirming or moving away from me. That meant I affected her, and she wasn’t ready to admit that. “Be nice to the customers,” I murmured in her ear, inhaling her shampoo. “They’re yours now too.” I turned and headed back to the lobby without another glance at her.

A few minutes later, I was with Naz at the concession when Gemma stepped behind the bar.

“I’m going to go,” she told Dani. “Do you have everything under control?”

Dani nodded. “You want to stay for a drink?”

Gemma didn’t look at me. “Not tonight.” She made her way through the lobby and disappeared out the door.

“Reid, that bag’s full,” Naz said at my side.

The bag in my hand overflowed with popcorn while I shoveled more in.

She raised an eyebrow. “What’s wrong with you?”

“Nothing.”

Her big eyes searched my face from behind her glasses. “You’re being weird.”

“I’m not being weird.”

She took a deep breath. “I think you need to hire someone else.”

I groaned.

“I can’t work full time with school,” she told me, eyes wide.

“You want to cut your hours back?” The last thing I wanted was for work to get in the way of Naz’s studies.

She nodded. “You’re here all the time. You work every day. It’s time to hire someone else.”

I sighed. I knew she was right. I threw everything into this place but it wasn’t sustainable.

“A guy I go to school with, his job is ending soon. He works at the Roller Castle on Fraser. A developer purchased the property.”

I knew Naz well enough to trust anyone she recommended. “Tell him to send me his resume.”

WORD GOT out about comedy shows at the theater. In this neighborhood, people supported each other and they loved local businesses. Vancouver was just a bunch of small towns squished together, like any big city. Everyone stayed in their radius, frequenting their nearby bars or theaters or grocery stores. People rallied behind the local businesses. After two weeks, audiences were at about a sixty people a night. Comedians heard and were interested in doing sets, texting Oscar and dropping by before shows to see if there was an available slot.

It seemed like Gemma didn’t mind it so much after a few weeks. I caught her staring at the chandeliers a few times, tracing her fingers along the carvings on the walls, or inspecting the red-and-white popcorn boxes with a small smile. The way her pretty mouth twisted when she looked down at the box in her hand was mesmerizing.

I was walking in the storeroom one night before a show when I heard her and Oscar talking in the hallway.

“Can you do twenty-five tonight?” he asked her. “Trevor got a gig at Yuk Yuk’s.”

“Really, Trevor? I know that’s a good spot, but dude, you don’t bail on your booked gigs. Yes, I can do twenty-five. I’ve got some new material I wanted to work in.”

“Great. Thanks, Gem. And thanks for sticking with us during this chaos. I know you can do other shows.”

“I won’t bail on you, even if this place is infested with tarantulas.” Her volume went up on the last word.

I dipped my head to hide my grin out of habit.

“Can you go easy on him for a couple weeks? He’s doing all of us a huge favor. He’s so —”

“Okay! Okay. I’ll be nice to Fisherman’s Friend. Got it.” I felt the weight of her stress. “Everything will be back to normal soon, Oscar. I know it.”

FROM THAT NIGHT ON, I wouldn’t say she was nice, but she was civil. On show nights, she did her set and left. She stopped telling me the place was crawling with rats. Or bed bugs. Or roaches. Or tarantulas. She didn’t speak to me at all. She avoided looking at me if she could help it.

Once again, I was invisible to her. Like university.

Maybe this was a good thing. Sparring with Gemma was amusing, sure, and ever since her hand brushed my chest that night at The Indigo when she yanked me out of the way, unwelcome thoughts about her body and mouth and hands and hair had been working their way into my brain, but it couldn’t happen. I saw the way she turned down guy after guy for years, first at university and then at The Indigo. Somewhere in the back of my brain, something told me to be careful. This game where I annoyed her was fun, but people didn’t change. Except for Oscar, she treated men as disposable, and I was no different.

6

Gemma

“I WORK IN AN OFFICE.” I hunched over my kitchen table, listening to a recording on my phone of my set last night. “I’m an accountant during the day to pay for things like food and socks and lip balm.”

I twiddled my pen and paid close attention for any opportunities to improve the joke. Perhaps it could use a tighter set up, a longer pause before the punch line, a different arrangement of words.

“Comedy pays for approximately one bar of soap a year, so I need a day job. I go to my job every day where I sit in a cube and type at a computer and play with a calculator. And I know we’re so lucky compared to people a hundred years ago, because we have things like vaccines and the internet and clean water. We’re so lucky. But—” Pause. “Don’t you think if those people a hundred years ago saw how we lived today, they’d be like… really?”

I listened to the audience laugh at the face I was making.

“‘This is what we worked so hard for?’”

Another round of laughs.

“I think they’d feel sorry for us. Some guy, Laurier, starting a life in Quebec City on a farm would look at his great-great-grandson crammed into a fart-filled train car on the way to work in the middle of summer, pressed up against some other person’s sweaty back, and he’d be like, ‘wow, are you all traveling to a new land to make a better life for your families? Oh, you’re going to the job you hate and you do this every single day?’” Another laugh. “Yikes.”

I paused and made a note. Laurier is starting a new life with his family in Quebec in 1765 and would look at his great-great-grandson Carson…

I unpaused the recording.

“Mary, who woke up at dawn every day since she was six to work on her parents’ farm, would see her granddaughter doing a kickboxing class and ask, ‘are you preparing for war?’” Some small laughs. Mary line needs punch up, I wrote. “‘Oh, you do this because you spend four hours a day staring at a small screen in your hand and you’re developing a hunchback? Is this hell?’”

Some laughs. Punch up whole Mary part.

“Edith Clarke would see her great-great-niece getting a Brazilian wax and be like, ‘is this punishment? Did you commit genocide or something?’” The audience laughed harder at this one. “‘Is this what they do instead of flogging or beheading? Because that is…” Pause. “Much worse.”

A big laugh from the crowd. I smiled at my kitchen table. Last night’s set was a fun one. The first night was the roughest, with the smallest audience, but audiences had been increasing in number each week. The show last night had more people than a busy night at The Indigo, almost a hundred. Doing the show at the theater hadn’t been the disaster I predicted.

But I wouldn’t admit that to Beardo Fuckface.

He was there every night, slinging popcorn, selling drinks, and taking over the bar when Oscar and Dani were busy. He had staff, so I don’t know why he hung around. We kept out of each other’s hair, but once in a while, when I’d be waiting for the doors to open or hanging around backstage before my set, I’d glance up and he’d be watching me.

I definitely did not think about how his hands had felt on me, all those weeks ago.

Another thing I’d never admit to him was his theater was beautiful. Nothing like those sanitized glass multiplexes scattered throughout the city with neon lights and stale popcorn crushed into the carpets. The seats were plush red velvet, the antique chandeliers sparkled and captured my gaze every night, and ornate carvings traced the walls, both in the theater and the lobby. A working antique popcorn machine sat in front of a handwritten menu behind the concession. They served popcorn in red-and-white paper boxes instead of bags smeared with whoever the latest action hero was. It was the little things, the tiny details like the popcorn boxes that made this place special.

I could picture a movie premier in the twenties there. Women with shiny, wavy hair and long dresses flanked by men in slim-cut suits holding cigarettes. Smoking was an awful habit and sure to send you to an early grave but you had to admit, it was glamorous as hell.

My heart leaped every time I stepped inside that theater. I had so many questions. How old was it? Was it like this when he purchased it or did it need restorations? From where do you source a red velvet movie theater seat? How do you clean the chandeliers when they’re up so high? Has anyone died here?

But I couldn’t ask those questions because I’d have to talk to him, and I’d rather wax my nose hairs than do that. And if I did speak to him, I’d end up calling him Dream Stealer or Old Man Winter or Captain Ahab or Narcissus, and Oscar asked me to be nice. I was keeping my head down, working hard, telling my jokes, and in a month or two, things would be back to normal.

MY PHONE BUZZED with a text that afternoon. It was from Oscar to me, Dani, and an unknown number.

Oscar Hernandez: team meeting, tonight after the show

Dani answered on the first ring.

“What’s going on?” I asked.

“I don’t know… Oscar was quiet last night. And kind of grouchy.”

“That’s weird.”

“He’s going to fire me,” she said. “I know it. Someone probably complained.”

“What?” I choked out, laughing. “No, he isn’t. You’re his right hand. He’s screwed without you. He might axe the comedy show, though. A bar can’t survive without bartenders but it can without entertainment.” The thought of Beardo’s smug face as Oscar broke the news to me turned my stomach. The humiliation would force me to move cities and change my name.

“He wouldn’t do that.”

“Then what’s this meeting about?”

She exhaled, long and low. “I don’t know.”

AFTER THE SHOW was over and the last customer had left, Beardo locked the front door and we all took a seat in the lobby. Dani and I sat at a table, Reid sat at another, and Oscar stood and faced all of us.

“So?” I asked Oscar, anxiety clenching in my stomach. “What’s the deal? Are you going to fire us or what?”

He made a face of alarm and looked between Dani and I. “What? No!”

“Then what’s this about?” Dani asked.

Oscar heaved a sigh and rubbed his face. My gaze flicked to Beardo’s. He sat watching with his arms crossed and a crease on his forehead.

“It’s going to be a while longer with the repairs.” He glanced at Beardo. “Reid knows this, and he’s fine with it but I wanted to communicate it to both of you and give you a chance to ask questions.”

Dani and I glanced at each other. “How much longer?” I asked tentatively.

He winced. “Six?”

“Months?” I gasped. Beardo and I made eye contact briefly. He wore a mask of neutrality but I couldn’t hide my shock and dread. We couldn’t spend six months working together, avoiding each other, having those awkward hall conversations.

“What’s going on?” Dani’s voice was quiet. She watched Oscar and he swallowed.

“It’s tough, you know? The bar’s old and it needs a lot of money to keep it running and now all this.” He shook his head. “It’s a lot.”

“You were doing okay when I did your books last year.” I chewed my lip. “What happened?”

“And the bar’s always so busy,” Dani added.

“Money is coming in, but it’s going out just as fast.” Oscar sat down and leaned forward with his elbows on his knees.

“What can we do?” I glanced at Dani and Beardo, who was still silent, watching and listening with a serious look on his face.

Oscar shook his head. “Nothing. You take care of the show and Dani, you do your job, and I’ll do mine. I’ll figure something out.”

The four of us were silent for a moment.

Dani leveled him with a look. “Oscar.”

He narrowed his eyes at her but there was a small smile on his face. “What.”

“You know we love the shit out of you, right?”

I nodded. “We do. We really do.”

Oscar shot us a timid smile. “Yes. I know.”

“And we can’t sit around eating bonbons while the business you’ve sunk your whole life into for the last seven years flails, right?” she asked.

I nodded at Oscar while pointing at Dani. “That. What Dani said.”

The look he gave us, it broke my fucking heart. “I don’t want to drag you all into this. You all have your own jobs and lives.”

I shook my head. “For Dani and I, this is one of our jobs, and Fuckface doesn’t have a life.”

Beardo scoffed, but didn’t seem mad about it.

“Heyyyy,” Oscar warned, also laughing.

“She’s right,” Beardo said.

I snorted at him and his mouth lifted with a smile. The universe paused, my brain melted, and I got a quick glance of what it could be like between us, if the whole Cady thing never happened.

Alarm shot through me and I looked back at Oscar. “I’m an accountant, Dani knows your business in and out and sees everything you don’t, and Beardo has an MBA. So… let us help.”

He took a deep breath and nodded at us. “Alright.”

TWO HOURS LATER, we all sat at the same tables, hunched over papers and receipts and laptops. I scrolled on Oscar’s laptop, digging through his email for invoices and entering the values into my program. Dani and Reid were comparing inventory costs to sales. It was after midnight, but we were trying to get a sense of what was going on with the business.

“It’s getting late,” Oscar said. “I’ve kept you all long enough.”

I leaned my cheek on my palm and stared at the screen. “You didn’t keep us, we want to be here.”

“Anyone find anything interesting?”

Dani pressed her lips together and frowned. “We spend a lot on liquor.”

Beardo cleared his throat and we all looked to him. “Dani’s onto something. There should be higher sales for the amount you’re spending.”

Oscar took this in. “Okay. We’re getting somewhere.” He looked at me.

“You have almost no liquid cash on hand and you’ve acquired a lot of debt in the past year,” I said in my straightforward accountant’s voice before I remembered where I was and softened my tone. “We need to come up with some money up front to pay for the bar repairs and catch up on the debt.”

Oscar nodded and raked his hand through his dark hair. “So, we drastically cut costs and throw every extra dollar into the bank.”

I nodded. “Yeah, that’ll be part of it. It’ll still take months and months, though. We need money fast.” I looked to the three of them. “Where do we make the most profit?”

“Ticket sales,” Beardo said. Circles had appeared under his eyes in the past few hours. “You have a set cost to run a show, and for every extra ticket you sell, it’s almost all profit.”

“What about some kind of event or show?” I narrowed my eyes and something tingled in my brain. “Like something big, to sell out the theater and make a ton of money for you to reopen. A series of shows, even.”

Oscar sat back with his arms crossed, considering this. “The worst case is we don’t make much money and we’re where we started.”

Dani nodded. “I like this. Oscar, this would work. People in the community, they love your bar. They’ll rally around you.”

His mouth twisted with uncertainty as he looked at her. “You think?”

She nodded with raised eyebrows. “I do.”

Inklings of an idea trickled into my head. “You know those old variety shows on TV? Where there’s a bunch of different acts and it’s hosted by a woman in a sparkly dress or a man in a tux?” My insides fluttered with excitement. “What about something like that? An all-night variety show, with stand-up, sketch comedy, improv, and comedy movies.” I nodded to Beardo, listening and watching me with an unreadable expression. “We could get everyone we know involved, market it like crazy, sell out the whole place, and make you a pile of money.” I beamed at Oscar. “And it would be fun.”

Dani’s eyes illuminated. “So fun,” she echoed, nodding.

Oscar glanced between us. The growing, rueful smile on his face told me he was excited about it, too. “Reid?”

The corner of Reid’s mouth lifted and I couldn’t look away. He shot me a quick, appraising look and the breath caught in my throat.

“Gemma’s onto something good.” He rubbed his jaw and watched me, and a thought struck me.

Beard was quite handsome.

What a waste.

I lay in bed that night, my mind firing with ideas for the variety show. Oscar, Dani, and Beardo were tackling the business end, plugging the money leaks and finding opportunities for more profit, and I would handle the variety show. I turned my lamp back on three times to make notes in my notebook on the bedside table. Sure, we’d have to spend the next few months at the theater, but after the variety show, and after Oscar reassessed his business plan, we’d be back on track. We’d be able to go back to The Indigo.

7

Reid

“HE’S HERE,” Naz said from the doorway of the projection room the next day. A comedian performed on stage and while I worked the lights and sound. My foot rested on the counter.

I sat up. “Can you take over?”

She nodded and I headed downstairs. An early twenties, lanky guy with dark brown hair and a grin too big for his face waved at me. He had a goofy, affable way about him I liked already.

“Sam?” I asked with my hand out.

He shook it. “That’s me. Nice to meet you.”

“You go to school with Naz, right?”

He nodded with enthusiasm. This guy had a friendliness that put me at ease. “Naz is awesome. She always gets the top mark in our classes.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Oh, yeah? Doesn’t surprise me. Tell me about Roller Castle.” I gestured for him to follow me to my office.

“Roller Castle is one of my favorite places in the world.” He got a wistful look on his face as he flopped down on the couch. “There’s a huge roller rink and people can rent roller-skates or blades. There’s music and a disco ball, and the concession sells hot dogs. The most I’ve eaten in one day is five, but I felt pretty sick. I think four might be my max.”

I grinned and tried not to laugh. This kid was hilarious.

“And everyone who works there is so cool.” His face fell and my chest twinged with the familiarity of it, which was weird. “I’m going to miss that place.”

“It sounds fun. Can you tell me a bit more about your job there?”

“I work at the skate desk. I give people their skates and take their shoes, keep everything clean, you know, that kind of stuff. But sometimes if someone is sick or on break, I cover the DJ booth. And once in a while, I cover the concession.” His eyes widened in emphasis. “That’s awesome.”

I grinned. “Because of the hot dogs.”

He nodded hard. “The hot dogs are incredible.”

I scanned his resume again, but I had made up my mind. “You want to come work for me?”

His face lit up even more. “For real?”

“Yeah. We can talk about details like wage and stuff before you commit. You and a friend can watch free movies anytime you’re not working, free popcorn, flexible shifts, and I pay the city’s valuation of a livable wage.”

Every year, the city calculated the minimum wage a person needed to earn to live in the city, which most entry-level positions didn’t meet. A lot of people had to work several jobs to pay the bills. It was my responsibility as an employer to pay my employees a wage they could survive on. Making the world a better place and all that garbage—something my old CEO never understood or cared about.

If I paid my employees well enough, they wouldn’t leave. I was saving myself training time.

Sam bobbed his head with excitement. “I accept.”

At that second, the Ice Queen walked past the open door to the lobby. “Hey, Sam,” she called before continuing down the hallway.

I cocked my head at Sam, narrowing my eyes, and the resemblance hit me. Sam was her younger brother. I’d overheard her talking about him in the past. The dots connected.

Gemma backed into the doorway in slow motion with a suspicious look on her face. “Sam.”

“Hey, Gem,” he chirped. “I’m going to work here.”

“You work at Roller Castle.”

Sam shrugged. “They’re closing. A developer bought the building and they were waiting to get kicked out.”

I held back a laugh at the strangled look on her face.

She shook her head. “Sam, you don’t want to work here. This guy is a monster. His employee is miserable.” She glanced at me with fury. “He runs his theater like the military.”

I choked out a laugh. “Naz loves working here.”

“He makes them call him Imperial Leader,” she told Sam.

I fought the grin and turned to Sam. “Naz has been here for three years.”

Gemma saluted and stood at attention. “Yes, Imperial Leader! Whatever you say, Imperial Leader.”

“Sam, you don’t have to call me Imperial Leader. Only if you want to.”

Gemma’s gaze bored into my face.

Sam shrugged. “Dude, I’m in.”

Gemma crossed her arms over her chest.

We stood and I clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Come talk to me when you’re free next and we’ll discuss a day to start. We’ll work around your other job.”

“Thanks, Reid,” he said, waving and leaving the office. She glared at me over his shoulder. He left without another word and Gemma watched him walk down the hall in silence.

“So, that’s your brother?” I asked her. “Nothing like what I expected.”

A defensive look came over her features. “What does that mean?”

“I thought he’d be like you, but he’s a nice guy.”

A bark of laughter came out of her mouth before she shook it off. “Everyone likes Sam. It’s impossible not to. He got all the likeable genes.”

Now, that wasn’t true. Not one bit. But I couldn’t say that.

She took a step toward me, gaze locked on mine, and my pulse kicked it up a notch. “Listen,” she said, poking her finger at me. Gold polish sparkled on her nails. Her brown eyes had gone cold. “Sam is my little brother and the most important person in the world to me. If you mistreat him or hurt him in any way, I’ll burn down your entire theater with you in it.”

“Wow.”

She huffed and the sharp look melted into worry. A little crease formed between her eyebrows. “He’s too nice. He’s not good at standing up for himself.” She looked at me and her hands clenched. “You’re only hiring him to get to me.”

I rubbed my eyes. This woman. “I’m not hiring him to get to you. That’s ridiculous. Naz gave him a glowing review and I trust her. I need to hire someone.”

“You absolutely need to hire someone. You’re always around.” She said the word like it tasted bad. “But why does it have to be Sam?”

“He’s an outgoing, friendly, likeable guy. Wouldn’t you agree he’s more likeable than I am?”

“In a millisecond.”

“Don’t you think my customers would rather deal with him than—what do you call me—a ‘miserable Scandinavian fisherman’?”

The corner of her mouth tugged upward. “Icelandic.”

She was about to smile. I could feel it, like the second before the sun rises where you know that giant ball of warmth and light was right below the surface, waiting to ascend. My pulse flowed with another wave of adrenaline. “I’ll watch out for him, and you’ll be around because of the comedy show on weekends.”

“And he can’t work too much because of school.”

“And he can’t work too much because of school,” I repeated, nodding. “Got it.”

“He’s going to be a math teacher.”

“Cool.”

“He’s a good kid.”

“I can tell.”

She crossed her arms over her chest and shifted, leaning against the doorway. She bit her lip and I had an urge to kiss her. To rake my hand through her curly hair, tilt her head just right, and take that mouth of hers. Make her moan into my mouth. Press my entire body up against hers and feel her curves imprint on me.

Something on my face made her blink and straighten up. “Bye.”

She flew out the door and down the hallway and I rubbed the bridge of my nose, sucking in a deep breath. Working with her was becoming more difficult than I expected.

8

Gemma

ON WEDNESDAY NIGHT, I leaned against the brick wall outside The Capitol and waited for Sam while making notes in my notebook about my last set. What bits worked, what didn’t, where there were laughs and no laughs.

This was Sam’s third shift at the theater, and all week, I worried about him. What if Beardo got impatient with him? What if he snapped at Sam?

I’d never seen him snap at anyone, though. Even I would admit this was a great gig for Sam. Naz seemed happy enough, working at the theater. Maybe I had nothing to worry about.

The door opened but instead of Sam, it was him. My face fell.

“What are you skulking out here for?” Beardo folded his arms across his charcoal sweater. “It’s bad for business to have predators lurking outside.”

“I’m waiting for Sam.”

He eyed my light jacket. It was early October, transition time between jacket and coat weather and that night, I should have worn a coat. “It’s cold,” he said, frowning.

“I didn’t notice.”

“Right. Your heart stopped beating over a hundred years ago.” He tilted his sharp chin. “Get inside.”

“No.”

“Gemma.”

I flinched. He never said my name, it sounded weird coming out of his mouth. But weird in a way, I wanted to rile him up so he said it again.

“I’ll drag you in myself.” The threat hung on a clothesline of eye contact between us.

He wouldn’t.

Would he?

He stepped closer to me. I tensed. His hands twitched at his sides and the corner of his mouth lifted.

I pushed past him into the theater and dropped down into a chair in the lobby.

Sam sang falsetto Whitney Houston somewhere in the back. My mind eased a fraction—he sang when he was in a good mood.

In the lobby, Beardo leaned against the counter, surveying me. “You being overprotective of him is actually hurting him.”

“I’m not overprotective of him. This is what affection looks like. Or have you forgotten already?”

He shook his head. “Sam is a good kid. He’s smart, he’s nice, he’s great with customers, and the staff likes him. He’s going to be fine.”

Something pinged inside my chest. He was nice to Sam. He liked Sam. He would take care of Sam.

Beardo flinched.

“What?”

“The Wicked Witch has never smiled at me.” He narrowed his eyes.

“I’m not smiling,” I protested, smiling. “It’s nice to hear good things about Sam. I want good things for him.”

“And he’ll have them.” He turned away, stepping behind the bar. A door opened. The tstt of a bottle opening. A moment later, he set a bottle in front of me. Cider. “I don’t have egg white down here for whiskey sours.”

I raised an eyebrow at the bottle. “You’re closing up.”

He nodded to the back room. “He’ll be a few minutes.” With his own beer in hand, he walked out from behind the bar. My head swiveled, watching his broad shoulders disappear down the hallway.

I could have hung out there, sitting at a table, scrolling on my phone, or—

“So, this is where Old Man Misery cries at night,” I said in the doorway to his office.

“This is where I cry,” he agreed, sitting down at the desk with his hands folded over his flat stomach, “traumatized from watching you eat men’s hearts with a knife and fork.”

I tapped my chin. “Men’s hearts, very high in iron.”

He smiled at me. A genuine, heartfelt smile lit up his face, like he found me amusing or cute, which was crazy. He didn’t think I was any of those things. He didn’t do this whole smiling thing. He had smirked at me while calling me Medusa and telling people not to look straight into my eyes. He had grinned at me while calling me the Wicked Witch of the West. He had sneered at me while writing the number for Poison Control down for a guy I was talking to at the bar. I had never gotten a sincere, blinding, beautiful smile, though.

What was going on?

“Careful,” I told him before dropping onto the plum couch and tossing my joke book beside me. “Smile like that and people might think you actually enjoy life.” I meant to sip my drink but chugged half of it back.

“I enjoy lots of things in life.” He leaned back in his chair. His armor cracked and a shred of sincerity shone through. It was like he spent all day wearing this sarcastic outer shell and within the last thirty seconds, one clasp unbuckled. “I like camping, I like movies.” He took a sip of beer, watching me over the rim. “I like watching you tell men you don’t date, when you don’t like them.” He watched my reaction to this.

I gave him a smile I could only describe as sarcastic. “Why don’t you stick to things you understand, like guarding abandoned lighthouses?”

He laughed. A genuine laugh. It was like someone tossed me a grenade and I didn’t know whether to hold on to it or throw it away.

“Tell me, then.” He gestured for me to continue, but in a cocky way, like he thought he was already right. “Tell me what I don’t know.”

I kept my mouth shut. I told someone a couple years ago. He was my friend at work. We’d eat lunch together and instant message about another coworker who clipped his toenails at his desk. After too many drinks at the company Christmas party, he asked if I wanted to go out some time. I couldn’t think of anything wrong with the guy, but the idea of a relationship triggered panic. I told him why I didn’t date and hurt flashed across his face. He said he didn’t want to date someone so damaged, anyway. He switched branches of the company a couple weeks later and ignored my emails.

Reid sat in silence, watching me.

When I told Dani, though, she didn’t call me damaged. She made me a cup of tea at her grandmother’s house and read my tea leaves with a mystical fortune teller voice, saying all would be resolved in time. The tea leaves had also said I needed to clean out the back of my fridge.

I shifted positions on the couch in his office and the sound of my mom crying in her bedroom echoed in my head. “I’m not interested in dating. That stuff ruins things.”

“What stuff?”

I cleared my throat and shifted again. “You know.” I shrugged. “Love stuff.”

His brow quirked like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “Have you seen any movie ever? Love is what they use to tie everything up in the end.”

“Those aren’t real-life.” I picked at a seam on the couch cushion. “And they don’t show twenty years after the movie, when everyone is miserable.”

If my mom’s life were a movie, it would have shown her heartbroken from my father’s death, but then she’d meet someone new, fall in love, walk into an audition, land the role and live happily ever after. The credits would roll over footage of her in the production. A freeze frame on her elated face. In the sequel, she’d leave that guy, heartbroken all over again, only to find someone new and star in a show that would become a worldwide sensation. And in the third movie, heartbreak would rule once again, but she’d meet someone else, and then win a Tony award. Movie Mom would never let a man get in the way of what she loved.

But movies weren’t real-life. The real-life version was, if my mom was dating, she was with him, if my mom was married, she was slowly coming around to the idea that her husband sucked, and if she was single, she was miserable.

The real-life version was, I changed a lot of diapers, made a lot of meals, and read a lot of bedtime stories while Sam was growing up.

He took a pull from his beer. “Sam said you moved a lot as kids.”

I nodded. “Every year or two.” Because my mom had met someone new and we moved to live with him, and then usually moved again a year later.

Quiet hung around us, save for Sam's singing and sweeping background noises. My throat tightened, like I had stepped too close to a cliff edge and looked down. In a decade of knowing each other, this was the longest conversation him and I had ever had.

He frowned and picked at the label on his beer. “Sam says it all started when your dad passed.”

My stomach tensed. Sam! Stop giving my nemesis ammo. “I don’t really want to talk about this with you.”

He blinked and straightened up. “Sorry. Too personal.”

We sat there in silence for a second and I glanced up at his face. He didn’t don his usual condescending, smug look. He looked chastised.

Something in my chest urged me to tell him more.

I let out a breath. “He died when I was eight. My mom and my dad were so solid and in love and she couldn’t handle losing him.”

“How did he die?” he asked quietly.

“Hit by a bus. One day, he was walking me to school and letting me stay up late to watch Saturday Night Live with him, and the next day, poof. Gone. In the ground.” I tried to laugh because it was years ago, but it came out dry and humorless.

His forehead creased. “That’s terrible. I’m so sorry, Gemma.”

I felt my features harden. “Don’t feel bad for me. I don’t want pity.”

He shook his head and snorted. “Ice Queen, I watch you eat men’s bones like breakfast cereal. I don’t pity you. I wish life dealt you different cards.”

Something in my chest relaxed. “Me too.” I kept fiddling with that thread. “My mom always wanted to be a theater actor. I grew up listening to her run lines with my dad. She’d show me old films of her productions in college, before she met my dad. My dad encouraged her to go to as many auditions as she could. He never laughed at her or told her it was stupid.” I cleared my throat. “When he passed away, she went to some auditions in the evenings but juggling work, auditions, and a kid was impossible. She was still doing it, though. She was trying.”

He watched and waited.

“Then she met someone and remarried and Sam came along.” I looked at him straight in the eye. “Carl didn’t want her acting. He thought it was silly and pointless. She embarrassed him.”

Reid frowned.

“So she stopped auditioning.”

He leaned forward, studying my face, eyebrows knit together.

“She stopped singing around the house and doing monologues at dinner for Sam and me. Carl crushed that in her.”

When they separated, she didn’t get out of bed for a week, because she tried so hard to make it work and she thought he was the second love of her life. She eventually got a job, met someone else, and they got married, but he lived in another city so we moved there. It was a smaller town and any auditions were a three-hour drive.

Silence hung in the office.

I’d said too much. I forgot where I was, and who I was with. Why was I telling him all this stuff? He’d make fun of me for it.

I watched his face for any trace of his usual sarcasm.

Instead, he squinted at me. “I have one question.”

I made a gesture like, go on.

“You’re so driven.” He shook his head. “You make me fucking nuts, Ice Queen, but you’re one of the most driven people I’ve ever met. No guy is going to stand between you and that mic. Why are you so worried?”

My stomach tightened up into my chest at the memory. “Because it happened once. You were there with Cady. Don’t you remember?”

He shook his head, frowning. I felt sick thinking about it.

“That stand-up competition back in school, for students. This guy who I was sort of seeing entered the competition too.”

Shane. I’d never met anyone like him. Funny in that cutting way, loud and popular and unapologetic. Ruthless in his humor and honesty, which scared and excited me. Confident, unlike all the other guys our age, who hadn’t grown into themselves yet. Every ounce of Shane I got, I wanted more. We were casually dating, but this was the first time I’d ever felt out of control—waiting for him to text or instant message me, hoping he’d show up to class so we could sit together, reading into everything he said. I was falling for him, but it was one-sided.

“One night, we went back to my place, and I left my book on my nightstand. My joke book.”

He shifted, his jaw tensing.

“When I got out of the shower, he was flipping through it. I didn’t think it was a big deal, but the next night at the comedy show, his set was before mine.” I swallowed. My hands shook, thinking of this. “He told all my jokes.”

His eyebrows went way up.

I nodded and tried to slow my heartbeat. “I got on stage and fucking froze. He told all the jokes I was about to tell. I had nothing.” My voice had a cold edge that wasn’t there before.

Realization dawned on his face and he nodded slowly. “I’d forgotten about that.”

I closed my eyes a moment. I remembered the way my had heart slammed in my chest, standing on that stage with everyone staring at me and waiting. It was so silent in there. It felt like a bad dream, and I remembered thinking maybe I could wake up. I remembered fumbling through unpolished, half-assed material. Bombing. Feeling like absolute crap after.

“That human-shaped virus won with jokes I wrote.” I clenched my fists. “And I never saw it coming. So yeah, I’m careful with men. They’ll take what they can get and leave you to sort it out on your own, in my experience.”

He pressed his lips together and we watched each other. “I never would have done something like that to Cady.” His voice was low and careful.

“But what you did was almost worse,” I said, barely above a whisper. “Because you did it so slowly that she didn’t see it happening. A year or two delay here and there until years had passed.” I felt sad telling him this. He didn’t think he was the villain. No one ever thought they were the villain. Shane didn’t. Carl didn’t.

He shook his head and I could see the anguish. “I was always honest with her. She knew we didn’t want the same things.” He sighed and took a pull of his beer, deflating a little. “But I knew that too, and I didn’t do anything about it.” He looked up at me, searching my face. “I liked my life here, you know? I liked my apartment and my grocery store and the mountains. I like living in a community.” He rubbed his eyes. “But Cady wanted to live out of a suitcase in cities crawling with people. Do you know how many New York apartments have roaches? A lot of them. Do you know how bad the smog is in LA?” He picked at the label on his beer again.

“I’m not saying you had to give up your life for her.” My voice had an edge to it. “I wish you didn’t make her stay.”

He blinked at me. “I didn’t.”

“Yes, you did. You asked her to stay.”

“No,” he repeated. “I encouraged her to go. I wanted her to go to New York. I bugged her all the time to go but she wanted to wait.”

Silence stretched as my mind raced. In my mind, he had always been an anchor, pinning her down to one spot, keeping her in Vancouver when she wanted more.

Why did I think that?

I skimmed through hazy memories with Cady. I couldn’t remember why I thought he was to blame. Maybe she had insinuated it, or maybe I had filled in the blanks.

Now I didn’t know what to think.

“What did you mean by ‘I didn’t do anything about it’?”

He looked up from his beer. “I should have ended things. Cady stuck around for me.” His throat worked as he swallowed. “I regret that.”

We stared at each other. The air was thick with tension and something I couldn’t put my finger on.

I wanted to kiss him. I wanted to scrape my fingers over his facial hair and feel it scratch my face as I breathed into him. I wanted to bite his lower lip and feel him shudder.

He leaned forward, watching me. “Come here.”

My heart raced with alarm. Did he mean—? Like, sit on his lap? Sit beside him? Holy fuck. What was going on?

“Reid.” Sam appeared in the doorway, and I inhaled a sharp breath. “Anything else you want me to do before leaving?” Sam looked between us, unsure of what he had walked in on.

“Nope.” Our eyes locked on each other.

“Okay…” Sam stepped forward and gently poked my shoulder. “Let’s go.”

I tipped the last of my drink back, stood, and beelined out to the lobby. The sound of his footsteps followed.

At the door, I nodded at him once, holding my face neutral. My heart beat in my ears. “Thanks for the drink,” I said in a flat voice.

He nodded at me too, mouth pressed tight. Bobbleheads, the both of us. “You got it.”

“Bye, Reid!” Sam called, already out the door.

“I still hate you,” I added.

He nodded again and his expression softened, which only annoyed me more. “Yep.”

“What were you talking about in there?” Sam asked once we were out on the street.

“Nothing,” I lied.

9

Reid

I’D BEEN SITTING in my office, staring at the little black book for an hour. I had started the morning by organizing invoices and receipts I’d been putting off for months. There were hundreds of them, stacked all around me. But the invoices made me think of vendors who might be interested in sponsoring the variety show, so I began making a list. And then I spotted that book.

She wrote in it every spare second she had. Before shows, staring off into space, smiling to herself. After shows, getting as many notes down as possible.

That book glowed with possibilities. She might have had jokes about me in there. Her arsenal of insults toward me was bottomless. I grinned to myself at the image of her sitting on her bed, staring out the window, thinking of names to call me.

I sighed and scooped Sally up from the floor and pulled her into my lap, scratching her neck the way she liked it.

At least in my daydream, Gemma was sitting on her bed thinking about me. I wouldn’t complain about that, not after the way she had looked at me in my office the other night.

Holy shit. Her eyes had dimmed, she glanced down at my mouth and I knew, I fucking knew she wanted to kiss me. Later, in the shower, I pictured the way her teeth bit her lip, staring at my mouth, while my hand worked my cock.

My phone buzzed in my back pocket. My sister’s name, Rory, flashed across the screen.

“Hi, Ror.”

“Hi. How’s it going?” I could hear a children’s show playing in the background.

“Good. How’s Princess Fart doing?”

She laughed. “Please stop calling her that.”

“She likes it.”

“She hates it. And yes. She wants to FaceTime with you soon.”

“I asked her what she wanted her nickname to be, and she picked Princess Fart.” A big smile spread over my face, thinking about how hard my niece Grace laughed every time I called her that. Food fell out of her mouth, she laughed so hard. God, I missed that kid. I wanted to make another visit out to Calgary but things had been a little tense between Rory and I since our argument in the car on the way to the airport. “I explained she might regret it but she couldn’t change it. She knows the rules.”

“She’s four.”

“She’s smart for a four-year-old. Those Elliot genes, you know.” She sure as hell didn’t get it from her father.

Rory took a breath and then hesitated.

I frowned. “What? Is Grace okay?”

“Yes, she’s fine. Everything’s fine.” She blew a breath out. “Derrick and I are back together.”

The longest pause in the world. My stomach clenched and I rolled my eyes.

Don’t say it.

“Well?” she challenged.

I sighed. “Okay.”

“It’s different this time. He knows he can’t walk out again. Grace is getting older.”

I closed my eyes and exhaled. He wasn’t growing up. He never would. This was how it worked with him. He’d get bored being single, or maybe the women he was aiming for weren’t as interested in him this time around, or maybe paying child support got too expensive, so he’d crawl back to Rory. Things would be spectacular for about ten minutes before he got bored with the realities of married life and parenthood. Picking up Grace from daycare and watching Netflix with his wife on the couch wasn’t as exciting as bar fights and drunk tanks and twenty-five-year-olds named Taylor.

Rory didn’t want to hear any of this, though. Rory wanted to believe Derrick was the guy she kept falling in love with—devoted and loving and funny and the perfect father. Reminding her Derrick had a wandering eye and couldn’t hold down a job would trigger another fight. Derrick was always chasing a thrill, but Rory was always chasing a fantasy life that would never materialize with him in the picture. There was no point in arguing. Neither of them would ever change. I’d seen this dance again and again. All I had to do was wait.

A knocking sound at the door of the theater.

“I have to go, there’s someone at the door,” I told her.

“Don’t be mad.”

“I’m not mad. You do whatever you’re going to do and I’ll be here to pick up the pieces when it doesn’t work out. Bye.” I hung up.

As soon as I said it, I felt like an asshole. We’d had this conversation before, though, like when he left her right after she got pregnant, and when she caught him with that neighbor at Grace’s first birthday. I would be there for Rory and Grace anytime they needed me, but I sure as hell wouldn’t condone having that deadbeat in their lives.

When I opened the door, Gemma stood there, hand on her hip and eyebrow raised like she was ready for a fight.

She caught sight of my face, dropped her fight stance and reared back in surprise. “What’s wrong with you?”

I tried to look less angry. “Nothing. We’re closed.”

Sally poked her nose through the door, trying to escape, but I moved my leg in front of her.

“I forgot my book here.”

“Small, black, used to summon demons from the underworld? I threw it into the fire but it turned into a bat and flew away.”

She glared at me but her mouth twisted into what might be a grin. My pulse picked up the pace, and the call with Rory faded from my head. “You’re not funny.”

“I am funny.” I opened the door for her, holding Sally in place.

“Who did you steal this dog from?” she asked, reaching down to pet Sally.

The corner of my mouth ticked upwards. I could feel my bad mood from Rory’s call dissipating by the second. “This is actually my dog that I didn’t steal from anyone, if you can believe it. Her name is Sally. Careful, Sally, you’re very cute and the Wicked Witch eats cute things for dinner.”

She ran a hand down her soft head and ignored me. “Sally, how awful for you. You’re sweet. I like you. Let’s be friends.”

I grinned down at my dog. She knew what to do to get pets and head scratches. “She has a full schedule filled with naps, long walks, and endless belly rubs.”

Gemma cracked a smile, a real one, directed at Sally but I caught the side profile and it blinded me. I couldn’t look away.

“Are you ready for me to call the SPCA?” She rolled her eyes off my expression. “Oh, relax. I wouldn’t. You need at least one friend. Where’s my book?”

I pointed to the back. “Office.”

In the office, she picked it up and flipped through it, looking for clues. As if she could see my fingerprints. “Did you read it?”

“I didn’t read your diary.”

“It’s not my diary.” Sally leaned against her legs and she reached down to pet her.

“Dear Diary,” I sighed, closing my eyes and writing in the air. “Slow day at the mountain-top fortress. Only emotionally decimated three mortal men. My flying monkeys flew through the window as I was about to finish off the fourth one, rude buggers. Must remember to throw them into the eternal hellfire. Perhaps tomorrow, I will drop a house on him instead—”

She slapped my arm and I laughed. Sally watched us, her tail hovering back and forth. She sensed a new alpha in town.

Her mouth twisted into a smirk, her eyes shining. “This morning, I looked into the mirror and said ‘mirror, mirror, on the wall, who’s the most miserable grouch of them all?’ and saw your face.”

I could see Gemma’s laugh right below the surface. She looked like one of those toy cans with a spring snake coiled up inside, ready to burst open.

I tilted my chin at her. “Come on. Laugh.”

She narrowed her eyes and shook her head. “Never.”

She broke eye contact first, glancing at all the receipts and papers on my desk. “What’s with all the papers?”

“Bookkeeping stuff. I fell behind and now I’m playing catch up.”

She stood there for a moment, staring at all the papers before she shrugged her jacket off, threw it on the couch, and took a seat.

“What are you doing?”

She skewered me with a look. “I’m an accountant.”

I raised my eyebrows at her. “I know.”

She turned to the papers, reading them. “It’s faster if I do it. And you’ll make mistakes.”

Huh. Interesting. I crossed my arms and watched her try to ignore my gaze. “Why do you care?”

She studied the nearest receipt. “You’re letting us perform in your theater, you’re helping Oscar with the business, so why don’t you let me do this so we can be square?”

I could have hired an accountant, one who didn’t hate me. I could have walked into a local firm and hired them on the spot. But I didn’t trust anyone else. Despite how stubborn this woman was, and how little she thought of me, she never did anything halfway. She was meticulous, hardworking, and nothing got past her. Plus, she was honest. Too honest, most of the time.

I shrugged. “Sure.”

She looked up. “Okay. Great.” She made a shoo-ing motion. “Now, go.”

I walked over to the desk where she sat and started gathering up the papers. “Let me clean up my mess first.”

“No! What are you doing?”

I shuffled everything into one giant, messy pile. “Nah, your system is better. I make mistakes all the time. You should start from scratch.” I winked at her and when her mouth dropped open, something in my chest twitched with satisfaction and excitement. She was so close to laughing, I could see it in her eyes. I gestured at the chaotic pile on my desk. “There you go. Thanks a million.”

She gave me a sarcastic, sweet smile before inspecting a paper on the top of the pile.

“Let’s go, Sally,” I said in the doorway. Sally looked up at me from Gemma’s feet with a baleful expression. “Oh, I see how it is.”

Gemma didn’t look up from the invoice. “She’s made her choice. Now, leave so I can work.”

I heard her laughing on the walk up the stairs. I grinned big. Got her.

Upstairs in my apartment, I tried to read, but my mind kept wandering to the woman sitting downstairs in my office. And then, to my best friend and how his business was hanging on by a thread. So I did what I always did when I was restless and distracted.

I cooked.

I pulled everything out of the fridge and all my favorite spices from the cupboard. Something about cooking relaxed me. Maybe it was the focus, how it took up my entire attention. I couldn’t worry about my best friend’s business when I was washing and chopping and measuring. Or maybe it was the way the final product was more than the sum of its parts. Cooking was a modern magic.

And maybe, while I was upstairs, I threw in an extra pepper and sausage and a few more eggs than I would have if I were alone. Maybe I dished the food onto a second plate before I headed downstairs.

She was now sitting on the floor, cross-legged, surrounded by a shrinking pile of papers and a few organized piles. She chewed her thumb while reading a receipt, brows furrowed in concentration. Cute.

She was like the killer bunny in Monty Python. She looked harmless until her teeth ripped your jugular out.

I cleared my throat and she looked up. “Lunch fairy.”

She frowned. “It’s breakfast time.”

“Breakfast was hours ago. Are you working toward being nocturnal, Nosferatu?”

Annoyance flashed across her face and I bit back my grin.

“I’m sorry we don’t all wake up at dawn to fill the graveyard oil lamps.”

A laugh burst out of my chest before I could catch it. It caught her by surprise. “First I work in a lighthouse, now I’m the caretaker at a graveyard?”

She raised an eyebrow and the teasing, playful look in her eyes made me half hard. “You aren’t the caretaker, you fill the oil lamps.”

I lifted a plate. “Are you going to eat this or not?”

She narrowed her eyes and tried to see what was on the plates. “Where did this come from?”

I nodded to the ceiling. “My apartment is upstairs.”

She didn’t know this. I could tell by the way her eyebrows raised a fraction.

I shrugged, turned, and headed down the hallway and through the lobby to the theater. I took a seat in the empty theater and hit a button on my phone to start the movie. Music began and the screen lit up with the opening credits. A second later, the door bumped closed.

She stood in the aisle, looking down at me. The theater was dark but light from the screen reflected on her. “What are you doing?”

“I’m going to watch a movie.”

I did this every Saturday morning before the theater opened. It was a small part of why I bought a theater of my own. There were few greater luxuries than watching a movie in an empty theater.

“Here?”

“Yes, Ice Queen, it’s what we do in movie theaters.”

She regarded the seat beside me as if it were a wild animal about to bite her.

I glanced up at her. “What’s the matter, afraid to be alone in the dark with me?”

Her lips parted. A flare of something in her eyes. The back of my neck warmed. I didn’t mean to say it in that tone, but the dazed, half-lidded expression on her face was what I’d think about later, in the shower.

She blinked but took the seat, clearing her throat. She held her hands out, waiting, and I handed the plate over.

“No comeback?”

“Hungry,” she grumbled, taking a bite, and then another, and then another. “What is this, hash? It tastes like hash.”

“It’s a hash.”

Out of the corner of my eye, she paused. “My dad used to make me breakfast every Saturday.”

“I didn’t know that.”

“He liked cooking. What movie is this?”

I recited the title of the nineties’ high school retelling of The Taming of the Shrew.

“I haven’t seen it. I thought you only watched depressing movies about people being lost at sea or dying alone in the woods.”

My eyebrow went up. “I like all movies.”

“That’s complete bullshit. That’s like someone saying they like all music. No one likes all music.” She shoveled another bite into her mouth.

“I like comedies, investigative dramas, and wild campy stuff, like Baz Luhrmann movies.”

“Moulin Rouge.”

“One of my favorites.” I opened my mouth to say something else before closing it again.

Out of the corner of my eye, I could see her looking at me. “There’s something else. You hesitated.”

I nodded my chin at the screen. “Let’s watch the movie.”

“Say it, Beardo.”

“I like…” Come on, she told you about her dad. “Love stories.” I blew a breath out and stared at the screen.

She choked on her food. “Did you say love stories?”

My ears heated. I felt like I was back in high school.

“Like, stories where two people fall in love and everything works out happily ever after?” she asked. A bubble of laughter sat right below her vocal cords. “And they skip into the sunset holding hands?”

“I can’t hear the movie.”

She shook her head, watching me. “The graveyard caretaker has a soft spot.”

“I’m not the caretaker, I fill the oil lamps.”

The laugh burst out of her like a balloon popping.

I grinned. “If you don’t want to watch the movie, no hard feelings. I thought it would be…” I hesitated. “… nice.”

She cocked her head and blinked six times, as if she were trying to convey a message in Morse code. “Nice.”

“Nice.”

“We don’t do nice.”

I shrugged.

She turned back to the screen. “Nice,” she muttered to herself.

A few minutes later, she broke the silence and gestured at the screen. “This isn’t even a love story. It’s a story about how everyone hates the smart feminist and loves the dumb selfish girl.”

“That’s how it starts, but Bianca sees the consequences of her selfishness, and Patrick falls in love with Kat as she is. But yeah, Patrick is an asshole at the beginning.” I made a face. “The Taming of The Shrew is way more misogynist. Patrick’s character pretty much tortures Kat into being submissive.”

She turned back to the screen without saying anything.

Near the end of the movie, when the main characters sat in a paddle boat, pumping the pedals, she threw her hands up. “They’re not even moving!” she shouted at the screen. Sally lifted her head from Gemma’s lap, where she was now sitting.

I laughed. Our eyes met and for a second, I was sixteen, feeling nervous beside a girl in a movie theater.

I scoffed at myself. This was the Ice Queen. She’d freeze my chest cavity with one look. I cleared my throat and turned back to the screen.

When the movie ended, we watched the credits and bloopers until the screen went dark.

“So she falls for him and gives up her dream of the college on the other side of the country?” she asked in the dim light of the theater.

“We don’t know what happens after.”

She turned to look at me square on, narrowing her eyes. “She’ll probably go to college in Seattle because of him. She’s giving up what she wants.” Like Cady almost did, were her unspoken words.

“But maybe he goes with her to the East coast. Or maybe it’s not meant to be a forever kind of love. Maybe it’s a right-now kind of love.” Like with Cady.

She made a non-committal hmm noise. Sally sighed in her sleep. “I should get going,” she said, lifting Sally and placing her on the floor.

We walked up the aisle and through the lobby in silence. She picked at a fingernail. She had such small hands. I bet they would fit right in my palm. “I still have some work to do on your books.”

“You work weekdays.”

She nodded.

“How about Saturday morning?”

She nodded again. “That works.”

“Saturday, then. I’ll open the freezer door so you feel more at home. Don’t want your heart to thaw out.”

She huffed a laugh before she could stop herself. That was what, two today? I was on fire.

Her gaze flicked up to me and I studied the favorite. A deep, warm honey. “The cold should help with the rats.”

The corner of my mouth ticked up. “How’s the variety show going? Do you need any help?”

She shook her head. “Not yet. I’m still planning it out, coming up with a potential line up and stuff.”

We stood there a moment, staring at each other, before my gaze dropped to her lips and an annoying pulse of something hit me.

Fuck it.

I placed my hand on the door behind her head, watching her for any sign of discomfort or hesitation. Her lips parted and she inhaled but her throat worked and her gaze dropped to my mouth, like the other night. My cock twitched. I took a step forward, into her space.

She smelled like vanilla and oranges and I wanted to bury my head in her hair.

“I’m going to kiss you now.” My voice was low.

She nodded, lids falling half closed and staring at my mouth as I dropped my head and brushed my lips against hers.

Fucking hell.

She exhaled into me and I almost lost my mind on the spot. Her lips were soft and she kissed like she was shy, all hesitant and careful and tentative. I let her feel me out, giving her my mouth slow and gentle, until her arm wrapped around my neck and her fingers slid into my hair.

Desire shot through me.

I didn’t want to go slow and gentle anymore.

My brain took a backseat, and my body took over. I pressed her up against the door like I wanted for weeks. Her perfect tits pressed into my chest and I groaned into her mouth. My leg moved between her legs and she shifted so her center rocked against my thigh and she gasped, eyes wide.

My tongue slid against hers and one arm wrapped around her to steady her while the other dove into her hair. She moaned again into me. The feel of her tongue against mine, her soft mouth, so plush and pliant and needy and desperate, it made me fucking hard, and I was certain she could feel that.

I pulled her hair so her head tilted back. Her eyes were lit up and electrified.

“You’re a fucking brat, you know that?” My voice was sandpaper.

Her eyes sparked with challenge. “Shut up.” She yanked my head back down and our mouths crashed together once again.

I rocked my leg against her and she jerked and whimpered into me. I was so hard it hurt. She wanted this. Those looks weren’t my imagination, she had thought about this and she wanted me, maybe as much as I wanted her.

The doorbell rang, signaling there was a delivery person waiting in the alley behind the theater with a delivery.

She paused under my mouth and hands.

I nipped at her lip. “Ignore it.”

She melted back into me, but the doorbell rang again.

I felt it, the second she realized what we were doing. The moment she came to her senses. She pulled her head back and her hands dropped to my chest, where they flattened and applied pressure. I stopped, straightened up, and blinked down at her. The lust drained from her expression. She blinked, like waking up from a nap.

The doorbell rang again. I cursed whoever was out there for interrupting.

Gemma frowned, biting her swollen lip, and her throat worked. She wouldn’t look at me. “I have to go.”

“I think you should stay and we can talk.”

She shook her head hard. “Nope. I have to go. Things to do.” She turned and wrenched the door open and my chest tightened with frustration. Of course, she would do this. Of course she’d freeze me out like all the other guys.

She turned, and my heart lifted. “I still hate you, you know.”

The corner of my mouth hitched before I could stop it. “I know.”

She nodded. “Good.” She whirled around and walked away while I watched, staring at her ass.

It was the I still hate you. She could fight it, but she liked me, and I was going to wear her down.

The doorbell rang again.

10

Gemma

“FORGET your book again so you could get a free lunch?”

The next Saturday, he leaned against the doorframe, crossing his arms and looking down at me. His cheeks were pink and his forehead and hair were damp. Instead of his normal thick wool sweater and jeans, he wore a long-sleeved athletic shirt, shorts, and running shoes. My gaze snagged on the slim fit of his running shirt over his shoulders and flat stomach. Sally poked her nose in between his legs, trying to get out.

My mind automatically went to the previous Saturday, when he had called me a brat and kissed me senseless. He had pressed me up against the door and stolen every thought from my head with his mouth.

The kiss was obviously a huge mistake.

I thought about that mistake all week. You know, to make sure I didn’t do it again.

He was Cady’s ex. I couldn’t. We couldn’t. It was the best friend’s code. It wasn’t happening. It was a mistake.

I didn’t linger after shows this week. I did my set and shot out of the theater like it was on fire. I told Dani and Oscar I had early morning meetings but the look Dani gave me told me she knew something was up.

This morning, I had talked myself in and out of coming back to the theater for the accounting stuff, but I had told him I’d be here, and I hated breaking my promises. It was a kiss. It wasn’t a big deal. It wouldn’t happen again. Today would be purely professional.

I frowned at him. I didn’t like how athletic he looked. He wasn’t supposed to look like an ad campaign for Gatorade or Adidas. I pictured him with a mullet and sweater-vest instead.

“I want to finish the accounting. You look like a drowned rat. Did you fall into the pool of your own reflection, Narcissus?”

The corner of his mouth ticked and his eyes glittered. “I went for a run. I’m training for when you inevitably open the gates of Hell.”

A puff of air came out of my nostrils, a small acknowledgement of his joke. He opened the door to let me in. His smell hit me as I breezed past—that woodsy, brisk, intoxicating scent of men’s deodorant and body wash—so I hurried to the office with Sally on my heels, breathing through my mouth. After throwing my bag and jacket on the couch, I sat down at his desk and opened the folder of remaining unsorted receipts I had left on his desk.

He stood in the doorway, watching with a little smirk. My stomach felt weird. I thought about the kiss again, his hands on my hair and how his chest felt under my palms.

I pointed at the computer. “Log me in before you go, and clear your search history, pervert.”

His smirk intensified. He walked across the office and leaned over me, typing his password while I tried not to breathe, before he disappeared out the door and upstairs.

An hour later, I graphed financial revenue data, lost in the numbers while Sally slept at my feet. Accounting could be boring, but graphing was so satisfying. I loved seeing the data in visual form, especially when it was showing a healthy business like Fuckface’s.

He didn’t take much in salary from the corporation account. “He can afford to pay himself more,” I muttered to myself.

“Don’t need to,” he said at the door, holding two plates, and I jumped. His hair was wet, like he just got out of the shower, and he had changed into a black wool sweater with jeans and boots.

I raised an eyebrow at him but my gaze kept snagging on his wet hair. “Your employees have full benefits? Even the part-time employees?”

“Even the part-time ones.”

I peered at the screen. “I made a list of small business tax credits you qualify for.”

“Great, thanks.” He held the plates up and nodded toward the theater. “Food’s on. Let’s go.”

I debated staying in the office. A dark movie theater didn’t seem like the best place to stay purely professional, but I was hungry, and he had gone to the trouble of making me a plate.

We sat in the same seats as the weekend prior. Opening credits played. Reid handed me my plate.

“You can’t sit in my lap right now,” I told Sally, who gave me a look like I slaughtered her best friend.

“Sally, stop begging please.” He held the seat down beside him and she jumped up.

I squinted at the plate in the dim light. “You made waffles?”

“Dani said they’re your center.”

My pulse stilled. How did that come up in conversation? Was he asking about me?

I pointed my fork at his plate. “How come you don’t have any whipped cream on yours?”

Light from the screen flashed on his face. “Sugar is toxic.”

“Seriously? Dude.”

“Eat your food, Morticia.”

I laughed. “Who?”

He shot me a wry look. “The mom from The Addams Family.”

I snorted and took a bite. They were fluffy and the perfect amount of sweetness. He turned his head and gave me a strange look. Something flashed in his gaze and his jaw ticked.

I shook my head. “What?”

“You sighed. How are the waffles?”

I paused. “Passable.”

“Liar.”

“I don’t want you to get a big head,” I said with my mouth full. I watched the screen but I could feel him grinning. “What movie is this?”

When he told me the title, I didn’t recognize it.

“I can’t believe you haven’t seen this,” he said, shaking his head. “It’s from the eighties. It’s based on Cyrano de Bergerac. The fire chief helps a firefighter woo an astronomer through letters.”

I gave him a flat look. “Another one of those movies?”

“It’s a comedy with a tiny romance element near the end.”

After ten minutes, I stabbed my fork at the screen. “The whole plot revolves around the romance element. What’s she going to do when the summer’s over, move to be with him? What about her career?”

“He’s a firefighter. They probably have fires where she’s from.” His tone was dry.

“Now he’s uprooting his life. Nobody wins.”

He shook his head. “They’re in love, so everybody wins. They’ll make whatever the best choice is for them together.”

My phone went off.

He made a frustrated noise in his throat. “No phones in here.”

I gestured around. “We’re the only two people. This is basically your living room.” I fished my phone out and turned it off. “It’s a reminder for something.”

“Dear Diary,” he said in a high-pitched English accent. “Reminder to devour at least one innocent man’s heart today. I’m feeling rather peaky around the edges.”

I stifled my laughter. “Why am I British? You sound like the Queen.”

“Evil queens are scarier when they’re British. What’s the reminder for?”

“A comedy competition.” I slipped my phone back in my pocket. “I don’t think I’m going to apply, though.”

He made a face. “Why not?”

I pressed my lips together. “Um, I don’t know. It’s called Scattershot, it’s this competition where local comedians open for big comedians at the comedy festival in November.”

“What’s the problem?”

“I’ve been following this competition for years, and I’m worried I’m not good enough yet, and if I apply and make a bad impression because I’m not ready, what if I never get in?” I stared straight ahead. “I never want them to ask, ‘is this the best you can do?’ I might wait until next year to apply. I’ll be better by then.” I clamped my mouth shut. It was too easy to tell him this stuff. Stuff I hadn’t even told Dani.

He made a hmm noise and rubbed at his stubble. “Ice Queen, it’s easy to get stuck in that way of thinking. For years, I told myself, I’ll quit my job this year and I’ll buy a theater. I was never ready, and it was always ‘next year.’ When I saw the theater for sale, I thought about Cady, how she went for it. She took the opportunity in front of her.”

We sat in silence, facing the movie but not watching. I couldn’t believe he went there, bringing up the Cady topic that always hung in the background with us. “She never mentioned you always wanted to buy a theater.”

“I didn’t tell her.” He glanced at me. “But it would have been easy to keep putting it off. So don’t do that. You’re good now.”

My eyebrows went way up and I clutched invisible pearls around my neck. “Oh my god, did The Hunchback of Notre Dame compliment me?”

He laughed. “Are you saying I’m hideous? I knew it.”

I rolled my eyes. “You know you aren’t hideous. I meant you live alone upstairs in the bell tower.”

He turned back to the screen, smiling, and I couldn’t look away, he was so good looking. “It’s not a bell tower. It’s a real apartment.”

After the movie was over, we did that long, awkward walk to the front door that felt a million miles longer than normal.

At the front door, I nodded at him. “Okay, well, thanks.”

He crossed his arms and something in his gaze made me shiver with excitement and anticipation. “Apply for the competition.”

I waved my hand. “Yeah, maybe.”

“Gemma.”

We made eye contact and electricity shot down my spine. He said my name so, so rarely. And when he said it sternly like that? I kind of liked it.

My face felt hot, and I was uncomfortably aware of how long it had been since I’d had sex. Almost a year.

Irrelevant, I told myself.

A knowing grin slid onto his face and he took a step toward me. My breath hitched. I stepped back and hit the door.

He leaned down so his mouth was inches from mine and his hands came to the door on either side of my head, caging me in. My pulse beat in my ears. His clean, earthy, guy-smell, like cedar and mint, wafted toward me and I almost passed out, it smelled so good. I would forever associate that smell with my mouth being inches from his and my blood racing through my veins.

Oh my god. What the absolute hell is happening?

“You’re such a chicken,” he said in a low voice while his breath tickled my mouth.

I swallowed and inhaled him, my eyelids falling halfway. “I am not.”

“You are.” He shifted and his breath moved over my neck. “You want to kiss me.” His mouth brushed my neck and my breath caught. “Either that or you’re being stubborn.”

“I’m not a chicken, and I’m not stubborn.” I breathed as he pressed light kisses up and down my neck. My eyes rolled back in my head. My hands splayed against the door because I didn’t trust them. I made the fatal mistake of inhaling through my nose and groaned. “It isn’t fair that you smell like that.”

He laughed quietly against my skin. His teeth scored me lightly and I jumped. “So jumpy.”

One of his hands came to my hair, and he gently tugged my hair so my head tilted back and I looked him in the eye.

“You know how I know you want to kiss me again?” His voice was low, and all I could do was shake my head. “Because last time we did this, you sighed, the same sigh you did when you ate the waffles today.”

There were green and gold flecks in his eyes. I’d never noticed that before. He looked down at me in challenge.

Fuck it.

I lifted up on my tip-toes and kissed him. My hands came to his hair and he groaned in my mouth, the same groan I’d been hearing all week. His arms wrapped around me and he gave me a sharp slap on the ass. I yelped in surprise.

“That’s for torturing me all week,” he rasped against my lips. His stubble scraped my chin but I loved the rough feel of him against my skin. His hands were all over me, on my back and in my hair and on my ass.

“Shut up.” I nipped his bottom lip and tugged, and when he shifted, I felt a hard length pressing into my stomach. My mouth fell open in surprise, enough for him to slide his tongue against mine and scatter my thoughts.

He pressed his thigh against that spot again, that spot, the one between my legs that made me arch and moan and want a hell of a lot more than kissing with him.

I had spent the entire week thinking about what he had told me, about him and Cady. About how he had encouraged her to go to New York. About how maybe he wasn’t the asshole I always thought he was.

He was still Cady’s ex, though. There were rules about this, I was pretty sure. You didn’t date your best friend’s ex-boyfriend.

“We should stop,” I gasped against his mouth. “We shouldn’t be doing this.”

He pulled away, straightened up and looked down at me with a look of pure want, and I almost tossed the whole notion of stopping out the window. His chest rose and fell and his hazel eyes looked darker. Why stop? Especially when he looked like that, when he was looking at me like that. Like he wanted me. Like he would fuck me senseless right here against the door.

No. What? This was Beardo Fuckface. We didn’t do stuff like this, making out against doors and exploring each other’s mouths and moaning against each other. I blinked and tried to clear my mind of the horny haze.

“Yeah?” he asked. His hands fell away and in a corner of my mind, my horny self kicked her feet against the floor in a tantrum, wanting them back.

I nodded and swallowed.

His gaze traveled over my face. “You going to apply to the Scattershot thing?”

“Probably.” I cleared my throat and turned to leave but paused. “I still hate you.”

He smirked. “Mhm. I know.”

And then he winked.

“I do.” My gaze cooled but my pulse still beat in my ears from earlier.

His smirk intensified, and it reached his eyes this time. “Oh, yeah. I’m sure.”

I didn’t know whether to laugh or scream, so instead, I opened the door and stepped through it. It bumped closed behind me and his low laughter sounded through the door as I strode away.

Ten minutes later, my hand shook while I fumbled the key into the lock at my apartment building.

After an hour, I still couldn’t erase his smirk from my mind.

Fuck.

11

Gemma

“ANYONE HERE ON DATING APPS?” I asked into the dark, and a handful of people applauded.

The theater hummed with Friday night energy. It floated up off the audience like mist, bounced off the ceiling like lasers and pinged off the walls like bouncy balls. A Friday night crowd had a distinct energy because people went out expecting to have fun. They’d had a couple drinks and didn’t have to work the next day. They laughed easier, louder, and longer. Sometimes, they drank too much and heckled. It was a toss-up but I loved the thrill of not knowing which side of the coin I’d get.

“It’s hard, right? Ideally, you’d meet someone at a bar or through friends or out somewhere in the world, but now everyone dates through apps because it’s so passive. You don’t have to invest anything and you don’t have to put yourself out there. If someone rejects you, you won’t know, and you don’t know them in real-life so you’ll never have to see them again.”

I glanced into the wings. Sometimes, if they didn’t need him at the concession or bar, he’d watch the comedians from backstage.

“My friend matched with a guy and they texted for a couple days.” I readjusted the mic in my hand.

The theater was growing on me. The acoustics were perfect, and when I looked up at the vaulted ceiling, I longed for that quality of architecture, even though it was right in front of me. Why couldn’t every space be as beautiful and cherished as this one? The audience must have liked it too, because turnout improved every night. There were at least a hundred people there that night.

“They set a time to meet up and she’s excited. This guy’s good looking, makes great conversation, seems intelligent and polite. He’s her Prince Charming.”

“She shows up to her date and he’s, like, eighty years old.” Gasps pelted me. One person said oh no.

“Did I say Prince Charming? I meant Prince Charles.” The laughs began and my brain let out a hum of pleasure. “His profile said he was thirty-five.” Some disapproving murmurs. “She said, ‘you said you were thirty-five, what gives?’ He said, ‘People don’t match with me when they see how old I am.’”

I raised my eyebrows at the audience, and they laughed. “Oh reeeealllyyyyy. I have so many questions for this guy. How many times has it gone past a first date with the women he catfished?”

“He told her, ‘If people could get to know me, they’d want to date me.’ Not how it works, buddy!” A burst of laughter. I loved this joke and I loved when they laughed at it. “There’s a big character trait standing in the way of all of that.”

“The biggest question I have, though, is how did she not notice he was so old from his profile?” I paused, taking a sip of water. This was my favorite part, the swell of tension right before the punchline. “Wasn’t she tipped off by the grainy black and white photos?”

The audience laughed along. Almost there. A rush of dopamine tap-danced into my blood stream. “Wasn’t she suspicious from the pic of him driving an original Model-T Ford?”

Later, I hung around the lobby and waited until the rush died down. Matilda and our other friend, Noah, were inside, watching the show. Dani and Oscar and Jaime poured drinks, Naz scooped popcorn, and Trevor was on stage.

I slipped back through the theater entrance to watch his set, leaning on the back wall behind the seats.

“So I’m dating this girl,” Trevor said into the mic, “and she’s not that bright, you know? You know what I mean, fellas?” A group of guys in the front row with barbed wire tattoos clapped and guffawed. “The only movies she likes are rom-coms.” He did a limp-wrist motion and the guys laughed harder. A disgusted noise scraped out of my throat. Trevor and his herd of mouth-breathers were everything wrong with this planet. There was no way I could ever explain the term ‘toxic masculinity’ to them without them scoffing at me. They only ever stayed for Trevor’s set and talked loudly with him at the bar while other comedians performed.

“I can’t believe Oscar books this guy,” Reid muttered beside me. I didn’t hear him approach.

“He’s ‘edgy.’ He ‘pushes boundaries’ and if you don’t laugh, you ‘don’t get comedy,’” I murmured back, careful to keep my voice low while people watched the show.

Things had been strange between us that week. I couldn’t keep leaving right after my sets or Dani would know something was up, and I really, really didn’t want Dani to know anything was up.

Because nothing was up.

So I made out with the guy. Twice. People made mistakes all the time and I wasn’t perfect.

But it wouldn’t happen again, so this past week, I pretended like it never happened. I stuck around after shows like I usually did and ignored him like always.

One thing bothered me, though. He pretended like it didn’t happen, too.

Which was good. We were finally on the same page about something.

It irritated me a little, though.

He also cooled it on the spiky remarks about me eating men’s souls, and in response, I pulled back on the miserable old fisherman chirps. A couple times, I’d be waiting in the lobby for Dani to finish or jotting notes down in my book and I’d look up and lock eyes with him and that same heated feeling from the theater last weekend would melt down my spine.

“The ‘if you don’t laugh, you’re wrong’ brand of comedy,” he said.

“Congratulations, you’ve figured out Trevor.”

He shifted against the wall, gaze on Trevor, arms crossed over another thick wool sweater, navy blue this time. “You had a good set tonight.”

“Thanks.” So he was watching.

“Hopefully the Scattershot people like it, too.” In the dim light, I could see his wry grin.

I turned to him and grabbed his arm without thinking. Some dark corner of my brain noticed how nice his bicep was, lean and muscular. “What do you mean? Are they here and you didn’t tell me?”

He continued to watch Trevor but his grin reached all the way up to his eyes.

My mouth fell open and I slapped his shoulder with the back of my hand. “That means I’m on the shortlist! Holy shit.”

A shh! came from the audience and I winced.

“Of course you’re on the shortlist. Aren’t you glad I convinced you to apply?”

“I was already going to apply. It’s been on my calendar since last year.”

His teeth flashed in the dim theater light. “I convinced you.”

“Why didn’t you tell me they were here before my set?” He had only nodded a terse hello to me in the lobby.

“Didn’t want to psych you out.”

I shook my head. “It wouldn’t have. I treat every set like it’s the big one.”

We watched Trevor’s set for a few more minutes before he whispered, “You’re going to get in.”

I grinned big in the dark.

LATER, Matilda, Dani, Noah, and I walked down the street to Bandit Brewing. I suggested we go there instead of staying at the theater.

“We haven’t been there in a while,” I had said, when I really wanted to avoid making awkward eye contact with Reid all night while trying to relax with my friends. It was like my pulse could sense when he was near. I couldn’t have a normal conversation. I didn’t want to think about what we had done against the door twice more than I already was.

Dani fell into step beside me. “I invited Reid tomorrow.”

My stomach lurched.

Canadian Thanksgiving was in October, not November like our neighbors to the south, and every year, Dani’s grandmother Mei had everyone over to their house. It was a day full of eating, drinking, lazing around, and chatting.

And I didn’t know how he fit into that picture.

“Why did you do that?” The alarm was obvious in my voice.

She shrugged. “I invited everyone from the theater. Naz has dinner with her family so can’t make it, Jaime’s out of town, but Oscar and Reid are coming.” She glanced at my face and frowned. “That’s okay, right? You won’t be weird?”

I blanched and tried to not think about when he slapped my ass, or the way he groaned into my mouth as his tongue slipped against mine. “It makes no difference to me.”

We waited to cross the street and I hugged my jacket closed. I usually couldn’t wait until Thanksgiving but now, knowing he would be there, I didn’t know what to feel.

12

Gemma

THAT NIGHT, I dreamt about Beardo Fuckface.

We were in his theater. Something flashed on the screen but all I could focus on was him sitting beside me.

“Afraid to be alone in the dark with me?” he had asked in the dream like he had a few weeks ago, looking up at me with heavy lids. Like he wanted me. Heat had ignited low in my stomach.

Then, we were making out, and I was straddling his lap. We tasted each other, hot and frantic. My hands raked through in his hair.

“I can’t believe we’re doing this,” I whispered.

His hand moved against the front of my jeans and all I could do was gasp and push against his fingers.

“I can’t believe we haven’t done this before.” His teeth scored my lip and made my eyes roll back. “It’s all I think about.”

My hands clenched the sheets. Wait. No.

I opened my eyes and jerked up to a seated position in my bed. Sweat soaked my hair. My breathing filled the dark bedroom while I came back into consciousness.

It was a dream. It didn’t happen.

White hot, electric heat streaked down to between my legs, sitting there in bed in my dark bedroom at 6:22am.

“Well, shit.”

This was going to be a problem.

MY JOKE BOOK hit the wall with a thwack and I laid my face on the kitchen table.

Two hours, I had sat there, staring at a blank page. I had scribbled “waterbeds” in the middle of the night a couple weeks ago.

Waterbeds. Very helpful. Thank you, past Gemma.

My neighbor thumped on the wall separating our apartments.

“Sorry!” I called, my cheek still smushed against the wood.

My foot tapped the table leg. I had all this energy pent up and normally, that meant ideas and jokes flowed out of my pen, but every time I got a glimmer of an idea, the image of Beardo Fuckface with that smug smile would wash it away. In my dream, his eyes were glowed electric like I plugged him into a light socket.

He was Cady’s ex. I couldn’t think about my weird sex dream with him. I couldn’t think about him at all.

A long sigh escaped me as I lifted my head and stared out the window.

He was everywhere—at the theater, at The Indigo, inside my head, and now he’d be at Dani’s for Thanksgiving. And everyone loved him. That annoying look on his face flashed into my head, that smug expression he had shot me when I reminded him I hated him after we kissed. The same one he had when he made me ask if we could perform at the theater. The same one he wore every night at The Indigo, goading me and trying to get on my nerves.

Things were slipping into a weird territory with us. I hated him, naturally, but him making me food and us watching movies alone in the dark theater was taking a blow dryer to that block of ice. I could feel the trickles of melted water pooling at my feet.

I had been thinking about what he had said the other day, about encouraging Cady to go. What if he was telling the truth, and he wasn’t the monster I thought he was? I didn’t know what to do with that information.

And that dream. That dream kept poking into my consciousness. The way he pulled me tight against him, the way his hand worked me, the way he groaned when our mouths met, the way he looked at me and made me feel like—

I shook my head furiously in the kitchen. It wasn’t real. Of course he could make me feel like that in a dream. Anyone can do anything in dreamworld.

You know what my problem was? He had the power. Yes. Exactly. And now that he was infiltrating my life outside of the theater, I needed to send a message. He had the power and I needed to take it back. I needed the power, like on stage, I needed to show him I was the boss. Not him. Me.

I smiled to myself in the kitchen. I knew what I would wear tonight.

MY HEELS CLACKED on the pavement while I walked up the street to the house where Dani and her grandmother Mei lived, holding a casserole I had no plans to eat. I could make and eat this casserole any time, but Oscar only made his pupusas—a Salvadoran flatbread, Oscar made his with cheese and beans, served with spicy cabbage and salsa—once a year. Mei didn’t make xiao long bao—dumplings filled with meat and pork stock—very often. Over the years, our traditional Thanksgiving at Dani and Mei’s had evolved into a favorite foods showcase. Mei always made a turkey, accompanied with the soup dumplings and a veggie dish or two, Oscar brought pupusas, and Matilda usually brought a Persian dish like barberry rice. None of the food went together, but it was the best meal of the year for all of us. I wouldn’t even touch this casserole.

I turned the corner and stopped in my tracks at the sight of him. “Oh. You.”

He stood there while Sally sniffed Dani’s front fence. He had a bottle of wine tucked under his arm. Don’t think about the dream. I glanced at his hands.

“Me. Happy Thanksgiving.” He winked and smirked.

His beard brushing my face as our mouths met flashed in my head. The way his length pressed into me. He had wanted me, like he had wanted me against the door. My heart started beating the way it did this morning when I woke up, fast and uncontrollable. My pulse lurched and teetered forward.

“Nice cape.” He nodded at the black wool cape coat bundled around my shoulders as I passed him and walked toward the house.

Taking the power back, I reminded myself.

“Thank you. It’s vintage. Matilda found it.”

He cocked his head and his eyes shone. “You forgot your broomstick.”

“You are a sad and lonely man.” I didn’t look at him as I knocked on the door.

Mei opened the door and beamed at us. “Happy Thanksgiving!”

I’d known Mei since I was eighteen, when I met Dani. Dani lived in the house with Mei to help her out while Dani’s parents lived in China, taking care of Dani’s other grandparents, but Mei didn’t need taking care of. She had a sparkle and a quickness that told me she’d outlive us all. Also, she walked five kilometers every morning and drank green tea with every meal. She wasn’t going anywhere.

We echoed it back to her, and I gave her a big hug.

She looked between Reid and me. “Did you two arrive together?”

I blanched and laughed too loud. “No! Mei. Of course not.”

She looked down at Sally. “And who’s this?” Sally’s butt dropped to the floor in a sit and Mei leaned down to pet her.

Dani poked her head around the corner. “Oh, hi. Mei, this is Reid.”

She straightened up to give him a hug. “I’ve heard about you.”

He grinned at her. “Only good things, I hope.”

“If there are any,” I muttered but I let out a small laugh of surprise when he slapped my ass.

My eyes darted around in alarm. Did Mei or Dani see? Mei’s back was turned while she hung Reid’s coat in the closet and Dani petted Sally, who wagged her tail at Dani’s feet, looking up her with adoration.

Reid pretended like nothing had happened, like the entire last week.

Mei turned to me and gestured at my cape. “Give me your coat.”

I slipped my cape off and his gaze traveled down my form with a raised eyebrow.

“Wow,” Dani said.

I wore a high-collared plum lace dress. This was my Big Guns dress, the dress I broke out when I needed a boost. I didn’t know whether it was the color against my skin tone or the way it hugged my waist, or how it made my boobs look awesome, or the delicate fabric, but this was one of those dresses that made me feel like a million bucks.

Reid frowned and his Adam’s apple bobbed. Any trace of that smug grin was gone. His gaze snagged on my hemline at mid-thigh and it was my turn to hold the smug grin.

I had the power.

I did notice he was wearing a dressier sweater than normal, emerald green this time, with a dress shirt and dress pants. His sweater was a slim cut that clung to his flat stomach, like his running shirt had last week.

He looked good.

I still had the power, though.

Mei hung my coat. “You look lovely, sweetheart.”

I smiled at her and flicked a glance at him. “Thank you, Mei.”

She ushered us down the hallway and into the living room.

“You look nice,” he murmured behind me.

I turned and the look in his eyes halted me. Feral. Electric. Like he saw something he wanted. Like in my dream. Like in the theater.

Shit.

This dress was a mistake. The way he was looking at me, it was too much. I didn’t know what to do with it. The look he was giving me made me too aware of my body and the heat rising in my face. I couldn’t handle him giving me that look all night.

I glanced down at his slim dress pants, skimming over his lean runner’s form. “Well, you look like crap,” I blurted out in panic.

A smirk crept onto his face. “No, I don’t.”

Damn it.

In the living room, Sam and Oscar sat on the couch with glasses of wine, Dani buzzed around refilling drinks, and Matilda and Noah fiddled with the Bluetooth audio system.

Everyone was all dressed up, sitting around and chatting and enjoying themselves with glasses of wine, and I took a moment to enjoy this sight.

Mei’s house was gorgeous—a turn-of-the-century character house with an old fir tree in the front yard. The house was worth millions because Vancouver real estate was bewildering, but Mei wouldn’t move. She’d lived there since the seventies when she and her late husband moved to Canada.

I loved this house. I loved the creaky hardwood floors and the floor-to-ceiling front windows that let the light in while we drank tea and talked in the front room. I loved the backyard with Mei’s garden of tomatoes and cucumbers and raspberries. I hadn’t bought raspberries since I was a teenager because Mei handed me buckets every summer. I loved the kitchen, where Mei taught us to make wonton soup and was patient when my wonton wrappers wouldn’t stick.

I leaned down to give Sam a big hug. “Hi.”

“Hi, Gem.” He spotted Sally. “Hi, Reid. Sally!” He reached down to scratch her and she promptly flopped onto her back, asking for belly rubs.

Reid nodded to Sam. “Hey, buddy.”

Oscar got up from the couch. “Here, Gem. Take my spot. I’m going to get more wine.”

I sat on the couch and Reid took the seat beside me. His leg touched mine but I didn’t shift away. He was toying with me but I had the power, so I wasn’t going to move first.

God damn it, he smelled good.

He looked thoughtful for a moment before glancing at me. “Your dress matches your wine.”

“I can’t believe we haven’t done this before. It’s all I think about.”

His voice from my dream echoed in my head. My pulse picked up speed at the memory so I raised an eyebrow as a casual disguise. “Being around so many happy people must be a real drag when you’re used to staring at the painting of your deceased ex-wife hanging over the fireplace in your haunted Victorian manor.”

He huffed a laugh but his expression shuttered. “Do you want me to leave?”

I sobered. “What?”

His brow furrowed. I was hyperaware of where his thigh pressed against mine. Another flash of my dream from last night played in my head.

“It’s different at the theater and at The Indigo. Neutral territory.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I feel like I’m intruding here.”

My heart sank. The theater was his territory and he welcomed us without hesitation. Provoking me, trying to get a rise out of me, sure. Lots of that. But he never once made me feel unwelcome.

“No.” I chewed my lip. “I’m being an asshole. Dani invited you. And Matilda and Sam and Oscar like you.” I glanced up at him while he studied my face again.

“And you?”

Silence hung between us. I didn’t know what to say. “You should stay,” I managed.

“Dinner,” Mei called from the dining room.

Reid stood, and my thigh felt cold from the absence of him.

I sat there, wondering what had happened. That was my shot to get rid of him, and I dropped it as fast as I could.

13

Reid

SHE KEPT her eyes on her plate during dinner and didn’t say much. There was enough laughter and chatter around the table that no one else noticed. The few times she looked up, our gazes met.

She could have told me to leave. The Ice Queen from two weeks ago would have shoved me out the door and tossed my shoes onto the grass after me before slamming the door.

But instead, she apologized and called herself an asshole.

She glanced up at me, frowned, and looked back at her plate. My gaze slipped down to her lips, and then her neck, and then to the fine lace collar. What was it about that dress? I kept picturing her face last week when I pulled away from her mouth, her fucking perfect and infuriating mouth, and her eyelids went heavy. Like she wanted me. Was that how I was looking at her?

That collar, though. It was prim, proper, and polite, everything she wasn’t. My ears felt warm. I wanted to rip that collar open and trace her skin with my mouth while she told me I looked like crap with a hot look that said the opposite.

Don’t get roped in by the poisonous spider. She doesn’t care one bit about you.

“I’ve been meaning to talk to you about some stuff,” Oscar said beside me in between bites. “Do you think cutting off the free drinks policy for comics is too much?”

Last week, Dani and Oscar and I had sat down in my office and picked over the numbers in detail. Dani had suggested we cut off the free drinks for comics, or at least impose a limit, until the finances were better.

“What do you mean, too much?”

He pressed his mouth in a thin line. “Like, too harsh? I want to be a good boss. I want people to enjoy working for me, but my pour cost is almost sixty percent.”

The pour cost was the alcohol price over the drink price. The lower the pour cost, the higher the profit.

Most bars aimed for twenty to twenty-five percent.

“Look, I know you want to be a good boss and a nice guy, but you have to keep the business running.”

He didn’t say anything. I could see him squirming. He hated the idea of saying no to people, putting more rules into place.

“I know.” He stuffed a green bean in his mouth.

“You don’t need to cut off all free drinks for comics. What does Dani think? You could say high-balls only, or two drinks max.”

He raised his eyebrows, nodding. “That could work.”

I shrugged. “Your staff and the comics are good people.” Not that Trevor asshole, but the others were. “They know it’s a tough time. They’ll understand.”

He nodded. “Yeah, you’re right.”

I watched across the table, where Gemma covered a slice of turkey in gravy while listening to Sam. She glanced over at me and then back down at her plate. What was going on inside that head of hers?

I tipped my chin at him. “It’s going to be fine. Don’t worry. Did Gemma give you an update on the variety show?” I had overheard her talking about it this week, selling it to other comics and putting names on the lineup.

His face broke into a big smile. “She did. I can’t wait. Even if we don’t make a dime, it’ll be fun.” He took a bite, chewed, swallowed. “I feel a little guilty though. She shouldn’t have to deal with my shit. Neither should you.”

I shot him a glance. “She wants to help. So do I. So does Dani. Let us. You’re our friend and we want to keep the bar going. You’d do the same for us in a second.”

The doorbell rang and everyone stopped talking.

“Somebody order a pizza? You sick of my pupusas already?” Oscar asked the table.

Mei stood but Dani put her hand out. “I’ll get it.” She stood and disappeared into the foyer.

The front door opened and high-pitched screams traveled into the house. Sally darted under the table to my feet and I gave her reassuring scratches behind her ear. Matilda, closest to the foyer, stood and poked her head out. “Oh my god,” she said with a big smile before also disappearing down the hallway.

Gemma stood, turned the corner, and paled. “Oh my god.”

One voice caught my attention. I couldn’t forget that voice, not after hearing it every day for years. My whole chest tightened.

“Happy Thanksgiving!” Cady trilled as she rounded the corner into the dining room. She spotted me and her face went blank. “Reid.”

I cleared my throat. “Hi.”

Her reddish brown hair was longer than the last time I saw her a couple years ago.

Everyone chorused their hellos to her, jumping up to give her a hug. Behind her, Dani had gone to the kitchen to dish Cady out a plate, Matilda was reentering the dining room with an empty wine glass for her, and Noah was trying to coax Sally out from under the table. Gemma stood in the doorway, frozen and watching.

“Nice to see you,” Cady said to me with a tight smile, aware everyone was looking at us.

I jerked a nod. “You too.”

Mei ushered Cady into a seat and Gemma sat down.

Matilda reached over and squeezed Cady’s shoulder while she started eating. “Way to surprise us!” She looked at Dani. “Did you know about this?”

Dani shook her head. “No way.”

“I knew,” Mei said with glittery eyes. “But I wanted it to be a surprise.”

Mission accomplished, Mei.

The chatter resumed and Cady answered everyone’s questions. Her improv job in Amsterdam had ended, and she had wanted to come home to figure out the next step. In the past year, she had taught improv in the Netherlands, done guest appearances in London, performed at the Edinburgh Fringe Festival, and traveled around Germany and Belgium, performing with the other teachers. She described all the shows she did and the people she met and told a story about a wasp’s nest inside a theater, where the wasps kept stinging performers and the audience thought it was part of the show.

A mix of emotions swirled inside me. Cady got to do what she always wanted. Remembering I was the reason she didn’t do it years ago added guilt to the mix. Seeing Gemma look so uncomfortable, quiet and stone-faced, made me curious.

When the meal was over and it was time for dessert, Cady stood, gathering a few plates. “We’ll bring dessert out,” she said, gesturing to Dani and Gemma and Matilda. She widened her eyes at them and nodded to the kitchen. They disappeared into the kitchen after her.

I stood to use the washroom. Cady’s voice traveled around the corner while I walked down the hallway.

“But what’s he doing here?”

I paused outside of the bathroom door.

“We’re performing at the theater until The Indigo is up and running,” Dani said.

“The Indigo’s ceiling caved in.” That was Gemma. Her voice was quiet. “It’s a whole thing.”

“Okay, so… that doesn’t explain why my ex is at your place on Thanksgiving. He’s not who I expected to see the second I got off the plane. Or ever.”

Gemma cleared her throat.

“Because he’s our friend.” Dani was matter-of-fact about it. “He’s a good guy. You know that.” Silence hung in the air. “I told you I wasn’t taking sides.”

“Are you upset?” Matilda spoke in a tentative tone.

Gemma was silent. This should have been the part where she’d affirm her allegiance to Cady and call me a demon’s nutsack, but instead, she said nothing.

Huh. How about that. My mouth twisted into a grin.

Cady made a noise of acknowledgement. “No, it’s fine. It’s just weird to see him.” She blew out a breath. “Okay. Reid is your friend now. I didn’t expect it.” Dishes clinked. “Where are the forks?”

I REPLAYED the evening in my head on our walk home while Sally sniffed a slow trail to the theater. I should have been more preoccupied with the woman who I dated for years. Instead, my mind whirred with thoughts about her best friend, and the look of pure panic on her face when she saw Cady.

What was Gemma so worried about, and did it have anything to do with me?

14

Gemma

I STRODE down the street in my sweatpants, sneakers, and an old hoodie. I was bare-faced, wearing only some stinky liquid Matilda had instructed me to pat on my face every night, and moisturizer. It was almost midnight, but I could only lay in bed and replay the evening so many times before I threw off the covers.

Why did I care if he felt unwelcome at Dani’s? He hurt Cady. He put his wants and needs above hers and wasted years of her life.

He encouraged her, though, I reminded myself. She stuck around and let opportunities slip past her for some reason. I had blamed him for so long that it was still the default, but maybe that wasn’t fair anymore.

Maybe I had been wrong.

I exhaled a long sigh of frustration. He was also hosting us at the theater, opening up his business to help Oscar. He encouraged me to apply to Scattershot. He was nice to Sam. I had a soft spot for people who were nice to my little brother. It was my kryptonite.

And that look he gave me tonight, when he saw me in my dress. That look would melt my cold, dead heart until the day I died. That look would jumpstart my heart in the emergency room when I was a hundred years old, before the doctors could put the paddles on. That look sent a hot streak right through my body.

Things used to be so easy. Beardo Fuckface was an evil prick from hell and I hated him. Easy, simple, straight forward. Things were shifting, though, and I couldn’t put my finger on how. It was like the stage manager put a gel into the spotlight and suddenly everything on stage was a bit warmer and softer.

I couldn’t stop thinking about making out with Reid again. I craved the scrape of his stubble against my skin, the soft, hot press of his lips against my neck, and the rumble of his chest under my hands as he caged me in.

We couldn’t be around each other while things were foggy. It was too easy for boundaries to slip and for something to happen. The thought of something happening sent a thrill through me but it also splashed cold dread into my stomach. I didn’t do somethings with people. Comedy was always first. Besides, Cady’s ex. Off limits.

I pounded on the door of the theater.

“We’re closed,” he said behind me on the street, hands on his hips and breathing hard. Sweat dripped down his forehead and his hair was wet. Red patches tinged the tops of his cheeks. One earbud was still in and the other hung from his neck. His running shirt clung to his lean torso. His muscular shoulders, the outline of his pecs, his biceps—all more visible than when he wore those sweaters.

Fuck.

Why did I come here again?

I dragged my gaze up to his face.

His mouth quirked into a grin and he looked down at my outfit. “Nice sweats. What’s up? Did you forget to kick me in the balls?”

A laugh burst out of me before I stifled it. I glanced down at his feet. My whole shoe could fit inside those running shoes, I bet. I pulled my gaze back up to his face. “I wanted to talk.”

One eyebrow went up and I caught a glimpse of the look he gave me when I walked into the room in that dress earlier. “A little late at night to talk, don’t you think?”

I gave a derisive snort. I was wearing sweats. No one ever got into dangerous sexy territory while wearing sweats. “It won’t take long.”

He regarded me for a second before unlocking the door and gesturing to follow. The lobby was dark and a little spooky. He kept walking, heading down the hallway that led to his apartment.

“Wait,” I called after him. “Where are you going?”

He poked his head out of the stairwell that led upstairs. “I need some protein or I’ll crash. Come on.” He disappeared and I had no choice but to follow.

My stomach flopped. Going into his apartment didn’t feel like keeping things clear but I followed him anyway.

Sally’s nails clicked on the floor as we reached the top of the stairs and he opened the door.

The scent wave hit me and I closed my eyes. It was like a concentrated form of his smell, like I was standing in a forest full of pine and cedar and campfire and mint. Sally leaned against my legs and I reached down to pet her.

He walked over to his kitchen and I looked around. His place was bare, with only Sally’s bed, a couch, a stack of books, and a floor lamp. Sally’s toys lay in a pile in the corner, beside her water and food. A small hallway led to a bedroom and bathroom.

“This is sad.”

He mixed protein powder into a shaker with water. “I just moved in.”

“Over a year ago.”

“Decorating isn’t my thing. I spend all my time downstairs, anyway.”

“If you died, it would take less than an hour for your family to pack up your things.” I watched his throat work as he chugged back half the protein drink.

“Dark.”

“You live like a lonely alcoholic detective on The Wire.”

He laughed. “I’m going to have a quick shower and then we can talk.”

“This won’t take long,” I protested. My control was slipping. He looked too good. He smelled too good. His hair was wet. I was a sucker for wet hair and it made no sense but I knew the longer I stayed here, the easier it would be to do things like we had done in the theater, against the door.

He was already walking down the hall. “Two seconds. And then I’ll make you one of those drinks you like so much.”

A door closed and I heard the shower running. I wandered over to the window and looked down at the street where a couple people walked along the sidewalk. I glanced around the room and imagined it in the morning, when the sun streamed in through the big windows. That couch would be perfect for sitting on and drinking coffee between the hours of eight and ten on Sunday mornings. When the shower stopped and the door opened, I turned and caught a glimpse of shirtless Reid, his lower half wrapped in a blue towel, before his bedroom door closed. He had the body of someone who ran multiple times a week—lean muscle, a ridged stomach, defined pecs. Fucking hell.

I squeezed my eyes closed, trying to forget that image. Unlikely.

When he stepped out a minute later in sweats and a t-shirt, I was studying the drawings on the fridge. It was bursting with them, the magnets holding on for dear life. Colorful pictures drawn by a child. They were the only evidence of life in this place.

I nodded at the fridge. “Look at you go. Who knew you were an artist?”

He grinned and filled a glass up with water. “An up-and-comer. Grace, age four, Calgary. She’s going to be huge in twenty years. What did you want to talk about?”

I took a deep breath. “Cady is back.”

“Oh, is that who that was?”

I snorted. “Be serious. Cady is back and things are weird with us.”

He watched me. “Weird, how?”

“You know how. The watching movies and eating breakfast stuff and,”—I gestured between us. Us dry humping each other. That stuff. “Things are weird. I know you know what I’m talking about.”

He watched me with a wary expression. “What do you want to do?”

“We should be friends.”

“Friends.” He said it the way he would say roaches or mold or herpes.

“I don’t see any other way.” We couldn’t live in this in-between area. I crossed my arms and looked at the stove. “I’m sorry about earlier. Dani invited you and I was being an asshole.” I paused. “And you’ve been helping us out a lot.”

He cocked his head and his gaze zeroed in on me. “An apology from the Ice Queen?”

“Don’t get used to it.”

He watched me for a second before he turned and opened the fridge. He set a jar of olives on the counter, and then a tub of hummus.

Did he hear me? Did he have anything to say? “What are you doing?”

He nodded at the couch. “Go sit down. This is what friends do, Ice Queen.”

15

Gemma

WE SAT on the floor in front of the couch surrounded by the contents of Reid’s fridge. Little plates of olives, baby carrots, chocolate chips, cheese, hummus, crackers, cucumber, and cherry tomatoes. I held a whiskey sour he had thrown together and a beer sat on the floor beside him. The lamp cast a warm glow around us.

“How are you hungry after that meal we ate tonight?” I asked with a mouth full of cheese.

“I run ten kilometers six days a week. I’m always hungry.” He stretched out on the floor, propped up on one elbow. “What’s your excuse?”

My face broke into a grin. “I’m a piggy.” I surveyed his long form. “You run ten kilometers a day. You work at the theater every day of the week. Why don’t you take a vacation or something?”

“Don’t need to. I have the best job in the world.”

“Have you always wanted to own a movie theater?”

He nodded. “Since high school, but I didn’t realize until halfway into my twenties. I worked in one when I was a teenager. I learned a lot sitting in that projection room, watching movies.” He hesitated. “Well, most things. I picked up a couple things on my own, too.”

I thought about all the rom-coms he loved. “Movies aren’t always realistic.”

“No, they aren’t. People always figure it out in movies. Everything always works out the way they planned in movies. The ones I like, at least.”

“Why’d you get an MBA if you were going to open your own place?”

“I thought the higher I went, the more power I would have at my old company. I thought if I got a big shiny corporate job, I could make the most impact in the community.” His face shuttered with an expression that said otherwise. “The mega-chain I worked for only played blockbusters. No independent movies unless they made it big. No local films.” An unhappy look took over his face. “And the owner is an asshole. There’s no heart in it. It’s all about the money. Maybe he provides jobs but they aren’t good ones and they sure as hell don’t add much to the community. So I bought my own place and now I get to do all those things I wanted to do before.” He fell silent and pressed his mouth closed as if he said too much. “My turn. When did you know you wanted to be a comedian?”

I blew a breath out. “I don’t even know. I didn’t realize it was an actual job until my teens. When I was a kid, my dad and I would stay up late, watching a late-night comedy shows or SNL, and I didn’t even realize those people got paid to do that. And then in first year university, I saw a flyer for an improv class. I dragged Cady and Dani, and Cady loved it, obviously, but it didn’t work for Dani and me. Dani moved into sketch comedy.”

“That’s scripted, right?”

I nodded. “Sketch comedy is a lot of characters. I liked telling Cady and Dani and Matilda jokes, so I went to an open mic.” I cringed at the memory. “It was awful.”

“What do you mean?” He gave Sally a piece of cheese and she gobbled it up.

“Everyone there was waiting to go onstage. There weren’t many people there who were there to see the show. And the atmosphere was competitive.” I remembered standing at the bar, writing my name on the clipboard while the other comics watched. Some looked at me like I was about to steal their jokes, and some looked at me like I was the joke. “I was the only woman, and the comics treated stand-up like an exclusive club I wasn’t allowed into until I had done my time.” My stomach twisted. Trevor was one of them. I still felt excluded from that club sometimes. That’s why I didn’t do shows at other venues. “They wouldn’t laugh at my jokes.”

“No girls allowed,” he said, like the sign boys hung on their bedroom doors.

“Mhm. But I came back week after week and did as much time as I could and one night, someone laughed at my joke.” I still couldn’t believe I had the guts to go back each time. I wanted to get it right. “The next week, a few more laughed. A few more the week after.”

“Were you getting better or were they being less assholeish?”

“I think both. Bombing is one of the worst feelings in the world. It’s like stubbing your toe but instead of your toe, it’s your soul. It’s a room of strangers agreeing you aren’t funny and you aren’t good enough.” I swallowed. “But it made me a better comedian because I would do anything to avoid it, even if it meant staying up until midnight every night working on my jokes. I got used to a joke bombing, and it wasn’t the end of the world.”

I crunched on a carrot, thinking of how those guys wanted to intimidate me out of comedy but they ended up making me better. I laughed to myself, then looked up to see Reid watching me closely.

I tipped my chin toward the drawings on the fridge. “Tell me about the little artist.”

His shoulders relaxed and he smiled down at the olives. “Her street name is Princess Fart.”

I snorted. “Poor kid. She’s going to turn out like you.”

He shook his head, laughing. “No, she loves it, I promise. She lives in Calgary with my sister and her sometimes-husband.” A cloud passed over his face.

I cocked my head. “Sometimes-husband? That sounds like what my mom has.”

“Grace’s dad. He leaves and runs home to my sister when he’s out of money. Rinse, repeat.” His voice was cold.

“That’s awful. What a dick.”

He nodded.

“Why does your sister keep taking him back?”

He sighed and shook his head. “I have no idea. I mean, I have some idea. She wants what everyone wants, right? Love, a partner, someone who understands her, a parent for her daughter. She doesn’t agree with me that having Derrick around is actually worse for Grace.” He blew out a big breath.

I gave him a sympathetic look. “Families.”

He nodded. “Families.”

Our gazes met and something passed between us. A sense of understanding, maybe.

“You and Sam are so close. I wish I still had that with Rory. We used to be close but watching her be with Derrick kind of killed that.” He pressed his mouth into a flat line and looked at me. “I guess that’s what it was like watching Cady with me, huh.”

I considered this before I shook my head. My heart gave a weird tug. “I don’t know. That’s complicated. It’s different.”

“How?” His gaze pinned me and I remembered the conversation we had back in his office last month, when this topic came up. The one I had been thinking a lot about.

“You encouraged her, and she stayed.” My mouth twisted while I studied my plate. “Maybe it was on her.”

He watched me, forehead creasing.

“I’m trying to hate you.” My voice was low.

“Trying?” His voice was low, too, and it made my core clench.

Time to leave, a little voice reminded me, but I ignored it.

I nodded. “Stop being so fucking nice to my brother.”

He laughed. A loud, genuine burst of a laugh that sent giddy ripples through me and slapped a grin on my face. I’d never get sick of making people laugh.

“It’s good you don’t hate me anymore,” he said, tossing a carrot in his mouth.

“Why is that?”

“Because we’re friends now.” He winked.

I nodded. “Right.”

He threw a tomato at me and I caught it in my mouth.

His eyebrows went up in surprise. “Nice catch.”

“I know, right? The tomato should be on the other side of the room.” I glanced around the empty apartment. “You need some pictures on the wall or something. A commissioned painting of Sally. You don’t even have a picture of your dead wife to hang above the fireplace and gaze upon on cold winter nights.”

He snorted.

Our eyes met. “So, Cady is back.”

He nodded. “Mhm.”

I scooped hummus onto a cracker. “What’s the deal there?”

“It’s awkward.”

I waited.

“It’s weird seeing her. Her hair is longer.”

My stomach sank. He noticed her hair. Guys don’t notice things like that unless—

“I was surprised at how little I felt,” he said, wincing. “It was like seeing a cousin at a wedding.”

My face broke into a huge grin. “A cousin?”

He rolled his eyes. “Don’t make this gross. You know what I mean.”

“That word, I do not think it means what you think it means,” I quoted from that movie he showed me.

He laughed and shook his head. “It was a mistake showing you that movie.”

“No, I loved it. And no, you’re not a sociopath. I think this means you’re over her.” My chest felt full and warm and happy, like it was an oven baking a birthday cake for someone I loved.

He nodded and put another piece of cheese on the couch in front of Sally, who woke up and gobbled it up. We watched each other for a second. The low, warm light in the room cast shadows on his face and made his cheekbones look sharper than usual.

“Alright, then, friend,” he said wryly. “Tell me a secret.”

I snorted. “I did. I told you I’m struggling to hate you.”

He shook his head, smiling. “No way. That’s too easy. Anyone can see you don’t think I’m Satan’s bellboy when you’re shoving homemade waffles in your mouth.”

And letting his tongue have sex with my mouth.

I rolled my eyes. “Fuck you. Okay. Fine.” I swallowed. “You know how my dad died?”

He nodded, listening.

“I miss him. Like, all the time, I miss him. I think about him and I run all these scenarios through my head as if he were here. Like me doing stand-up. I know he’d be in the audience every weekend, laughing at the same jokes. And he’d be at Thanksgiving, drinking wine and laughing and talking with everyone and playing with Sally, teaching her tricks and stuff.” I smiled to myself, thinking about the strange alternate universe where my dad and Reid knew each other. “But every time I think about him, I realize, if he were here, Sam wouldn’t exist.”

He studied my face and a little line formed between his brows. “Because Sam wouldn’t have been born.”

I nodded. He got it. I rested my cheek on my palm. “It’s one or the other. If I wish my dad was here, that’s like I’m saying I wish Sam wasn’t.”

His frown intensified and he nodded. “Yeah. It’s like that with Grace.”

“Exactly! Exactly like that. Like if your sister never met that guy or broke up with him, she would never have been born. How do you resolve that in your head? It’s a constant struggle between two things you want.”

“Okay, this is what I do. Close your eyes.”

“No,” I said with a snort.

He stared at me in challenge and raised his eyebrows. “Do it.”

I rolled my eyes. “Fine.” I closed them.

“Okay. You’re eight years old and you’re hanging out with your dad in the kitchen or something. He’s making you breakfast like you told me he did.”

I smiled to myself.

“And your mom rushes in and pulls your dad aside. She looks stressed.”

“Okay…” My voice held uncertainty.

“You hear your dad getting excited in the other room and then they come back in the kitchen and sit you down. They say you’re going to have a little brother or sister and it’s going to be awesome.”

The corners of my mouth curled up but I kept my eyes closed.

“Nine months later, Sam is born. He looks like some weird worm—”

I burst out laughing.

“—and he craps and cries but he’s the best thing that ever happened to you.”

I nodded. I never wanted to open my eyes. I wanted this reality, so fucking badly. My heart thrashed in my chest. I took a deep breath. “But Sam isn’t my dad’s kid. That isn’t reality.”

“Does he feel like your half-brother?”

My eyes opened and he sat there, watching me with an unreadable expression. My chest felt tight in a way it never had before. I shook my head. “No. Never. Not even for a second.”

He shrugged. “There you go. He’s your full brother and maybe in some alternate timeline, you were a family of four.” He looked down. “I don’t know if that helped, Ice Queen, but that’s what I do when I think about Grace and Derrick and my sister.”

I felt like crying. I didn’t know why, but I did, but I couldn’t fucking cry in Fuckface’s apartment. “It helps. Thanks.”

The look he gave me, the small smile filled with so much affection, it made my throat tight. “No problem.”

“Alright, your turn.” I pointed at him. “Secret. Now.”

“I’m allergic to asparagus.”

“Fuuuuuck youuuuuuu,” I drawled, my head falling back, and he laughed. “Are you kidding? The ghost of my dead father haunts my thoughts and you tell me you’re allergic to a vegetable? Tell me a secret. I love secrets, even more than mens’ souls. Even more than virgin mens’ souls.” I wiggled my eyebrows.

“Okay.” He took a deep breath and watched my face. “Seeing you in that dress made me want to drag you off to a dark closet and fuck you.”

He threw it out there to hang between us. The air changed in his apartment. My face felt warm and my pulse beat between my legs.

His gaze never left my face. “I couldn’t stop thinking about it. My run tonight was a sprint. One of my fastest times ever. It was that or…”

“Or what?”

“Or jerk off.”

Heat streaked through me and the dream flashed through my head. Me unraveling under his strong fingers. How his hand looked as he gripped the armrest.

“I had a dream about you.”

His gaze sharpened. “What was I doing?”

My face warmed and I let a breath out. “Uhh, we were…”

A delighted grin grew on his face. “We were…?”

I opened and closed my mouth. Why did I bring this up? I shrugged. “You know.”

His eyes were so bright. “I don’t.”

I studied the ceiling and let out a choked laugh. “We were doing things.”

“Doing things,” he repeated, still grinning. He tossed a tomato in his mouth. “What kind of things?”

He watched me squirm. He knew. He knew and he was going to make me say it.

“You were making me come with your hand.”

WhaaaaatholyshitIjustsaidthat?

His lips parted. “Yeah?”

I nodded and swallowed. We couldn’t take our eyes off each other. Something inside me yearned to intensify this situation. I wanted a taste of that dream, a little shred to remember when I was a hundred years old and on life support. Before I knew what I was doing, I got up on my knees, leaned over and covered his mouth with mine.

He met my mouth with enthusiasm, his tongue slipping against mine with no hesitation, like this was our hundredth kiss. A low groan ripped from his throat and he pulled me down on top of him. One hand was in my hair, one on my ass. My nails raked his hair, my legs straddled his waist, and he shivered against my chest. Our mouths frantically tasted each other like we’d never get another chance.

He pulled away but kept his hands on me. “What’s that smell? Like vinegar?”

“It’s my face,” I explained.

He nodded with heavy lids. “Oh. Okay.” He pulled my head down to his mouth. “God, you have a magnificent ass,” he whispered as his fingers dug into me. “Been thinking about this ass all week.” He gave it another slap and my breath hitched.

He pulled me against him so I was straddling his hips, and I felt him against my stomach—hard and urgent, physical proof Reid wanted me. I tugged on a handful of hair. Another low groaned ripped out of his mouth into mine. He nibbled my lip with his teeth and electricity fired down to the area between my legs.

There could be an earthquake happening and I’d have no idea.

His hand slipped to my hip and he toyed with my waistband, skimming his fingers below the hem. I shamelessly ground against him, trying to get that friction I needed.

“You’re driving me fucking nuts,” he rasped against my mouth. “You want my hand, Gemma? You want me to make you come like you’ve been dreaming about?”

I murmured something like uh huh and nodded, nipping his lip, and he made a satisfied noise in his chest.

“I want that, too. You have no fucking idea how bad I want that.”

He sat up and flipped me onto my back. Something clattered, a bowl or plate or something. He gazed down at me while my chest heaved and he looked possessed. Dark and furious and deadly, and my pulse thrummed between my thighs.

He lowered his mouth to mine and I pulled him closer. He slipped his hand down the front of my pants and the second his fingers made contact with my center, he moaned.

I gasped at the sensation. Reid’s fingers were on my clit and it was fucking incredible.

“Fuck. You’re so wet.” His forehead came to mine.

His fingers swirled and I arched. His hand on me was what I needed but not enough. His touch was too light, too teasing.

“More,” I demanded, eyes clenched closed. “Harder.”

“Don’t rush me.” His teeth scored the skin on my neck and I clenched around nothing.

I reached for him and he groaned as I gripped his length through his pants. He was so hard already. The thought of him inside me sent a thrill through me and made me clench again.

“I need this, Reid, I need it.” I was babbling. “Make me come.”

When I opened my eyes to look up at him, he was smirking. “Look at you, all desperate for me. All I have to do to make you nice is touch you like this, huh?”

“Shut up.”

He moved a little faster, applied a bit more pressure, and my mouth fell open. My hips bucked and I pressed my mouth tight.

“Don’t you dare fucking hold it in.”

His fingers slipped inside me, stretching me, and I let out a long moan. He crooked his fingers, found the spot that made my eyes roll back, and I knew I was close.

“There?”

I jerked a nod. “There. Right there. Don’t stop. Please don’t stop.”

“I won’t stop. You going to come for me, Gemma?”

I nodded again and again. Pressure coiled around my spine, flooding my core, and I felt the first ripples.

“This pussy is magic,” Reid murmured, working that spot that would make me see stars while his thumb circled my clit. “This pussy is going to wreck me. I know it.” His gaze flipped from where his hand was to my face. He looked drugged, lids halfway closed, eyes hazy, with a knowing smirk.

Another clench on his fingers and I winced with how good it was.

“Oh, like that, huh?” He bit his lip and I nodded. “I felt that. I felt how much you liked that.”

My palms were flat against the floor, fingers splayed, and I was vaguely aware of how hard the floor was against my back, but I didn’t care. My mind was cloudy with fucking bliss, and my entire world was Reid’s hand touching that spot while he watched me with that smug look, propped up on his elbow beside me.

“Come for me.” His voice was low and demanding. “Come for me, baby.”

I tipped over the edge, letting out a loud, low moan, gasping and trying to breathe as I spasmed around his hand. My mind was both blank and filled with everything, all at once. Eyes clenched closed. I think I was saying something like yesyesyes and oh god and like that, like that as I writhed on his hand.

When my body relaxed, he slid his hand out and I watched as he slipped those same fingers between his lips. His gaze locked to mine as he sucked his fingers and groaned.

“Fucking perfect,” he said, still smirking at me. “Like I said, pussy magic.”

I laid there, speechless.

What happened, and when could we do it again?

I glanced at his erection, straining against the front of his pants, and he shook his head. “No.”

“Why not?” My chest was still rising and falling, trying to catch my breath. My mind was still in that hazy, post-orgasmic zone where things weren’t real and the outside world was very far away.

His hand played with the hem of my t-shirt. “We should slow down.”

A laugh burst out of me. “Yeah, okay.” Sarcasm dripped off my voice.

“I’m serious. I don’t want you to freak out, Ice Queen.”

That name yanked me back to Earth. I sobered and sucked a breath in, looking around. I was in Reid’s apartment.

Reid. Fuckface. The ex of one of my best friends.

What was I doing?

He sighed. “There it is.”

A bucket of ice water extinguished the heat inside and I sat up.

It didn’t matter that maybe he didn’t hold Cady back the way I had always thought. He was an entanglement. This thing with him didn’t feel casual. It felt intense and dangerous.

Scenes flashed in my head. The quiet strength on my mom’s face as she told me she wasn’t going to auditions anymore. She was trying to be strong in front of me but I could tell it was breaking her heart.

“We shouldn’t do this.” I swallowed and moved to standing. Panic sat right at the edge of my brain but I wouldn’t look at it.

“Gemma.” He sat up, looking tired. He looked like he wanted to say more but stopped himself.

I focused on unlacing my sneakers enough to shove my feet inside. “We’re friends.”

He made a frustrated noise in his throat. “Right. Friends.”

“I’m the Ice Queen,” I reminded him.

I walked over to Sally on the couch and gave her a scratch. My hands shook. “Goodnight, Sally.” I turned to him. “Goodnight. Thanks for the…” I gestured at the food. A flash of panic streaked through me. “I still hate you.”

He laughed to himself. “Even though we’re friends?”

I nodded and offered him a small, embarrassed smile. “Even though we’re friends.”

“Okay. Goodnight.” He watched my face with a mix of emotions I couldn’t discern.

On the way home, my brain raced with replays.

What the hell happened?

16

Gemma

“HUEVOS RANCHEROS,” the server said to Cady, placing the plate in front of her, “and French toast.” He set my plate down. “Enjoy!”

“Thank you!” we called after him and dug in.

Cady’s eyes rolled back in her head with the first bite. “You know what they don’t have in Amsterdam? Brunch. Like a greasy brunch with bad coffee. You know what I missed?”

“Brunch?” I grinned and stuffed a piece of waffle in my mouth.

She nodded and took another bite. “Mhm. Brunch.”

We were in one of my favorite restaurants, a modern diner with cool seventies retro decor. This place used to be a run-down, cheapo diner with three-dollar breakfasts until a TV chef bought it and remodeled. Locals were upset at the gentrification. I wasn’t sure how I felt about that part. Sure, this place was more expensive and maybe unaffordable to some people now, but the food was incredible so it was bustling. The restaurant provided a lot of jobs to servers and managers and cooks. I’d have to get Reid’s opinion.

My stomach twisted. Reid. You could see my under-eye circles from space after tossing and turning all night. I’d never come like that in my life. I didn’t know it could be like that. Thirty-one years old and I was a baby deer, wobbling around on my feet.

Friends. We were supposed to be friends and then that other stuff happened. It changed nothing, though. He was trying to get out of the Platonic Friends Who Don’t Finger-Fuck box in my head and I was shoving him right back in there. Nothing more. Lid slammed closed. No kissing, no hand stuff, and no intimate talks in his apartment. I didn’t do that kind of stuff. It was a one-off. No repeats.

“Are you okay?” Cady’s question jolted me back to reality.

I blinked. “Yeah. Why?”

She nodded at my napkin, torn into tiny little pieces on the table.

Oops. I shoved them to the side. “Now that your job is over, what’s the plan?”

When Cady had texted brunch? this morning, I had replied BRUNCH! and raced out of bed and into the shower. Hanging out with her and catching up on our lives was what I needed to restore order and balance in my life. Also, I missed her like crazy, and Facetime, texts, postcards and emails couldn’t compete with the ability to reach out and wrap your arm around one of your closest friends. Seeing her after a year, it was like no time had passed. We picked up right where we left off. I loved that feeling. I counted on that feeling. Everything in our lives might change but I knew whether we were in a cafe in Vancouver in our thirties or outside a street food stall in Thailand in twenty years, things would be the same with us.

She shrugged. “Absolutely no idea. I came home to figure that out.” A little smile danced on her face and she glanced out the window beside us. “I’m okay with that, though.”

I gave her a puzzled look. “You didn’t like it there?”

She looked at the server and held her coffee cup up with a pleading grin. He walked over and refilled her cup. “I loved it. The Netherlands is so beautiful, and the people are kind and funny. I felt so safe. But after a couple years, it felt like home.” She squinted, thinking. “Comfortable. I had friends and a place to stay and everything was easy.”

“And you want… uncomfortable? Sleep on the floor or something.”

We laughed.

“You know me, I want adventure. I like feeling turned upside down and out of place.”

“That’s why you’re the improvisor. No script.”

She nodded and grinned. “I love being thrown into chaos on stage and you and Dani like it all planned out and scripted and under control.”

“I bet you’re itching to get out of Vancouver.”

She thought about it for a second. “Not yet.” She narrowed her eyes and gave me a side-long look. “It feels like I’ve come back and everything is different.”

My stomach tensed. “What do you mean?” I asked, blinking slow and steady at her.

“I mean, Reid.”

“Right.” I nodded and my pulse raced. “Reid. Right.”

She knew.

She leaned forward with narrowed eyes. “Thanksgiving. How weird was that?”

“So weird.” It wasn’t weird until you got there. It almost felt normal. I kept nodding with wide, unblinking eyes, like a bobblehead.

She scoffed. “And Dani was useless yesterday, she never gives up any of the good dirt. But you will.” She pointed her fork at me. “Spill.”

My stomach dropped through the floor. “What?”

Her eyes bulged out of her head. “There was a vibe. I felt it. I don’t know what it was but there was a serious tension. I leave for a couple years and my ex is moving in with my friends.”

I choked on my coffee. “No, no no no. He isn’t moving in with anyone. It’s not like that.” Cady tossed me another napkin and I mopped up the coffee on the table. “What do you want to know? You already know we’re performing at the theater.”

She nodded emphatically. “Right. What else? What’s going on with him these days? What does he do at night?”

Uh, besides give me incredible, life-changing orgasms? “What do you mean, what does he do at night?”

“Like, does he…” She hesitated. “…go places? Or hang out with people?”

I stared at her. “What are you asking?”

“Is he seeing anyone?”

Something sharp twisted in my stomach. Guilt. Confusion. Jealousy. The thought of some woman on Reid’s arm sent all kinds of nasty feelings through me. Anger. Territorial, primal anger.

There was something else though. Was Cady still interested in him? Did she want him back? The thought of them back together sent a chill through me.

“Not that I know of. All he does is work at the theater, watch movies, and go running. Oh, and take Sally for walks.”

She nodded to herself. “That’s nice he got a dog. He always wanted one.”

The mention of their past life sliced a little cut in my side. The reminder he was with Cady and he did the things he did last night with her as well—that reminder was unwelcome.

Relax. They’re over. And you and him are just friends.

Cady swallowed another bite. “So, he’s okay?” Her eyebrows went up and sadness took over her face. “I worried about him so much after I left. We didn’t talk, so I had no idea what was going on with him, and I didn’t want to ask any of you because I didn’t want you to worry about me.”

I reached out and poked her hand. “You could have asked me. It would have been between us.”

She gave me a sad smile. “I should have. I feel stupid.”

“Don’t feel stupid.” I leaned back into the booth, remembering. “I remember the first time I saw him at The Indigo. He walked in, said something to Oscar, Oscar poured him a beer, and they cheers’d. He was still clean shaven at that point.”

She made a noise in her throat and rolled her eyes. “I hate that scruff of his. He looks better clean shaven.”

I bit my tongue before I voiced my disagreement. The stubble made him look rugged and masculine and made his eyes brighter.

“He looked like crap,” I continued, remembering the circles under his eyes and the sunken look to his eyes. “I think he was running a lot.”

“He does that when he’s stressed,” she said, nodding. “If he goes camping by himself, you know it’s bad.”

Something panged inside me at the familiarity of her saying this. I wanted to know Reid that well. I wanted to know his tells.

“He started dropping by the bar every night, chatting with Oscar and watching comedy. And I was there waiting for my set.”

Cady nodded at me to go on, hanging on to every word.

“He grew a beard. He started looking less like crap. Sometimes he laughed with Oscar.” I left out the part about us trading barbs every night. “He’s okay now.”

We were quiet a moment, eating our food and staring out the window.

“How about you?” I offered. “Are you okay?”

She sighed and looked out the window again. “I’m not in love with him anymore. I don’t think I ever was. I—” She bit her fingernail. It was my turn to hang on to her words. “I want him to be okay. I want him to be happy.”

I pushed her hand away from her mouth. “Don’t bite. His business is doing well. He loves that theater. He has Sally. He’s okay.”

She sighed and watched me. “Okay. Thank you.”

I chewed my lip and glanced out the window. “I have a question.”

This question had been rolling around my head for weeks, since Reid and I had talked in his office.

Cady tilted her chin before taking a bite. “Shoot.”

“Why did you stick around Vancouver for so long after school?”

Her eyebrows knit together. “What do you mean?”

“Why didn’t you move right after university?” I tried to keep my tone casual. I didn’t want to interrogate her, but I had to know.

Discomfort flickered across her face. I had hit a sore spot, it seemed. She shrugged and sucked a breath. “Um, I don’t know, I guess I was still figuring things out.”

She wouldn’t look at me.

“You knew what you wanted. What were you figuring out?”

She studied a hash brown while she cut it into tiny pieces. “Stuff with Reid.” She looked up. “Why are you asking this?”

Out with it, I told myself. I picked my words with care. “I always had the impression Reid held you back. That he didn’t want you to leave.”

Her throat worked as she swallowed and her lips pressed into a line.

“Why did I think that?” I asked in a quiet voice.

She swallowed again. “I let you think that.” She shifted in her seat and shot me a glance. “I don’t remember how it happened, but you jumped to conclusions and I didn’t correct you.”

My stomach was in knots. “Why?”

She took a deep breath and blew it out. “Okay. Real talk.” She looked me in the eye. “I was so freaking terrified, Gem.”

My eyebrows shot up in alarm. “Of what?”

She blinked rapidly. “Of falling on my fucking face. If I moved to New York or LA or London or wherever and I didn’t make it? Everybody would know. Everyone would think I wasn’t good enough.” She rubbed her neck. “And then there’s you, who doesn’t let anyone get in her way. I couldn’t tell you I was afraid to take the leap. You’d laugh at me.”

My heart cracked open. “I wouldn’t laugh.” I shook my head hard. My throat was tight. “I would never laugh at you and I’d never think you’re a failure.”

She relaxed a fraction and shot me a small smile. “I know that now.” She shrugged. “It was so easy to let you believe Reid was the bad guy and then it kind of snowballed from there.”

I nodded and made a humming noise. “Okay.”

“I’m sorry.” She watched me across the table.

“It’s in the past.” My mouth lifted with a smile. “You know we’re always going to be good.”

She nodded and smiled. “I know.”

After brunch, we got coffees and walked down to the seawall. It was a cold, sunny day, and everyone was out, enjoying the weather before it turned to six months of rain. The seawall was a walking and cycling path that traced the water for kilometers, and offered a view of the city, beaches, and mountains.

“Let’s sit.” I gestured to a path down to the water. We found a spot on some large rocks overlooking the shore.

“Holy moly, I forgot how beautiful this city is,” Cady sighed, looking across to the skyscrapers.

I made a noise of content agreement. “Soak it up, darling. The rain is right around the corner.”

She laughed. “I don’t miss that. I dug my rain boots out of my parents’ garage yesterday.”

“Smart.”

She glanced at me. “Okay, so, I know we’ve talked a lot about Reid today and I’m so sorry, but one more thing.”

“It’s fine. What is it?”

“Can you keep an eye on him?”

My heart stopped. I remembered his beard scraping against my chin. The way he looked at me while I gasped and arched.

“Huh?” My eyebrows shot up in alarm.

His hands digging into my waist.

She winced. “He’s not a bad guy. He’s one of the good ones. I want him to have friends.”

The words sat right below my vocal cords. I fooled around with him but I’m sorry and it was a colossal mistake and it’ll never, ever happen again. She was one of my best friends, and I had wrestled all week with this. We didn’t keep things from each other, Cady and Dani and Til and I. We told each other everything.

But I could picture the crushed look on her face. And then what? Then we’d all go back to our normal lives, Reid and I would be just friends in the end anyway. Cady and I may not be the same after, though.

I couldn’t hurt her like that. Not over something so small and meaningless. I couldn’t ruin our friendship over a singular, late-night lapse in judgement.

“So can you be nice to him?” she asked. “I know he’s doing okay but I want him to continue doing okay. Seeing him is still super weird, and I don’t think he and I could be friends. Not yet, at least. But maybe you two can be.”

The water lapped at the stones on the shore, stones the same color as Reid’s eyes, a dark, moody hazel. “I can do that. I can be friends with him.”

“Thank you.” She drained her coffee before turning to me. “Enough of this serious stuff. When can I come watch you do stand-up? Do you think they’ll let me perform as a guest in my old Sunday night improv show?”

We spent the rest of the afternoon talking and strolling and eating until we found a patio that had happy hour drinks. It was one of the best days I had in a long time. Cady knew Reid and I were friends, and better, she was okay with it. She wanted it. Everything was fine.

Except that stuff Reid and I did last night? Friends didn’t do that.

No more late-night talks in his apartment.

No more lingering looks at his mouth.

No more staring at his biceps while he shakes the cocktail shaker.

No more deep-inhaling in his apartment.

And definitely, absolutely, strictly, no more fooling around.

17

Reid

“ONE OF THE saddest things about my life is how many vases I own,” she told the audience Thursday night. She shook her head. “It’s like I’m waiting for men to bring me flowers, but no one has given me flowers in years.”

She hadn’t been to the theater since Sunday night, Thanksgiving, when she showed up in a huff wearing those cute sweatpants before shooting me hot looks, pinning me down, and giving me something to think about all week.

Fuck. That body. Those sweet little moans she made. All fucking week, I replayed her arching and gasping for air as she clenched around my fingers.

I leaned against the back wall of the theater and watched her on stage. She glanced into the wings a few times. Was she looking for me?

No, of course she wasn’t.

The way her body felt pressed up against me, all soft and pliant, seared into my brain. And the way she looked when she was telling me about her dad and Sam? All vulnerable and breakable like that? It tore at my heartstrings. For fifteen whole minutes, she was nothing like the careful, guarded woman I had grown used to.

But she was still the Ice Queen. She’d drop me before the sheets cooled. Sunday was a mistake—a mistake I couldn’t stop reliving and thinking about, but still, a mistake.

“The last time someone brought me flowers, he put them in my apartment when I wasn’t home as a surprise. My landlord gave him a key because she thought it was sweet.” She took a breath and let that sink in. A couple people made are you serious? faces.

“Yeah, hold up.” The front row waited. “All a guy needs to do to get into a woman’s apartment is spend fifteen bucks at the corner store and comb his hair?” She gave them a look of disbelief.

They laughed and she grew an inch taller.

“He didn’t even have to show ID. So he snuck flowers into my apartment before I got home, except I was home.”

A couple oh no’s.

She gave them a flat look. “I thought someone was trying to break in and murder me.”

Another wave of laughs.

“He opened the door to me holding a baseball bat.”

She took a sip of her drink.

“He’s standing there holding flowers, looking like a scared puppy,”—she shrugged— “so I put the bat down.”

“Flowers appear in my apartment, and you think I won’t freak out? The apartment is either haunted,” she said, waiting for the laughs to die down, “or someone’s living in the ceiling, creeping around when I’m not home.”

The audience loved this.

“Haven’t you seen 60 Minutes where someone has been living in the attic for years, unbeknown to the people living in the house? It’s creepy as hell.”

She strolled back to the center of the stage, letting the audience laugh it out.

“He lasted about as long as those flowers.”

That was the reminder I needed.

AFTER THE SHOW, she caught me in the lobby.

“Hey, do you have a second?” She blinked at me without smiling. She also didn’t seem like she hated me, either. It was like Sunday never happened. The woman jumped me, let me touch her until she came, gave me a hard-on that wouldn’t go away no matter how long I ran for, and then treated me like I was renewing her insurance.

I nodded and crossed my arms over my chest. “What’s up?”

“I wanted to talk to you about the variety show.”

My chest eased with relief. “Right. What date did you pick again?”

“Second weekend in November.”

The lobby still had a few customers. I nodded my chin toward the office. “Let’s go talk in the office.”

Inside, she took a seat on the couch and pulled out her phone. Her gaze stayed glued to the screen. “I came up with a schedule so we’ll need someone to run the lights and sound in the projection room and I was thinking we could use your office as a green room for performers.” She finally glanced up at me. “I think it’ll get too busy backstage with everyone.”

I nodded. “Sure. Fine.”

Her gaze went back to her phone. Her fingers gripped it and the other hand tapped a rhythm on her thigh.

“Dani and Oscar are on board to help, and we could wrangle some other comedians into helping on the bar.”

“I’m in, and I’ll pay Sam and Naz for as long as they want to stay.”

She frowned and paused. “You don’t have to do that.”

“I want to. It’s for Oscar, and it’ll be a fun event.”

A small smile grew on her face. Finally, some sign of life on Mars. She nodded and her eyes sparkled. “It’s going to be fun.”

I opened my desk, pulled out a notepad, ripped off the top page, and handed it to her.

“What’s this?” She skimmed it.

“Local businesses who want to help or sponsor the event.”

Surprise behind those warm brown eyes. “You talked to them?”

I nodded. “I brought it up at the local business council meeting. Everyone likes Oscar and wants him to keep the bar.” My mouth twisted. “There’s a rumor The O’Sullivan Group is eyeing his property.”

She made a face of disgust. “No.”

The O’Sullivan Group was a chain of bars and clubs in town. They ran shiny, soulless joints who attracted the kind of drunks who got into fights outside, smashed beer bottles on the street, and wracked up noise complaints from the neighbors. There were also reports of sexual assault complaints within the company that went nowhere. They didn’t fire or discipline anyone. People just quit and told their friends. No one wanted them in the neighborhood.

“Yeah. The companies on that list want to either donate alcohol, money, food, or prizes.”

She stared at the list, holding it in her hands like it might crumble into dust, before looking up at me with a strange look on her face. “Thank you, Reid. That’s a huge help.”

I shrugged. “No problem.” I gave her a quick smile. “Who’s on the lineup?”

She lit up. “Every comedian I could wrangle in. Most were down once I told them we’d fill up the theater.”

“Oh, we will?” I asked in faux disbelief, raising my eyebrows at her and grinning.

She laughed. “Yeah, by the way, we have to sell out the theater. Both for ticket sales and to hold up my promise to the comedians.”

I nodded and leaned back in my chair. “Let’s do it.”

“I’ve got twelve hours of showtime to fill so I hope you’re ready to put a few movies on at three and five in the morning. Something stupid and silly, like an SNL movie.”

“Wayne’s World?”

She pointed at me. “Yes. Perfect. Something like that. Something people have seen before but don’t mind watching again.” She looked down and grinned to herself. “This is going to be a blast. I hope it goes well.”

“It will. You’ve got this, and you have a full team to help you out.”

She nodded and her gaze rested on me.

A look passed between us and again, I thought about Sunday night, how good we felt together. Her gaze dropped to my mouth, and I’d put money on the fact that she was thinking something similar.

But it didn’t matter, because Sunday shouldn’t have happened.

As if she could hear my thoughts, she shook herself, inhaled, and said, “I should be going. I have work in the morning.”

Whatever was in the air a second before evaporated, and we were back to that cold and cordial manner. “Right. That.”

She nodded, stood, and picked up her bag. “Thanks, friend.”

The word stabbed me in the ribcage. Friends.

“I’ll walk you out.”

Oscar and Dani were packing up in the empty lobby when we passed through. Dani glanced between us.

“We were working on the variety show,” Gemma was quick to add.

“I set up the online ticket service.” Oscar clapped her on the shoulder. “So we’re good to start selling tickets whenever you are.”

Dani and Oscar said goodbye, Gemma shot me a quick nod, and I locked the door after them. I headed back into the office, leaned back in the chair, and replayed my interactions with her tonight.

It was weird. But then it was normal. And then it was hot. We couldn’t sustain the hot part. I knew this. Gemma wouldn’t change her entire way of thinking overnight.

I didn’t care that she was Cady’s best friend. Cady and I broke up years ago, and she had no hold on me anymore.

I wanted to stay in that normal zone with Gemma, the one we had waded into Sunday night when we had an actual conversation.

My email pinged, so I pulled my phone out of my pocket and checked it. My heart stopped. The Scattershot winners.

I had checked the site a few times and signed up for the email list. I didn’t want her to walk into my office and see the site on my screen and think I was stalking her.

I scrolled through the email, skimming the ten winners. A couple faces I recognized from the theater, and somehow, that fuckwit, Trevor, made it in. How? How was that possible?

I kept scrolling, skimming, but her name wasn’t on the list. I reached the end. My heart sunk. She didn’t get in.

Fuck. I thought she would. She was funny, sharp, and clever, and she was on fire the night the judges were here. I’d watched a lot of the shows at the theater since they started performing here. I knew what she was up against. Why didn’t she make it?

I set my phone down, leaned back, and sighed.

A knock on the door.

I got up, made my way through the lobby, and unlocked the door.

Gemma stood there, phone in her hand, looking up at me with a mix of expressions. Fury. Disappointment. Humiliation. My heart twisted and split in my chest. What was it I had said to her? “You’re going to get in.”

I opened the door wider and she stepped inside. She hesitated for a second before stepping toward me, and I wrapped my arms around her.

“You want to watch a movie?” I asked into her hair after a second.

She nodded.

18

Gemma

“WOMEN ALWAYS COMPLAIN ABOUT NOT GETTING promotions or not making enough money, but ladies,” Trevor said and gave an all-knowing grin to the audience. “You don’t have the best track record with money.”

I leaned against the back wall of the theater and watched his set. Acid broiled in my stomach, but I stayed and watched anyway. It felt like penance. I didn’t get in to Scattershot so I had to stay and watch the guy who did.

“I asked my sister how much she spent on her hair every month. Three hundred dollars every two months. Can you believe that?” He nodded his chin at the audience. “Tell you what. Those chicks who yammer on about the ‘wage gap’ or whatever, tell them to add up how much they spend on their little hair products, their little nails,”—he showed his nails to the audience in a feminine way and they laughed— “all that crap they put on their faces, add that on to their salaries, and then you tell me what the wage gap is.”

Trevor’s bros, the ones who were there every week with their tight t-shirts and chain necklaces, howled and applauded.

My lip curled. It was a knife in my gut. This guy. This fucking guy got in, and I didn’t.

Was this what people wanted? The audience was laughing. I didn’t blame them. The last comic had warmed them up and they were ready to laugh. There was a momentum with comedy. They were laughing before they realized it. They would have laughed at anything.

That didn’t make me feel any better, though.

“What’s your problem? You don’t like it?” he asked someone in the crowd. A weird tension drifted over the audience. “If you don’t want to hear it, leave.”

Another ripple of tension moved through the audience when a couple stood up and made their way to the back of the theater.

I shook my head at him from my dark corner in the back of the theater. He’d lost them. The audience felt weird now.

“Girls say motherhood is the hardest job in the world,” he said.

Another pinch in my stomach at the word girls to describe full-grown women.

He grinned at the audience like he did every time he set up a joke. He was trying to shake off the tension. And maybe it was working.

“You know what I think the hardest job in the world is?” he asked. “Working with mothers.” Some of his bros laughed. My ears perked up. I’d heard this one. My eyes narrowed, though, because I hadn’t heard this joke from Trevor. “Because then you gotta hear about their kids all day. Imagine if your coworker had these horrible roommates who ate all his food, trashed his house, and shit themselves. Now, imagine your coworker thinks they’re the funniest, cutest little sweeties on the planet. Having to listen to that all day? That guy gets a Nobel peace prize.”

Realization dawned on me and my mouth fell open. I’d heard this terrible joke before. It was from an old comedy special from the nineties I had found at a garage sale in my teens. I laughed to myself in disbelief.

After the show, I made my way through the lobby.

“Better luck next year,” Trevor said behind me. The self-satisfied look he gave me, it was everything. It was him telling me he deserved to be up there and I didn’t. It was him saying I wasn’t good enough, and he was, and him getting into the competition was proof.

All the rage building in me broke free. I strode toward him until my cold glare was two inches from his face. His face faltered.

“That joke tonight? The one about mothers? I know that joke.”

He stilled.

I nodded. “I’ve seen that joke performed before.”

He shifted in place, crossing his arms. He thought he’d get away with it. Didn’t he know I’d watched every comedy special I could get my hands on since I was a kid?

“You may have gotten in to Scattershot,” I told him, “But at least I’m not a hack.”

He scoffed, shook his head, and muttered “What the fuck do you know?” before disappearing through the stage door leading to the lobby.

“What was that about?” Reid asked at my side, watching after him before looking down to me. Something angry flashed in his gaze and he crossed his arms over his chest.

My stomach flopped at the memory of what happened between us in his apartment.

Sure, internally, I’d admit he was a babe, with that scruff and towering height and even with those smug, knowing expressions of him. Those hazel eyes that emanated moodiness. Those everlasting dark circles under his eyes.

“That was about Trevor being an asshole,” I told him.

His mouth twisted, half-apologetic I had to deal with the Trevors of the world. “You want to work on the variety show planning?”

I shook my head. “Can’t tonight. I have another gig across town.”

I made to move toward the door and he walked with me.

“Another gig?”

I nodded. “This is me stepping it up.” Off his raised eyebrow, I continued. “I didn’t get in to Scattershot, fine. But a couple shows a week isn’t good enough.” I looked at him as we passed through the hallway. “Reid, these comics who make it big? They’re doing ten shows a week. They’re up on stage multiple times a night, every night of the week for a decade before anyone knows their name.”

They were working rooms, gaining notoriety, whittling good jokes into great jokes, and making friends in the industry. If I wanted what they had, and I really wanted what they had, I had to get bigger, better, and brighter. I needed to work even harder.

I bit my lip and regarded Reid with narrowed eyes. He was my friend, and I had been flip-flopping on something for a few days, but in the moment, I decided to invite him. It would be better coming from me than Dani.

“Dani’s having a big Halloween party next Friday.” She threw one every year since university. I chewed my lip. “And it’s my birthday.”

He looked down at me with such affection, I melted right there. “I know. I’ll be there.”

Excitement rippled through me and I grinned. “Great.”

AFTER MY NEXT GIG, I stuck around the small space to chat with the other comics.

“You do The Indigo show, right?” Pat asked, leaning on the bar counter.

Pat was a local comic with a thirty-minute Netflix special. He was Black and wore a plaid shirt and glasses. He made me choke-laugh with a joke about how before the internet, people had to buy embarrassing things in person. They couldn’t buy vibrators or books about how to get rid of anal warts online, they had to go to a store and talk to a person.

I nodded at him. “We’re at The Capitol theater until The Indigo reopens.”

“Think you could get me a spot there? That place is cool.”

“Absolutely, Oscar loves fresh comics. He could get you ten minutes tomorrow night, or maybe twenty next week if he has enough notice.”

“That would be amazing, thank you.” Pat nodded his gratitude. “Looks like I made a golden connection.” He wiggled his eyebrows at me. “What other shows do you do?”

I pressed my lips together. “That’s it.”

He blanched. “No. Gemma, you gotta do other rooms. You’re good.”

My brain hummed with appreciation. My resolution echoed in my head. Bigger, brighter, better. “That’s why I’m here.”

“I’ll hook you up. There are tons of rooms around town. The Fox Hole does a Wednesday night show. It’s organized by some super cool women so no creeps allowed. I’ll send you the details.”

“Thank you so much.”

He shrugged. “Anytime. We have to help each other out.” He pointed at me. “And you’re going to butter up Oscar so I can do a set next weekend.”

“You got it. Do you still live here?”

He shook his head. “I moved down to LA last year, and then the Netflix thing happened. I’m only in town for a couple weeks. I’m touring most of the time.”

“How do you get touring spots?”

“You start by doing this,” he gestured between us. “Hanging with the comics after shows, getting to know people. Doing some bigger gigs on late night shows helps get your name out there. Maybe a friend will get a bigger gig and asks you to open for them. That’s how I got my first opening gig. I did a small room down in Seattle and one of the comics there, his opener canceled with two day’s notice, so he called me.”

“Lucky.”

He shrugged again. “What we do, it’s one part luck, one part working your ass off, and one part being ready when the rocket ship takes off.”

“Is your rocket ship taking off yet?”

He took a deep breath and let it out with a baffled expression. “I’m saying yes to everything. I opened for that comic, and then one of his friends who was at the show went on tour and asked me to open for him in Vancouver and Calgary and Toronto.”

I sipped my drink and my chest tightened. Pat could probably see the yearning glowing in my chest like a neon sign. I want that. I want it so bad I can’t breathe.

On the walk home, my steps were lighter than usual. I could do this and if I worked hard enough, something amazing would happen. My rocket ship would take off.

But then Reid floated into my head. And again while I unlocked my front door. And again while I brushed my teeth.

I shook him out of my thoughts. So I was attracted to the guy. It wouldn’t go anywhere. Nothing would get in the way of comedy.

19

Reid

WHILE WALKING to Dani’s house on Friday evening, I thought of the message that had popped up on my phone in the middle of the night.

Gemma Clarke: I still hate you, you know

That text put a big smile on my face when I had read it this morning in bed.

She liked me. She didn’t realize it yet, but she liked me.

I knocked on Dani’s front door. Matilda whipped the door open and beamed at me.

“Trick or treat.”

“You came!” She wore a Victorian gown, splattered in blood and her hair in tight curls. She leaned down to pet Sally.

I raised my eyebrows at her. “Elizabeth Bennett, vampire killer?”

“You got it.” She narrowed her eyes, surveying my black shirt, black pants, sword, and black mask. “I feel like I know this one.”

Noah stepped forward with the candy bowl. “More kids? Oh, hi, Reid.”

Sally padded into the house and buzzed partygoers swarmed her with scratches and praise. I followed Matilda inside.

“You’re on candy duty,” she told Noah. “Don’t leave your post.”

Dani and Mei had done a hell of a job decorating before Mei left for her trip to Vancouver Island to visit a friend. Cobwebs hung around the foyer, entangled with spiders.

My chest felt tight, knowing I’d see Gemma soon.

Music thumped from the stereo system in the front room. I could hear it from down the street on my walk over. In Dani’s living room, the Australians, who the women met in university, were teaching themselves the Thriller dance. The staircase housed the wallflowers, chatting and drinking out of red Solo cups. Two comedians I recognized from the theater stood in the foyer.

“Do it again,” one urged the other, who stood barefoot in a long black wig and stained white dress. She ran to the top of the stairs, disappeared in the hallway, and appeared a moment later, crawling toward the top step in jerking, unsettling motions.

Noah speed-walked away. “Nope, nope, nope,” he muttered to himself, shaking his head.

The kitchen housed the eaters, hovering around the food. Sam wore puppy ears and ate Cheezies at the kitchen table while Naz drew a nose and whiskers on him in eyeliner.

“Reid,” Oscar called from the island, handing me a shot glass. A set of rabbit ears sat on his head. “Try this.” The shot glass had a clear liquid layer on the bottom with a milky layer on top, and a tiny piece of red tinged with milkiness on the bottom.

I tipped it back and coughed. “That’s terrible.”

Oscar beamed. “It’s called a Brain Aneurysm. Whiskey, Bailey’s, with a drop of grenadine. What’re you drinking?”

After placing my local craft beers in the fridge and drinking another one of Oscar’s experimental shots—a Witch’s Finger, a shot of whiskey with a pepperoni stick dunked in it—I wandered out to the backyard. Jaime leaned on the fence, smoking a cigarette and dressed as a vampire. He looked straight out of an Anne Rice novel.

“There he is,” Dani called from the fire pit.

The four of them sat there. The fire illuminated their faces and gave them an eerie, spellbinding glow. Dani beckoned me over, Matilda waved at me, Cady gave me a polite, terse nod, and Gemma watched me with an expression that was hard to read.

I nodded hello to everyone. “Nice costumes,” I told them, but my gaze lingered on Gemma.

She wore a floaty gray dress that looked like fog. Silver sequins sparkled on the bodice. A twisted thorny-looking crown of wire sat on her head, spray painted with frost, and a long white faux-fur cloak hung from her shoulders. Frost coated her eyelashes and eyebrows and her lips were blue with cosmetic hypothermia. Her hair twisted back in a regal braid, dusted with frost.

Her gaze skimmed down my costume and the corner of her mouth hitched. “Westley, from The Princess Bride.”

I nodded once. “Ice Queen.”

Cady stood and held her drink up. “I’m going to get a refill. Anyone want anything?”

Dani stood. “I’ll come with you. Oscar needs help. Even at a party, he’s gotta be the bartender. Not a problem for you, huh, Lestat?” she called over to Jaime, leaning against the fence with a cigarette hanging from his mouth, texting. He flipped her the middle finger and blew a smoke ring toward her and she laughed.

Noah poked his head out back. “Til, where’s the rest of the candy?”

“In the cupboard at the front door.”

He looked at her with a helpless expression. “I looked there.”

Matilda groaned and got up to help him.

The Ice Queen watched me across the fire. It was just the two of us.

I took a pull off my beer. “I’m surprised you can get this close to the fire without your heart thawing out.”

“Do you want to be alone so you can stare into the fire and mourn your long-lost wife?” She arched an eyebrow.

We broke into identical smiles.

“Hi,” she said.

“Hi. Happy birthday.”

“Thanks.” She tipped her chin at me. “Very on-brand.”

“What’re you drinking?”

She lifted the can so I could see the label. “Cider from the Okanagan. This one’s my favorite.”

I took note of the name. “I’ll order some for the theater.”

“You don’t need to do that.”

We watched each other for a moment. The alcohol from Oscar’s shots was hitting my bloodstream and causing my gaze to linger on her pretty face a moment longer.

“Let me carry the drink you like. This is what friends do.”

She hesitated a moment, eyes narrowed the slightest, before nodding a smiling. “Alright.”

A firework whistled into the dark sky from a few houses away and cracked into a thousand sparkles. Another firework went off and people from inside the house trickled out to watch. Dani and Matilda returned to the campfire, Sally followed whoever gave her the most attention, and Oscar appeared with a tray of bizarre and terrible shots.

At one point, Dani nudged Gemma with her shoe and nodded toward the kitchen. “It’s time.”

Gemma went rigid. “No.”

Matilda nodded. “Yes! It’s bad luck.”

“You say that about everything I don’t want to do,” Gemma pointed out. Dani and Matilda stared at her. “Okay, fine.”

They hurried into the kitchen and Gemma watched after them, chewing her lip.

“What’s up?” I asked her.

“Birthday cake.”

“You’re acting like you’re about to be thrown in a pool.”

She studied the kitchen through the windows. “Mmm.”

“You don’t like your birthday, do you?”

She turned to me. “No, as a full-grown adult, I’m not a fan of people gathering around and singing a repetitive song to me.”

I took a pull of my beer and waited.

She shrugged. “I didn’t accomplish anything this year. Another year down the drain.”

“What do you consider ‘accomplishing something’?”

She contemplated this. “Book a major gig. Go on tour. Get hired on a late night show. Something. Some indication of progress in comedy.” She wrinkled her nose. “I’m right where I started when I turned thirty-one.”

I took another slug of beer. The alcohol was coasting through my veins and making me more talkative than normal. “You’re doing sets at other venues every night after the theater. Every time you write a new joke or tell an old joke differently, that’s progress. Agree or disagree?”

“Hmm. Agree, I suppose…” Her eyes narrowed with hesitation. “But I’m looking at results.”

“Things happen all at once. Look at me last year.” I lowered my voice so no one could overhear. “I thought about opening a theater for years. I bought The Capitol and everything changed. What makes you think the same thing won’t happen to you?”

She watched me with a small suspicious smile, like she was turning my words over in her head and agreed with me, but didn’t want to give in.

“Stop resisting. I’m right,” I told her, and her small smile grew. “You know I’m right.”

She rolled her eyes. “I also hate the singing. It’s weird.”

“You’re a comedian. You like everyone watching.”

She snorted and shook her head. “No, I don’t. It’s not the attention part of being onstage I like. It’s making people laugh and creating moments where everyone is happy. Also, there’s a time and a place. You know some comics,”—she tipped her chin at one of the Australians, barking jokes at each other and goofing around— “they can’t turn it off, and it’s exhausting. I don’t want to be like that.”

My gaze settled on her, lingering perhaps a second too long for someone who was just a friend. “You aren’t.”

She met my eyes, and any traces of worry settled. “Good.”

Fuck. I wanted to kiss her. Right here, across the fire, in front of everyone. I wanted to throw her over my shoulder, march her home, and toss her down on the bed. Make her moan like a few weeks ago. A low, primal part of me screamed for more, amplified by the alcohol flowing through me.

“Haaaaappy biiiiirthdayyyy…” Dani and Matilda started singing, walking out of the kitchen onto the patio. Dani held a cake alight with candles.

Everyone joined in and sang, and I sat there, watching her roll her eyes and hide a grin at all the people who loved this funny, loyal, intriguing woman.

Gemma took a deep breath and blew them out. One candle remained.

“One boyfriend!” everyone howled. “One boyfriend! She has one boyfriend!”

She met my gaze before rolling her eyes and laughing. Even in the low light of the campfire, I could see the blush on her face.

Matilda passed out cake, Oscar and Dani served drinks, one of the Aussies cranked the music, and fireworks littered the sky. Gemma stood to get another drink and I watched her walk inside.

A bell rang and Dani jumped up beside me. “It’s time.”

Everyone outside piled into the house. Jaime stubbed his cigarette out and wandered in.

“Time for what?”

“You’ll see. Come on.” Dani gestured for me to follow her.

Inside, Matilda swept through the house, turning down the music and changing it to background Halloween sounds with howls and cackles. People thundered down the stairs and trickled in from the backyard. Everyone gathered around Matilda. Competitive anticipation buzzed in the air. I glanced around. Where’d she go?

“A quick reminder of the rules for the newbies,” Matilda called. “Hide and seek goes like this. One person is the seeker. You put the headphones on,”—she held them up, and we could hear music playing through them— “count to sixty, pull them off, yell ‘ready or not, here I come’ and find as many people as you can in ten minutes. Once ten minutes are up, the first person you found is the seeker for the next round.”

Dani lifted a huge, hideous trophy that looked like it was made by hyper kindergarteners. “The last person to be found gets the trophy.”

My gaze kept traveling over the faces in front of Matilda and Dani but I still didn’t see her.

“I’m timekeeper,” Matilda said. “At the end of each round, I’ll ring this bell.” She held it up in her hand. “You can either stay in your hiding spot or find a new one.”

Noah put his hand up. “Can we hide in the yard this year?”

Dani nodded. “Anywhere on the property is fair game. Stay out of my bedside table if you don’t want to feel emasculated.” She winked at him and he blushed.

Dani pulled a name from a hat and one of the Australians donned the headphones while everyone scattered. People flicked the lights off as they passed, cloaking the house in darkness.

Dani saw my look of hesitation at the bottom of the stairs. “You can’t leave my party early. Go hide.”

I laughed and shook my head at her but headed up the stairs. Someone disappeared into a room off the hallway, so I opened the opposite door and stepped inside.

Lots of dark florals, rose gold, and a leather jacket strewn over a chair. This must have been Dani’s room. It was strange being in someone’s room without them. I would have high-tailed it out of here if not for Dani’s earlier warning.

I stepped into the walk-in closet, feeling my way to the back wall behind some coats. It was pitch dark and quiet, but I could hear the odd footstep in the hallway or squeal outside in the yard.

The closet door creaked and a shred of moonlight sliced through before the door closed again.

I froze. I could hear someone breathing.

The surrounding coats shifted and my eyes widened, but faux fur brushed the back of my hand and I smelled oranges and vanilla. My adrenaline surged.

20

Reid

I CLEARED my throat in the closet. “Occupied.”

“AUGHHH—” she shrieked and I reached up and pressed my hand over her mouth.

“It’s me,” I whispered and she sagged against me in relief. I let go of her. She whispered a slew of expletives and I huffed a quiet laugh.

“What the hell. You scared the crap out of me.”

“Sorry.” I grinned to myself and tried to ignore how her presence was affecting me. I was half-hard and grateful for the dark.

“You can’t hide in here. This is my spot.”

It was like old times. My head buzzed from the drinks Oscar pushed on me. “I was here first.”

“I always hide in here and they never find me. There isn’t enough room for both of us.”

It’s true, there wasn’t. I couldn’t hold my arms at my side without touching her so I readjusted, putting a hand on the wall on either side of her head.

“Move to the other side of the closet,” she hissed but I could hear the laughter in her voice.

The hallway floor creaked and we froze.

“Do you think he heard us?” she breathed in my ear and my eyes rolled back.

I liked her whispering in my ear. A lot.

“Shh.”

We stood there in silence and my heart hammered against the front wall of my chest. The footsteps faded away as the seeker wandered down the hall.

“This is so stupid,” I breathed.

“It’s tradition.”

“We’re in our thirties and we’re playing a children’s game.”

She shifted against me. She was trying to see my face in the pitch dark of the closet. “Aren’t you having a little fun?”

I hesitated. “Yes. But just a little.”

I could hear her smirk. “Right. Just a little.”

“Cady-bear, sitting beside a table is a terrible hiding spot,” one of the Australians said out in the hall.

We listened in silence.

“That silly dog is better at this game than you,” he continued as they walked down the hall. “At least she sits still.”

Cady howled with laughter.

“Good god, woman, are you drunk?”

“No,” she wheezed. “I’ve just had too much to drink.”

The Australian started laughing too and they made their way down the hall.

“I guess Oscar found another test subject,” I said.

“I’m glad she’s having fun while she’s back.”

“Fun? What would you know about that? Especially not at—” I pulled out my phone and checked the time of the text. My arm brushed against her and I swear I felt her shiver. “—twelve thirty-two on a Friday morning.”

She groaned in anguish. “Matilda and Cady and Dani took me out for dinner and drinks after my set at the theater. Too many whiskey sours makes me annoying.”

My mouth hitched. “I think too many whiskey sours makes you think about me.”

She stiffened before spinning around to face the wall and my mouth hitched higher. “I’m moving to Antarctica. They have comedy clubs there, right?”

Shrieks and giggles came from downstairs as someone unearthed people from their hiding spots.

“You’ve given this plan some thought.” I pocketed the phone and put my hands on her shoulders.

“It’s a lot more livable there now that the ice caps are melting.”

I grinned so hard my face hurt. No need to hide what she couldn’t see. “I’m kidding, Ice Queen. Relax. It’s fine. That message was funny.” I rubbed small circles on her shoulders, honing in on the tight muscles.

“My headache this morning wasn’t.” She let out a long breath. “Holy crap, that feels awesome.” I dug my thumb into a knot and her head fell back. “Holy shit.”

There was another creak in the hallway and we froze. Dani’s bedroom door opened. Gemma’s hands came around her back to my hips and pulled me forward, flush up against her, closer to the wall of the closet so the coats didn’t protrude as much and give away our hiding spot.

But this meant my entire body pressed her against the wall.

My erection pressed into her ass. Her hands slid to the front of my thighs and my cock ached.

The floor in Dani’s bedroom creaked. Gemma leaned her head back on my chest, breath ragged. My adrenaline surged.

The bell rang downstairs and we heard a grunt of frustration. Whoever was standing in Dani’s room left and rumbled down the stairs.

“Close one,” she breathed, her hands still on my thighs.

I lowered my mouth to her ear. “They’re picking a new seeker. You could find a new hiding spot.”

She shivered under my hands. “This is my spot, but you’re welcome to find somewhere else. Perhaps the freezer in the garage. I’ll let you out before you run out of air, I promise.”

She turned around so she was facing me, pressed up against me, and I sucked in a breath. One of my hands came to the wall beside her head, the other on the warm skin of her shoulder, beside her neck. Her hands flattened on my chest. My boner throbbed but I ignored it. She made no move to get away from me or any indication she wanted more space, so I stayed where I was. “I’m fine here.”

“Me too.”

The coats on the other side of the closet shifted and she gasped. Someone pushed out from behind the coats on the other side and we both jumped.

Gemma yelped. “What the—”

“Gotta go for a slash!” one of the Australians said. “Shoulda gone before the game.” He disappeared out the closet door and closed it behind him.

“Was he there the whole time?” she asked in horror.

The bell rang and the next round started.

“What’s Sally doing right now?” I could feel her breath against my mouth. Her lips were inches away.

“Probably eating candy off the kitchen table and outing people from their hiding spots.”

She laughed. I inhaled her shampoo. Her hair smelled amazing, even coated in all the frost stuff.

My thumb stroked the smooth skin at the base of her neck. “Why does your hair smell so good?”

“Overpriced products filled with irritating fragrances.” Her whisper sounded ragged.

She leaned her head against my chest and my eyes closed. It ignited something in me, a combination of comfort and fierce protectiveness.

“Has the Wicked Witch had a long day?” I asked, voice low.

“Not really. I didn’t wake up until eleven. My boss said I had to call in sick on account of it being my birthday.”

From a room near us, a burst of giggles erupted. Gemma’s breath caught and her fingers dug into me. I pulled her harder against me. We stood there in silence, grasping one another, listening.

She took a deep breath and her tits pressed into me. I groaned and my cock twitched. Her breath hitched and I knew she felt it.

“How long does this game go for?” I whispered.

“Until we find the last person or get tired of it. My arm is going numb.”

Dani’s bedroom door burst open.

“Ayo, I know you perverts are in here,” another Australian chirped. The bed objected under his weight. “Oh Dani darling, I’m jumping on your bed.”

“Don’t you fucking dare!” she called from downstairs.

Gemma stifled her laughter against my chest, shaking.

“Shh,” I breathed, grinning and running a hand down her back. She stilled and drew in a ragged breath. I knew that reaction. I’d heard it before, in my apartment after Thanksgiving.

More blood surged straight to my cock.

The floor creaked outside the closet and she froze. Her back muscles tensed under my hands. The closet door opened and we stopped breathing.

The Australian whistled a taunting tune to himself. We didn’t dare move a muscle but our hearts hammered against each other.

The bell rang. The Australian stomped downstairs and we sagged against each other in relief.

“This is torture,” I murmured. In so many ways.

“This is the most fun I’ve ever had in my life.” Her breath tickled my face.

Standing in a dark closet, pressed up against one of the hottest women I’d ever known? Teenage me would be losing his shit. I squeezed her to me. “Alright, me too.”

“I knew it.”

“Don’t tell anyone. I have a reputation to keep up as a grumpy widower.”

“I’ll tell them you sulked the entire time and made fun of the horns on my forehead.”

The bell rang downstairs and the next round started. She adjusted her posture and my cock strained. As soon as this game was over, I’d go home and rub one out, thinking about her the entire time.

“Ahah!” we heard outside, followed by a handful of elated screams. We listened to the commotion until it was silent again, with only the sound of our breathing.

“So, you still hate me,” I reminded her for some unknown reason.

Her arms twitched. She cleared her throat. “Mhm.”

Maybe I had a death wish. Maybe I liked that embarrassed flush on her face. Maybe I enjoyed seeing her try to hold on to her dissolving grudge against me. I was playing with a blowtorch while drenched in gasoline but I couldn’t stop. The alcohol made me brave, and the erection made me desperate.

“You sure?” I prodded in a mock-curious voice.

“Positive.” There was something guarded in her voice. An edge. That familiar coldness she used to give me so often. She was hanging on tight, I had to give it to her.

“And you were thinking about how much you hated me after midnight?” I brushed my mouth against her forehead. “Lying in bed?”

“I thought you could use a reminder.”

I readjusted my arms, one hand on her hip and back on the crook of her neck, where I could feel her pulse. She sucked in a sharp breath at the contact.

“See, I think you were thinking about me last night, and you were having a hard time remembering why you hate me. I think you were remembering—"

She cut me off with her mouth.

I groaned against her because it was like stepping into a hot tub after a day of skiing. I didn’t even know I was numb until her warmth spread throughout me. My entire body relaxed—except one part, which surged and strained. She leaned into the kiss and inhaled against me. Her soft mouth parted and let me taste her.

Her hands were everywhere—my hair, my chest, my shoulders, my stubble.

She pressed against me with more force this time, lightly biting my lip. My cock pulsed.

“I’ve wanted to do that since Thanksgiving.” Her hand slipped to the front of my pants and she stroked me hard.

I groaned into her. “We’re talking about things we’ve been wanting to do?” The alcohol gave me a shove forward. “I’ve been thinking about doing this for weeks.”

I pressed her back against the wall and laid kisses down her neck to her collarbone, pulling soft gasps from her.

“I feel bad for anyone else lurking in this closet right now,” she gasped.

“I don’t.” Sequins scratched my palm as I skimmed a hand up her stomach. “This is the best closet I’ve ever been in.”

My palm met her breast and I circled her with my thumb. She whimpered and strained against me but I held her steady with my arm around her lower back. I lowered my mouth to hers again and she kissed me back with ferocity and hunger.

Her hand snaked down the front of my pants. I sucked in a breath through my teeth when her hand grasped me and I moved my thumb over the stiff peak faster.

“Oh my god,” she breathed.

She slid her hand up and down with pressure. I was close. I was thirty-two fucking years old, making out in a closet, and I was close to coming like a teenager.

“You gotta stop, Ice Queen,” I groaned against her lips.

“Am I hurting you?” Her tone was light, knowing damn well she wasn’t hurting me.

“Unbearable,” I gasped, and she laughed. “Alright. That’s enough of this.” I swatted her hand away and kneeled at her feet, lifting her dress and holding the hem for her. “Hold this.”

“What are you—oh.” She sagged against the wall as my thumbs brushed the front of her damp underwear. I pressed kisses up her thigh.

“Wet already.” I rubbed circles on her clit over her underwear and felt her shaking. “You gonna come for me tonight, Gemma?”

“Hard to say,” she rasped. “Last time might have been a one-off.”

She was goading me, and a wicked smile pulled at my features. I pulled her underwear aside and sucked hard on her clit. She bucked against my mouth and moaned.

“Shhh.” I ran my tongue up her opening to the top of her clit. “You have to stay quiet.”

“Hurry up, then.”

A quiet laugh slipped out of me. This woman. “You’re such a fucking brat,” I breathed before sliding a finger inside her.

Holy shit. The warmth of her, the wetness, the feel of her around my hand. I tasted her again, and a groan rumbled in my throat.

“Oh my god.” Her core squeezed, and her hands went to my hair. “Reid. Fuck.”

“Mhm.” I found the spot she liked, the one that made her lose her mind in my apartment, the spot I’d been thinking about for weeks. Her hips bucked. I pulled one of her legs over my shoulder and wrapped my free arm around her hips to stabilize her. “Pull my hair. Remind me how much you hate me.”

The tug of her fingers on my hair made my breath hitch. My mouth returned to her clit and I swirled my tongue. She squeezed my finger again and bucked against my mouth and I worked my tongue faster. I pressed the spot harder. She was soaked and slippery and it was the best moment of my fucking life.

“I love you getting wet all over my fingers and mouth,” I told her, slipping a second finger inside. Her entire body seemed to shake when I did that, and she made a strangled noise.

I sucked her clit and she whined.

“There,” she breathed. “Like that.”

“I know.” I sucked her clit harder and swirled my tongue on it at the same time, and the ripples started. Her hand gripped my hair harder, and I kept working the spot.

“Now. Now. Yes. Fuck.” She arched and bucked but I held her steady as she rode it out on my fingers and mouth. She flooded my hand with wetness and she relaxed against the wall.

“Holy shit.” Her voice was a whisper and she was breathing hard.

I straightened up and licked her off my fingers before pressing a kiss to her neck. I was about to tell her how fun that was, how much I enjoyed making her come, but her hand gripped my straining cock and the words fell out of my mouth.

“My turn.”

I groaned as quiet as I could into her hair as she stroked me. “Slow down.”

“No. Unbutton your pants.”

“Gem. It’s okay.”

She squeezed me and my mouth fell open. Holy shit. “Unbutton your fucking pants right now.”

What the hell. Fine. I undid my belt and she pulled me out, dropped to her knees, and before I could say a word, slid my length between her lips.

“Ohhhhhhhh, shit,” I groaned, eyes closed tight. “Oh my god. Gemma. Your mouth.”

She took me as far as she could in her mouth while her hand stroked. Her mouth was hot, wet, slick, all the good things that made me forget where we were. She added suction and I bit my lip to keep from being too loud.

What was going on with the game in the house? Who fucking cared? I threaded my fingers into her hair as she worked me with her lips and tongue.

Gemma was sucking my cock. I couldn’t fucking believe it. The potential of getting caught only added a layer of fuck yes to the situation.

She increased the speed and I felt it. The coil of need and heat and pressure at the base of my spine. My brain was fucking tingling. Despite me standing and her kneeling in front of me, she had me at her complete mercy. I’d do anything for her.

“Now, you’re going to come for me.” Her voice was husky while she continued stroking me with her hand. “You’re going to come in my mouth. Do you understand?”

I grunted an acknowledgement.

“Good.” Her mouth returned to me and my hips jerked as my cock disappeared into her warm, wet mouth. She moved faster and I couldn’t think.

Her tongue danced over the tip of me and I let go. I came hard, eyes clenched closed, and released into her mouth like she told me to. She slowed down as I came, pulling every drop from me and drawing out my orgasm.

“Holy shit,” I breathed, leaning back against the wall. “You’re amazing.”

She straightened up and I pulled her to me. She buried her face into my neck and I felt her sigh as I wrapped my arms around her.

“Didn’t expect that to happen tonight.” My hands rubbed her back.

She snorted. “Me neither.”

The closet door banged open, we jolted, and Noah whooshed the coats apart.

“Found you!” he said, delighted. “I found them!” he called behind him. The smile dropped from his face when he saw my murderous expression at the interruption. “Uh, sorry,” he said and scurried away.

Downstairs, Dani awarded us the hideous trophy. Everyone clapped and Matilda took a picture of us holding it. Gemma’s cheeks were pink and she wore a tiny, knowing smile that made me want to pull her back up into that closet.

“I’ll take it on weekdays and you can have weekends and holidays,” she told me, holding the trophy.

I shook my head. “You keep it. I’d be a deadbeat and forget to feed it, anyway.”

On the walk home, fireworks exploded in the sky while we talked. The tension between us from earlier was gone, now that we had made each other come hard. My heart rate still hadn’t gone back to normal, though.

“I’m happy I invited you.” She gave me a side-long look. “Thanks for coming.” She shot me a wicked grin. “To my birthday party, that is.”

I grinned back at her.

When we reached her apartment, she looked up at me with hesitation. Sally wandered over on the grass, sniffing.

I didn’t want to say goodbye. A smarter man would have high-fived her goodnight and sprinted home down the middle of the street, Terminator-style, before she could decimate me like all the others.

But we’ve already established I wasn’t a smart man.

I crossed my arms across my chest. “Do you want your gift?”

Her eyes lit up. “You didn’t have to get me—”

I waved her off. “Yeah, yeah. I know I didn’t.” I took a deep breath. Maybe it was too much. What if she thought it was weird? “Google yourself.”

She gave me a strange look. “Huh?”

I made the texting hand signal. “Google yourself. I’ll wait.”

She pulled her phone out, typed, and stared at the screen. A crease formed between her eyebrows before the frown dropped.

On the screen was a website with a picture of her onstage as the backdrop. It was from The Indigo, and the punchline had just dropped and gotten a big laugh.

She pressed her lips together and glanced up at me. Good? Was this good? Did she like it or was it too much?

She clicked through the site, through the About Me page with a bio and contact info, the Shows page with regular appearances around the city, and the Comedy page, full of links. She clicked a link and the YouTube app opened.

“I was having a dream the other night about eating candy,” she told the audience in the video.

She glanced up at me in disbelief. “This has three hundred views already.”

I nodded. I’d been tracking it.

She clicked through the links, various shows she had done at the theater and a few from around the city. I hadn’t been to those but once Dani found out what I was doing, she asked around with the comedians and people sent me videos of her sets.

She stared at the website on her phone, shaking her head. “You did this? You made me a website and uploaded all my sets to YouTube?”

My heart dropped. She hated it. I had fucked up and there was no coming back from this. “You hate it.”

She leaned forward and wrapped her arms around me. Her hair brushed my cheek. “Thank you,” she said into my shoulder.

My heart raced. She loved it. I hadn’t fucked up. “You’re welcome. I made you a reel with all your best jokes but I didn’t upload it.”

She leaned back and made a confused grin. “A reel?”

“For late night shows and stuff. You send your reel to bookers and if they like what they see, they’ll book you on the show,” I recalled from the website I had read.

“You did research. You read things.”

I nodded. “Yes, I’m literate.”

Her gaze rested on me. “This is the best gift I’ve ever gotten.”

Well, shit. My ears felt warm. “Don’t mention it.”

She continued to look at me with that suspicious little smile, like she was considering me in a new light, and I cleared my throat. “You should come to the theater tomorrow,” I said.

Her brow quirked. “I finished all the accounting work last week.”

“I know. Come watch a movie. We’re not finished with your cinematic education.”

She blinked before her face burst into a smile. My heart tripped over its own feet. “That would be great.”

I cocked my head at her. “Seems like the Ice Queen is coming around to the love stories.”

“I only endure them because of the waffles.”

I snorted. “Right.”

“It’s true.” Her eyes shone. “Oh, did you not know that? You’re making me breakfast tomorrow.”

“Mhm. Whatever you say.”

“I’m going inside now. Thanks for walking me home.” She didn’t move.

“Goodnight.” I didn’t move.

I wanted to kiss her. I wanted to go up and see her apartment. I wanted to sleep in her bed and see what she looked like first thing in the morning.

She swallowed. My heart beat faster.

“I should go inside.”

“Uh huh.” My heart pounded.

She was right there in front of me, looking up at me like that. Being in that musty old closet with her was the hottest moment of my life. My ghost would haunt that closet after I died.

An alarm bell rang somewhere deep in my head. She didn’t do this kind of stuff.

A boom of fireworks exploded above us. The shower of sparkles reflected in her eyes.

In my head, I saw teenage Rory, looking out the front window, refusing to believe Derrick stood her up again.

“Right.”

“In an alternate universe, where I didn’t have my stuff to deal with and you didn’t have yours, and you and Cady never dated, this is the part where’d I’d invite you in.” She bounced on her heels while biting her lip.

She was going to do what she always did. My chest tensed and I looked down at her. “But you’re you and I’m me.”

She nodded with a rueful smile. “Goodnight, Reid.” She leaned up on her toes for the second time that night. Just before my ear, she paused. “I still hate you,” she whispered, and placed the softest kiss on my cheek.

I waited for the light in her apartment before I whistled to Sally. She bounded over and we walked home.

21

Gemma

MY PHONE BUZZED the next morning and I peered at the screen with one eye open.

Cady Winters: holy HECK, I am hungover this morning.

Dani Liu: You drank 1 of everything Oscar made

Cady Winters: oh my godddddd I know. I have pepperoni breath.

I tapped a quick response.

Gemma Clarke: Ew

Cady Winters: did I make an ass of myself?

Matilda Tehrani: no way!

Gemma Clarke: I didn’t even notice, except for you laughing your ass off in the hallway during hide and seek

Cady Winters: you heard that?! Crap. Also, how much of a flirt is Baz? Like, yeesh guy, I just got back, gimme a second

Matilda Tehrani: what’s his real name, anyway?

Dani Liu: I thought Baz WAS his real name

Gemma Clarke: You thought his mother wrote Baz on the birth certificate?

Dani Liu: …

Dani Liu: quiet, you

Cady Winters: okayyy can we stop talking about this please? Gem, who did you leave with? It was too drunk to see

Cady Winters: dark. It was too DARK to see

My stomach dropped. Fuck. Did she see? No, of course she didn’t. She was drunk. Also, nothing happened. He walked me home and that was it. He didn’t go further than the sidewalk in front of my apartment building.

In the closet, however.

My stomach pitched and at the same time, my lids fell halfway, reliving it. Where the fuck did Reid learn to do that with his mouth? God damn. I stared at nothing in front of me. The circling… dear god.

This was going to be a problem. A distracting, sexy problem.

And the website. I sunk into the pillows and closed my eyes, sighing. He made me a website, for Christ’s sake. It was the most thoughtful, useful, supportive gift anyone had ever given me.

Cady Winters: it was one of the Australians, wasn’t it? Ooooh, they’re good. Word on the street is they’re quite flirtatious

I stared at my phone in horror.

Cady Winters: ladies, we’ve lost her

But his mouth. And his fingers. Oh my god.

The little red light was flashing and a calm British woman was saying warning, warning.

He made me forget my own name in the closet but I couldn’t shake the image of my mom’s face when she told me we were moving out of the city to live with her third husband.

“But what about auditions?” I had asked my mom. “What about acting?”

She had waved me off. “I can do small theater productions there. It isn’t in the cards for the other stuff. Not right now, anyway.”

Reid touching me rearranged my DNA but it made me feel out of control. I couldn’t stop myself around him. My brain tossed my body the keys and said you drive. I was being reckless. It was like Shane all over again.

The memory of sheer panic as I stood on stage with everyone staring at me filled my head.

I refocused, sat up against my pillow, and tapped out a reply.

Gemma Clarke: Right here. Sorry. Reid walked me home. I had too much birthday fun Thursday and he said he had an early run tomorrow.

She knew we were friends, and from now on, there would be no more kissing, hand stuff, or mouth stuff in closets. Those other times? Complete flukes. Never going to happen again. Telling her about them would freak her out and make her worry.

Matilda Tehrani: food please

Cady Winters: YES. Greasy food. Now.

Dani Liu: In

I had told Reid I’d go to the theater to watch a movie with him. Sitting there in the dark with him. Ignoring all that tension while he was right beside me. Trying not to breathe him in.

Gemma Clarke: Me too

I swallowed and tapped out a new message to Reid, ignoring the messages between Cady and Matilda in the other group.

Gemma Clarke: Not going to make it today. Sorry.

A message popped up, directly to me.

Dani Liu: So, Reid

My stomach pitched again and filled with unease. She knew. I stared at her words before tapping out a reply.

Gemma Clarke: A momentary lapse in judgement that will not be happening again

A pause, and then typing dots.

Dani Liu: It’s not a big deal, they broke up. Keep it all above board, you know?

My lungs tightened.

Gemma Clarke: We’re friends. That’s it.

22

Reid

GEMMA CLARKE: Not going to make it today. Sorry.

I knew this would happen. We went too far, and she freaked out and bolted like she always did. What a surprise.

This is what I got. She’d eat me alive. I knew it and yet I circled her, getting closer and closer until I got bitten.

I sighed and stared out the window of my apartment, and the way Gemma had sighed against me whistled in my ears.

I leaned my forehead on the glass. I couldn’t mull around, staring out the window and being frustrated with myself. I strode to my bedroom, tossed my phone on my bed, changed into running clothes, and laced up my shoes.

When I got back to the theater two hours later, I collapsed on the couch upstairs without stretching. I didn’t pace myself during my run. I ran until running was all I could think about. I ran until I couldn’t feel her mouth against mine or hear her sigh into me or smell her shampoo.

On my phone, I checked the distance I had run. I was going to feel that tomorrow.

“DO you have it handled out here?” I asked Naz and Sam that evening. The doors had just opened and customers were milling in and she’d be here any moment. My feet hurt, my legs were stiff, and I was still in a bad mood from this morning and wanted to shield everyone from it.

Sam tossed a piece of popcorn into his mouth. “Yep. A hundred percent handled.”

I was catching up on emails and paying invoices when Gemma stepped inside the office and closed the door behind her.

I froze.

“Hi,” she said. Her expression was defiant with a hint of defensiveness.

“Hi.”

She chewed her lip, the same lip she bit in the closet while she came on my fingers. “I have to be here because of the show.”

“Okay.”

She crossed her arms. “I’m not avoiding you.”

I shrugged and turned back to my desk. “Fine.”

“So drop the attitude.”

I coughed out a humorless laugh and swiveled around to look at her. “You’re the one acting weird. You know you kissed me first, right?”

She inhaled a deep breath and glared at me like a bull before it charged. “You…” She searched for the words while looking irritated. “You dressed up like Westley. Of course I kissed you.”

My eyebrows went up. A smug satisfaction grew inside my chest. “Are you calling me handsome?”

She waved her hand. “Whatever.” Her expression softened. “We can’t do stuff like that. If I even look like I’m about to kiss you, put your whole palm on my face and push me away.”

I snorted.

She lifted her hand and pushed into the air. A small grin grew on her face. “Like this. Very good at deterring women, I’ve heard.”

We watched each other for a moment. Her hair was extra curly today and I itched to dig my fingers into it.

I didn’t know how much more of this I could do, this dance between us. Each time we crashed against each other, it hurt more. For years, Derrick had strung Rory along. That wouldn’t be me.

“We’re friends,” I told her.

She nodded.

“No more of that other stuff.”

“Exactly.”

“We should stay out of situations where that stuff could happen.”

“Like closets.”

“Right. No more closets.”

Dani knocked on the door and Gemma opened it. Dani glanced between us and gave us a look like I don’t want to know. “Oscar wants to know how to adjust the dishwasher temperature.”

I stood, feeling every step I had run that morning. “I’ll show him.”

Gemma frowned as I gingerly walked past her.

In the hallway, we bumped into Trevor, who held beers in both hands. He looked between the three of us with a suggestive look on his face. “What, no invite to the threesome?” He nudged me. His breath smelled like alcohol. “Share the fun, am I right, bro?”

My fists clenched. This fucking guy. I gave him my best fuck off look.

Trevor narrowed his eyes at Gemma and slugged his beer. His eyes were bleary. “What’s this I hear about a variety show?”

She tensed beside me. Protectiveness surged in my chest.

“Nothing,” she gritted out.

He shrugged and drained the beer in one go before tossing the glass into a nearby recycling bin. It shattered inside the bin.

“Glasses go in the bus bins, dude,” Dani said in a flat voice. She stared daggers at him.

He burped. “Sorry.”

“What do you mean, sorry?” Gemma tilted her head and frowned.

He shrugged and started on the other beer before between Dani and the end of the hallway, where the bar was. “Can I get another?”

Dani and Gemma exchanged a glance.

My gaze bored into him. “She doesn’t wait on you.”

Dani held a hand up to me. “I got this, Reid. No free drinks anymore,” she told Trevor. “You know this. Also, you’re on in half an hour.”

“So?”

Gemma crossed her arms over her chest. “So don’t get shit-faced.”

He took a wobbly step toward us and without thinking, I moved in front of Gemma.

He strained to look at her past me. “Worried I’m going to kill out there while your tampon jokes bomb? That’s why you didn’t get in to Scattershot.” His words slurred. My blood started boiling. “No one wants to see a chick tell jokes on stage and nag about hormones and shit. If Oscar booked more dudes, this place wouldn’t be struggling—”

“That’s enough.” My voice was more authoritative than I expected. If I used that voice with Sally, she’d never come out from under the bed.

He smirked and circled his finger around his face. “Look at this mug. This mug is gonna be famous.” He winked at Dani and Gemma. “Better make your move while you have the chance, the younger versions are right around the corner.” He turned and disappeared through the stage door.

Every muscle in my body tensed. I took three deep breaths. Memories of this conversation would fuel my runs for months.

“Fucking asshole,” Dani muttered and stalked off toward the bar.

I stared after him. “I can’t stand that guy.”

Gemma sighed and leaned against the wall with a look of adoration. “I’m in love with him.”

My stomach dropped. “What?”

She pretended to barf. “Kidding. Guys like Trevor are everything wrong with the planet, along with mosquitos and people who try to climb over you to get to the washroom on planes. I wish he’d go back to being late so we didn’t have to talk to him before shows.” She turned and headed down the hallway to the stage. “Remember, no closets,” she said over her shoulder.

“No closets,” I affirmed.

She rocked her set that night. The projection room was usually silent but with Gemma onstage, Sam and I filled it with laughs. I had trained him on the lights and projector so he was often up there running the controls. She polished some jokes, tried a couple new ones, and even did a little crowd work, asking the front row where they were from, what they did for a living, how they knew each other. When she leaned in and looked at someone, they lit up, basking in the warm light of her attention.

Lucky bastards.

Her set ended and I turned to Sam. “Want anything from downstairs?”

He shook his head. “Nope. All good.”

“Gemma Clarke, everyone,” Trevor said into the mic and another round of applause filled the theater. I smirked to myself. Following her set wouldn’t be easy, but that asshole deserved an uphill climb after what he said to them in the hallway. After the theater closed tonight, I was going to talk with Oscar about not booking him anymore.

Trevor took a slug of his beer and cocked his head at the audience. “Isn’t Gemma just a peach?”

The sarcastic spike to his words stopped me in the doorway. Gemma gave a quick wave to the audience before disappearing into the wings.

I stepped forward beside Sam, watching the stage. The back of my neck prickled.

“She’s pretty funny, right? Not bad for a girl,” Trevor said. A few of his words slurred together.

Anger flared up inside my chest. Pretty funny? She was a hell of a lot funnier than his hack ass.

“If the mic cuts out, kill the lights,” I told Sam.

He gave me a look of alarm. “Really?”

I was already through the door, hustling down the stairs.

Trevor's voice traveled into the lobby. “She’s not bad looking, either.”

I sprinted through the lobby.

“What’s going on?” Oscar asked after me.

“Not like some of the dogs who try to do what we do,” Trevor said as I opened the stage door and stepped backstage. “Yeesh. I see some of them and I’m like, we get it, you have depression. Brush your hair.” There were considerably fewer laughs after he said this.

My teeth clenched so hard my jaw hurt. He wandered back up the stage, staring into the wing, straight at Gemma.

She stood there, frozen, clutching her stomach like she’d been sucker punched. A piece of my heart broke off.

“Reid,” Dani said quietly, right behind me.

“Get ready.” I reached for where Trevor's mic plugged in to the sound system.

She nodded, her expression hard and determined.

“You know what I heard about Gemma, though?” Trevor asked the audience. “I heard she—”

I yanked the connection out. The theater plunged into dim light and the audience began buzzing.

“I heard she—’s the best fuck you’ll ever have, but you’ll only have her once. Hey! The mic isn’t working. Hello?”

Dani stepped forward but Gemma unfroze and stopped her with a hand.

“Wait,” she told Dani. “I got this.”

Gemma strode out and ripped the mic from his hand. I was right behind her. I grabbed his shirt and dragged him off the stage in the dark.

“What the fuck?” Trevor tried to wrench out of my grip but I was angrier than he was. “Fuck off. I’m the headliner.”

Blood whistled through my veins. “Don’t talk to her. Don’t even look at her.”

The stage lights came back on. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Dani plug the mic back into the sound system.

“Everyone give Trevor a round of applause,” Gemma said into the mic. “He’s having a hard day. His mom made him clean his room.”

The audience laughed.

“I’m in an abusive relationship with a Polish woman.” She paused. Her voice was solid and strong like nothing had even happened. “I see her once every few months and she squeezes gunk out of my face and tells me how bad my skin is. I pay her money to do that.”

The audience laughed, and Gemma laughed too, shaking her head. “And I keep going back to her.”

My pulse thudded in my ears as I threw the emergency exit open and shoved Trevor through. He staggered back against the wall.

“Listen to me, jackass,” I growled, grabbing the front of his shirt. He struggled against me but I was bigger, stronger, angrier, and sober. “You will never come back here. You aren’t welcome here. If you ever bother Gemma or Dani or any woman ever again, I will find you and make you miserable.”

He scoffed but I shook him by his shirt. “Understand?”

“Fine.” Trevor pushed my hands away and I let him.

Inside, another comic was on stage, telling a joke about how Persian grandmothers were the scariest and strictest of all the grandmothers. The audience laughed and forgot all about Trevor.

Gemma stood in the wings, watching me. I wanted to wrap her up in a blanket and take her upstairs. I wanted to bring her Trevor’s head on a stick.

I stepped up beside her and leaned down. “He’s gone.”

She searched my face. “Did that happen? Am I hallucinating?”

I wrapped my arm around her and pulled her toward the stage door. “Come on.”

She let me pull her into the office. Once seated on the couch, she turned to me. “Why would he do that?”

I raked my hand through my hair. “You know how you said bombing on stage makes you work harder?”

She nodded and her throat worked. Another stab of fury ripped through me and I had the urge to pull her onto my lap. Instead, I crossed my arms over my chest.

“And any time you have a bad set or the joke doesn’t land the way you want, you come back at it from a different angle?”

“Sure.”

“I think instead of doing it your way, Trevor blames others.”

“He said that weird stuff earlier tonight, about if Oscar booked more dudes.”

“Yeah. That’s what tipped me off. He wants it easy. The jokes he tells are easy, and he wants to go back to a time where the bar was low and everyone laughed. Comedy is people like you now. There aren’t as many spots for boring white guys as there used to be, so they have to be better.”

She stared at the floor while my chest hurt. I needed to make this better. I needed to make her feel better, but I didn’t know how. I couldn’t turn back time to prevent Trevor from getting onstage or being born.

She glanced up at me with a jolt. “I have a set at another club,” She checked the time on her phone, “and I need to leave now.”

I was already on my feet. “We’ll take my car.”

“No, Reid. It’s Saturday night, they need you here.”

I waved away her words, picking up my keys off the desk. “They’re fine.”

We stared at each other, and the same question floated in both our heads. What if Trevor was at the next gig?

She tipped her chin up. She was being brave, and at the same time, it was making me proud and breaking my heart. Going to her job shouldn’t require her to be brave.

“I can handle him myself,” she said.

“I know you can.” I blew a breath out. “But I’d like to help, because we’re friends.”

She needed a friend, so that’s what I would be.

23

Gemma

“I WOKE up this morning in the middle of a dream about eating candy. I took a bite but the candy was spongey.”

I paused and shot the audience a sharp look. I’d been workshopping this joke, whittling it down to the bones. Also, Trevor’s antics had rattled me, so I went with a tried-and-true bit.

“I woke up with an earplug in my mouth.”

It roused a big laugh from the audience and my shattered nerves reassembled. We were in a small venue in Chinatown above a little Asian market. We arrived to a lineup down the stairs and out the door. About sixty people packed into the small room with a makeshift stage and a mic. People huddled together on old couches lining the room, sat on coffee tables, and lined the walls. An assortment of tacky thrift-store artwork decorated the walls and half-melted candles sat on tables, coating them with piles of wax.

Reid perched on a stool near the back at the bar, drinking a beer and watching my set. Once we confirmed Trevor wasn’t here, I urged him to go back to the theater, but he waved me off and headed to the bar.

I waited for the laughter to die down before I continued.

“I’ve been losing earplugs for months.”

Another big laugh from the audience. I looked at the front row and laughed with them.

“Can someone drive me to the ER?” I asked amid more laughs.

This. This was what it was all about, this joyful fucking bliss. This connected feeling between all of us in this room. The Trevor bullshit from earlier melted away. Dealing with assholes like him was worth it for this.

After my set, I took a seat beside Reid and we watched the rest of the comics. When the show was over, a couple people gave me nods or high fives or said hello and Reid waited patiently. I felt a stab of guilt over bailing on him this morning. Here he was, helping me kick sexist comics off stage and chauffeuring me around like a bodyguard.

“You don’t need to drive me home,” I told him after.

He gave me a flat look. “It’s dark out.”

“I’m okay. I’m a grown woman.” I squeezed his knee.

He tensed, staring at my hand on his knee. He looked like he wasn’t breathing. I caught myself and pulled it back.

Right. Boundaries. No dark closets. Friends.

His eyes settled on me and my face warmed. “I’m driving you home.”

After finishing our drinks and saying goodbye to the other comics and the organizer, I sat in the passenger seat of his car. Rain pelted the windshield. He sprawled out in his seat, one arm propped on the door and one hand on the wheel.

He drove considerately, leaving room for other cars, letting other people merge in front, and using his turn signal. Who would have thought I’d be impressed by a turn signal?

I inspected my reflection in the side mirror. This rain was torture on my hair. Curls stuck out of my head at odd angles. “I feel like all I ever do is work and gigs.”

“I forget you have a day job sometimes. When are you going to quit?”

I laughed. “Et tu, Brutus? You sound like Dani and Oscar. I can’t imagine not having a day job.”

“Come on. You must be exhausted. You have gigs every night of the week.”

I shrugged. “I want to be a comic, and that means I have to work hard. I’m not ready to move to LA.”

He frowned. “Why would you move?”

“All the good comics live in LA and New York. That’s where all the comedy jobs are, stand-up and writing gigs for late night shows and TV.”

“So you need to move to LA,” he said as if he were saying it to himself.

I chewed my fingernail. “One day, but I’m not good enough yet. And I can’t leave Sam alone here.”

“You are good enough, and if you quit and do it full time, you’ll get better faster. And Sam? He’s not alone. He has tons of friends, they’re always coming in to the theater.”

I winced. “Sorry. He’s always been popular.”

He shook his head. “It’s fine. His friends are all good kids. And he has Cady and Dani and Matilda and Oscar, who treat him like their own little brother. And me.”

My heart bloomed in my chest. He was right, and I knew if something happened to me or if I moved away, they’d take care of him. My friends were the best. And when Reid included himself on the list of people who would take care of Sam, I forgot about his and Cady’s history. I was just talking to another friend.

He nodded his chin at me. “Take the leap. Quit your job.”

“I can’t do that. I can’t quit.”

That wasn’t quite true. I could go about six months without working before things got dire. I’d always been fastidious about having enough in the bank in case something happened. I didn’t know what that something would be—maybe a sudden layoff or Sam’s scholarships and student loans fell through.

I thought back to Sam as a kid, peeking out the front windows past his bedtime, waiting for her to come home so she could tuck him in. She’d always say she’d be home to tuck him in and she never was, but he always waited by the window anyway.

I had to be reliable for Sam.

“It’s not the right time,” I told Reid, tucking my hands between my knees.

On my street, he pulled over to the curb and put the car in park.

“You okay?” he asked. “About tonight, and Trevor?”

“I think so.” I didn’t speak for a second, gathering my thoughts. “It’ll be weird next time I see him at the theater. I don’t want to do a set with the same audience who he says those things to.” I clasped my hands together. This had been bothering me all night. “And is that what people say about me? Are people talking about my—” I swallowed. Shame burned on my face. “—sex life behind my back?”

Reid reached for my hands. “Hey, hey,” he said in a low voice. His hands were warm and the callouses made my skin tingle. I had the urge to trace my fingers over his. “No one is saying those things. He’s the worst and his opinion doesn’t matter. Everyone knows that.”

I nodded, unsure if I believed him. I wanted to.

He looked away. “He won’t be at the theater anymore.”

“What do you mean?”

His expression dimmed like when the lights flicker during a storm. “He doesn’t perform there anymore.”

“What? Oh my god. I can’t believe Oscar finally banned him.”

He took his hands back and looked out the windshield. “Yeah.”

“I mean, that’s great, but I’m doing more gigs around town now. I’m bound to see him somewhere.”

“Hmm,” Reid acknowledged in his throat. We sat there in silence a second longer.

I swallowed. “I’m sorry about this morning.”

His eyebrows went up in exaggerated surprise but I could see some sincerity there. “An apology? From the Grand High Witch?”

I rolled my eyes. “Stop it.”

His eyes widened in faux-terror. This version of Reid was so different from the one I used to spit insults at across the bar at The Indigo all those months ago. “Are you about to end me so I don’t tell anyone about this?”

I laughed and poked his thigh. He flinched in pain.

“Hilarious. You should be the one on stage.” It took me a second to realize he wasn’t faking the pain. Earlier tonight in his office, he had stood with difficulty, and his footsteps were heavy and rigid going down the stairs in the second venue. “You’ve been limping all night. What’s wrong?”

He straightened up and readjusted in his seat, wincing. “I went for a run today.”

“You run all the time.”

“I went a little further than normal.” His voice held tension while he stared out the windshield.

Another twinge of guilt hit me, right in between my lungs and my stomach. “I’m sorry again. I freaked out.”

He turned and gave me a quick smile. “I know. It’s fine. Really.”

We sat there for a second in the quiet car and I knew he meant it, that it was forgiven and forgotten.

“Thanks for driving me home.”

He nodded and his gaze slid down to my lips, where it hovered for several seconds. “Anytime.”

Another twinge down my torso, but this one wasn’t unwelcome. His eyes darkened and quick flashes of last night played in my head. Heat streaked through me, straight between my legs.

Boundaries. No dark closets. Comedy.

I pressed my lips together, hiding them. “Stop that.”

He lifted his eyes to mine in alarm. “Stop what?”

“Stop giving me that look.”

“What look?” He lifted an eyebrow and the slightest grin grew on his face.

My face warmed. “You were giving me a hot look.”

“What kind of look? Show me.”

My face went slack with my mouth open, staring at his mouth. I gurgled.

He burst out laughing. “Is that supposed to be me? You sound like Chewbacca.”

“You look like him, too. Your beard needs a trim.” I reached out without thinking and rubbed the side of my thumb across his scruff.

I froze. The air in the car changed by a note.

I was about to pull back but he grabbed my hand and gave the inside of my wrist a soft kiss.

I felt the contact of his lips against my wrist all the way down my spine.

“Goodnight, Gem.” Still holding my wrist, he leaned forward with that knowing, confident smile, and placed a quick kiss on my cheek, so quick I didn’t even have time to think. His mouth was warm and his scruff bristly against my cheek and I caught the remnants of his aftershave or deodorant or whatever men used that smelled so heavenly.

“Goodnight,” I choked.

He watched after me as I climbed out. His car was still there when I opened the front door of the building, and only when I turned on the light in my apartment did he pull away.

While brushing my teeth later, I snorted at the idea that I ever thought Reid was like Trevor. What did I call him one time, the Men’s Rights Fairy? It couldn’t have been further from the truth—the two were nothing alike. Reid rooted for the underdog. Reid liked and respected women. Reid wasn’t a gross misogynist loser. He was funny, generous, thoughtful, a great cook. He made me a website for my birthday.

And fucking hell, he was good looking. I kept hearing his groan as he released in my mouth. A wicked smile grew on my face, thinking about it.

But then memories of my mom drifted into my head, and how she fell head over heels for the wrong guy, again and again. And then how Shane felt like the right guy right before he humiliated me.

I was seconds from falling asleep when I realized I forgot to remind him I hated him.

24

Gemma

IT HAD BEEN two weeks since Halloween. Every night, I did a gig around town, and on Thursdays, Fridays, and Saturdays, I did my set at the theater and then another afterwards, somewhere else in the city.

Reid accompanied me to every single one.

Anytime I told him he didn’t need to bodyguard me against Trevor, he would brush my concerns off. “This is what friends do,” he would always say.

And then he’d pull my wrist to his mouth and scrape his teeth over my pulse. Or he’d lean in and nip my ear. Or he’d comb his fingers into the back of my hair and slowly tug my head back so I was looking at him.

It was driving me fucking crazy. I was constantly horny, always thinking about him, flipping through the possibilities. And the way his mouth slowly hitched up as he did those things, as I melted under his touch, he knew it.

He knew what he was doing. He was giving me just enough space to make me crazy. He was trying to break me.

I was like one of those cartoons where the character is dangling over the cliff, holding on by their fingernails. I still thought about what we had done, late at night by myself. Sometimes I even talked myself into considering it again with him. What was one more time?

I had a bad feeling about it, though. I’d lose my head with Reid. I knew it.

“Aren’t you sick of hearing the same jokes over and over?” I asked one weekend afternoon. We were out for a walk with Sally in a park in the neighborhood. “You know the other comics’ jokes now, too.”

He shot me a panty-melting smile. “I don’t mind. I liked the way you ended the old-guy-on-Tinder joke last night. It got a bigger laugh.”

“I think you’re right. I saw you chatting with Jin. How’s he doing?” Jin worked at Bandit and another venue I performed at, an art gallery in East Van.

“He’s good. He was telling me about the new beers they’re doing for winter. He might come running me with me next week.”

I smiled at him. “You’re making friends. I’m so proud of you.” I was only half-joking.

He rolled his eyes but grinned. “You think we’re ready for the variety show?”

It was the next weekend. I had scheduled the lineup, the alcohol was sitting in the storeroom, and we had sold about half the tickets, which meant I had some hustling to do in the next week. At the end of every set, I plugged the variety show, listed other comedians on the lineup, and encouraged people to buy tickets. I posted daily on social media. I had emailed everyone I had ever met. Every day, I thought about the variety show and prayed to the universe it would go well.

“I think so. I can’t think of what else we could do.” My mouth quirked at him. “And thanks for everything you’ve done.”

His gaze warmed me from the inside out. “No problem. Anything for a friend.”

As much as I had grown to love performing at the theater and hanging out with Reid and Naz and Sam, I knew we couldn’t do it forever. We had to go back to The Indigo. The accounting at his theater was done, but we still met the past two Saturdays to watch a movie and eat breakfast. Things were so easy with Reid. I’d never known someone quite like him.

“I’m going to miss performing at the theater.”

Reid looked solemn while we waited for Sally to sniff a mailbox. He had slipped on a dark green toque before we left the theater and in the color brought out the green in his hazel eyes. “Me too, Ice Queen.” He swallowed and smirked at me. “But you’re going to finish helping me make my place look like, what did you say, somewhere a human lives?”

I laughed. We had gone furniture shopping the previous weekend. “Yeah, when people walk in, you want them to say, ‘what a lovely home’ and not ‘oh no, you’ve been robbed!’ Your place is going to look so good, Reid. You’re going to have to kick me out.”

“Never.” He smiled down at me. “Your nose is red like a Christmas elf.”

“It’s cold.” I put my hands in my pockets. It was late November but sunny today, and we had a quick break from the rain. Rain every day and dark at four in the afternoon was November’s calling card in Vancouver. There was something about the winter rain, it seeped into your bones and stayed there. The sunshine did great things for my brain, though. It made everything a bit more cheerful.

“Here.” He whipped his toque off and pulled it over my head, past my eyes.

I took a couple wobbly steps forward with my hands out and felt around like I was blindfolded.

“Reid, is that you?” I patted the mailbox Sally was still sniffing. I bent down to pet her. “Oh, Reid, there you are.”

I could hear him laughing quietly.

Sally got excited at the attention and jumped up on me, trying to lick my face.

“Reid, please, that’s very rude. Keep your tongue to yourself. And shave your back, you’re so hairy.” I pulled the toque off. “Oh, my mistake. Hello, Sally.”

A woman smiled at us as she passed.

He shook his head at me and a warm smile played on his mouth. “I can’t take you anywhere.”

My stomach flopped and that feeling was back, that languid warmth spreading throughout me. The maybe feeling.

“You have to put up with me. We’re friends.”

Of course, I still thought about him with his shirt off, or standing there in his running attire with his hair all damp and the tops of his cheeks flushed. Sometimes, I’d look up when I was standing at the bar or talking to someone, and he’d be watching me with this intense look like the one I saw in his apartment on Thanksgiving. Like he was picturing things. Naked things. That look made my face redden and my adrenaline surge, but the important part was I wasn’t going to act on it. I was an evolved human and able to prevent myself from acting on those feelings, on account of wanting to be a successful comedian and avoid demise via heartbreak at all costs. Naturally.

This was the point where my mother would dive headfirst into a relationship. She’d be learning lines, going to auditions, and then suddenly, she’d stop being home for dinner, she’d get a new haircut, and she’d become an expert on jazz or skiing or fishing or the stock market, whatever the man in her life was into. Her old production tapes would get moved to a closet. She’d marry that guy and stop going to auditions.

I smiled at Reid, standing beside me, gazing down at Sally. It would be so, so easy to go with the flow and stumble into dark closets with him. Too easy. I had to keep my head in the game and focus on writing and honing great jokes.

THE NEXT MORNING, Dani, Cady, and I huddled in the corner at our favorite greasy spoon brunch joint. Matilda was at a conference in Seattle.

“Can we get some more coffee, please?” Dani asked the overworked server, who gave a harried nod and disappeared.

I unlocked my phone and pulled up the to-do list for the variety show. “Dani, do you think those cases of liquor in the storeroom are enough?” The variety show was the next weekend and I had been running through my checklist again and again, trying to avoid any issues. “I’m trying to balance between buying too much and too little.”

Dani mentally counted and nodded. “It’ll be fine. It’s double what we go through on a normal night. If you buy too much, we’ll add it to inventory.”

I checked the list I’d been making on my phone. “Do you need any help with props?” Dani and some comedians were performing a series of sketches. “Reid can help bring things backstage if you need an extra hand.”

She shook her head. “We’ll be fine.”

I looked to Cady, scanning the menu and clacking her nails on the table. “Thanks for posting about the variety show on the improv school account. That was a huge help.”

She appeared not to hear me, but a little crease of worry formed between her eyebrows. I reached over and poked her. She stilled.

I made a go on gesture. “Out with it.”

She laughed. “See, this is why I like traveling. People in other cities don’t know my tells.”

Dani raised an eyebrow. “Come on.”

She rolled her eyes. “Okay, fine. I wanted to ask how Reid is doing.”

I opened and closed my mouth. “Oh.” How was Reid doing? He smiled a lot. He laughed at jokes and made jokes of his own. I hadn’t seen dark circles under his eyes in some time. He was running a lot, but it didn’t seem to affect him. I’d brought him some of those pretzels filled with peanut butter recommended by a running forum online. “He’s good. Dani?”

She shrugged. “Gem hangs out with him more than I do.”

If you could call seeing each other every single day hanging out.

I laughed in a nervous busted way. “He’s making friends at some of the shows we go to. He’s busy with the theater but I think he likes having Oscar and Dani and Sam there.” And me. I think it was safe to say he liked having me around. I shrugged again. “He seems good.”

Cady nodded and drained her coffee. “Good. Good. That’s good.”

I played with my napkin. “Everything good with you in that department?”

She nodded again. This whole conversation was nodding and shrugging and us saying ‘good.’ “Yeah. It’s still weird with us, you know? I don’t know if that’ll ever go away, but I’m happy he’s making friends and things are going well for him.”

I smiled at her but inside, I felt strange. I was happy for him too, so I don’t know what the deal was. I was only doing what Cady had asked—I was keeping an eye on him. Reid and I were friends. She wanted that.

Cady set her empty mug down and glanced around for the server. “I’ll go get the pot.”

She stood up and left and Dani watched her leave before turning to me.

“So,” she started, focusing on me.

My stomach tensed. I felt like my skin was see-through.

She leaned back and pinned me with her gaze. “It’s funny, Reid and I are friends. But he’s never driven me home or asked me to help pick out furniture or made me breakfast.”

My blood stilled. “He told you about that?” What else had he told her? Did he tell her about Thanksgiving? About Halloween? About the website he made me?

I swallowed, and she waited for me to say something. I opened my mouth and closed it. I couldn’t do this. We sat in tense silence for a moment. “I know what it looks like, but it’s nothing. We’re friends. Nothing more.”

She watched me with the slightest furrow to her brow, like when she studied her textbook behind the bar on slow nights.

“You know I can’t. You know why.”

She nodded. “Alright,” she said softly as Cady entered our periphery.

Cady slid back into her seat. “This woman has a miracle remedy that’ll keep you going all day!” she said in an infomercial voice, topping each of our mugs up with the stolen coffee pot. “A brand-new caffeinated beverage sure to have energy shooting out of your fingertips. It’s called shitty diner coffee! Doctors hate her! Are we ready to order?”

“I am but Gem is undecided,” Dani said into her plastic menu.

OSCAR PULLED Dani and I into the office before my set that evening. Reid leaned against the bookshelf with a frown.

“What’s up?” I asked them.

Oscar clasped his hands together with a solemn expression. “The O’Sullivan Group made me an offer.”

My stomach dropped. Dani huffed.

“They came to me. They want to keep The Indigo as part of their portfolio because it has ‘gritty charm.’”

I choked. “CBC investigated them last year. Management has like twenty sexual assault claims that went nowhere.” They forced the female servers to work eight-hour shifts in heels and miniskirts. “Why are you even entertaining this?”

Oscar opened a bar to create something special and because he wanted to be his own boss. Selling the bar would erase everything he worked so hard for.

He blew a breath out. “Because even though we’re cutting costs and bringing in more revenue, it’s not enough.” He shrugged, looking frustrated and resigned and miserable. “It’ll take us months to get our heads above water. We have almost no cash on hand, I’m months behind on the rent and fending off angry calls every week, and we can’t keep doing this.” He lifted his gaze to Dani and I. “They’re going to pay for the remaining repairs. They agreed to keep all the staff on. This is the only way I can keep everyone’s jobs.” He swallowed. “I’m so tired of struggling. Wouldn’t it be nice to not have to worry anymore?”

Empathy stabbed me in the stomach. I could see his side of it, why he was considering their offer.

Dani chewed her nail. “What about the variety show?”

He gave us a small, sad smile. “We’ve only sold about half the tickets, and even if we sold out, it won’t be enough. That’s okay, though. It’s going to be so fun.” He pressed his lips together. “Like a last hurrah.”

My eyes stung and I blinked furiously. After all this, Oscar had to sell. The guy who only wanted to do right by his staff was going to be forced to work for a soulless, money-hungry corporation, the exact reason he started his own bar. My stomach pitched. It was so fucking unfair. Just as we were almost in the clear, the universe ripped it from our grasp.

The four of us stood in the office in a sad, resigned quiet.

It was Oscar’s business and he was in charge, but I was going to do everything I could to give him options. I was going to work my ass off so the variety show was a success.

25

Reid

“UH, REID?”

I closed the cash register, which I had been stocking with smaller bills for tonight, and looked at Sam. “What’s up?”

He swallowed and glanced past the empty lobby to the door of the theater. “There’s a line up.”

I looked at my watch. Five o’clock. “The variety show doesn’t start until eight.”

I opened the door to a wall of sound. A hundred people stood in line down the street. A news van set up in front of the theater.

My heart leaped.

After Oscar had told us he would likely accept the O’Sullivan Group’s offer, I had cycled through the stages of grief for my friend’s business he had put everything into.

Denial: this wasn’t happening.

Anger: how could Oscar do this? What about us? What about Dani, who hated wearing heels and skirts? What about Gemma, who would hate performing in bars owned by that group?

Bargaining: maybe we could still fix this. Maybe Oscar could get a bank loan. But he had talked to the banks and had extended his debt too much.

Depression: Oscar was going to sell the bar and everything was garbage.

And finally, acceptance: Oscar was going to sell the bar, everything was garbage, but we would make the best of our remaining time. The variety show was going to be a memory we looked back on and smiled. After seeing the line of people wrapping around the corner, I knew this would be true.

“Sam, call Oscar and tell him about this. Then call Naz and Jaime and Dani and let them know. They’ll know what to do.” Naz and Jaime were pros at keeping our stock levels up as long as they knew what to expect. Dani and Oscar could take care of the bar.

I approached the news van. “You here for the variety show?”

The reporter, a woman with very smooth hair, nodded.

I fished my business card out of my wallet and handed it to her. “I own the theater. If you want an interview with the host and organizer, Gemma Clarke, or Oscar, the bar owner, or any of the performers, let me know.”

She beamed at me. “I’ll take you up on that.”

I glanced back at the line and headed inside, grinning to myself. Gemma was going to lose it.

“PEOPLE ALWAYS SAY eyebrows are sisters, not twins,” Gemma said, floating across the stage in her floor-length rose gold gown. The sequins caught the stage lights and made her look like she was glowing. Her hair was curly and wild and her red lips were lethal, even from the projection room where I stood in my tux. She radiated charm, and the audience ate it up by the spoonful.

Fuck me. That dress.

“If that’s true, this one—” She pointed above one eye, “—is the pretty one that gets to go to the ball and this sister—” She pointed to the other, “—is the troll under the bridge.”

The joke roused a big laugh from the audience.

“This one goes to Harvard, and this one goes to Trump University.”

Another big laugh.

“This one volunteers with Doctors Without Borders and this one got salmonella poisoning from a gas station hot dog.”

A huge laugh on that last one. She shone and my heart ached. This was her big night, and she was killing it. Fucking hell.

For the first time, I saw Gemma for more than who she was at that moment. I saw who she would be. I knew she’d get everything she wanted. It was inevitable. This was her night. This night was going to change things for her. I knew it.

We had a full house that night. The concession was hopping and the bar was slinging as many drinks and appetizers as they could. Every comedian who had ever performed at The Indigo or the theater or at any show Gemma had ever been in was there—except Trevor.

“Speaking of salmonella poisoning, your next comedian is a regular at The Indigo and now here at the theater, it’s Jenn Wright!”

The audience applauded and the next comic ran on stage and took the mic from her.

“Give it up for our host, Gemma Clarke! She’ll be here all night so show her some love.”

Gemma waved and disappeared offstage. I leaned over to look at the audience through the window.

“Hey Reid?” Naz interrupted my thoughts. She stood in the doorway to the projection room, also wearing a tuxedo. We all were—Naz, Jaime, Dani, Oscar, and Sam. We all wanted to look good for tonight, so I rented them. I already had one, gathering dust in the back of my closet from a wedding party I was in a couple years ago.

“Everything okay downstairs?”

She nodded. “Everyone’s inside the theater. Want me to take over here for a while?”

“Sure. Text me if you want us to bring you up anything or need help.”

Downstairs, Oscar, Dani, and Sam took a breather while Jaime made drinks for the last customer in the lobby.

Oscar ran a hand through his hair. “Holy hell! Didn’t know it was going to be like this.”

I checked the time and nodded at Dani. “You want me to come get you when it’s time to warm up?” Her sketch group was performing tonight, along with Cady’s improv group. I hadn’t seen Cady yet, though.

“No, I’m watching the time.” Dani checked her phone with a frown. “I’m getting a lot of congratulatory messages.”

“Excuse me, Reid?” the reporter said at my side. “We’re ready.”

I nodded at her. “Thanks. Oscar, I’ll cover for you. Where’s Gemma?”

“Here I am,” she said at my side and my heart leaped for the second time tonight.

From the projection room, she was charming and beautiful and funny, but up close?

Jaw dropping. Breathtaking. Heart stopping.

I was a dead man. I never stood a chance.

I swallowed and looked at that spot where her neck met her shoulder, the spot I loved to stroke with my thumb. Her eyes glittered, watching me. “They’re ready for the interview.”

She nodded and smiled at me, her gaze trickling down my form. She had that post-stage buzz still. “Great. You look handsome, by the way.”

The words caught in my throat. What was I going to say? That this was all for her? That any chance of us being real friends was hopeless, and I was waiting in the wings for her?

She left to do the interview with a wink and I watched her walk away, the dress swishing around her feet.

“Reid. Reid!” Dani waved her hand to get my attention and showed me her phone.

It was a Tweet by Eddie Chu, a comedian who sold out stadiums in the nineties and two thousands but retired from comedy about ten years ago.

Eddie Chu @ 9:11pm

Droppin’ in to The Capitol all-night variety show to test out my new hour. See you soon, Vancouver!

Sam's eyes went wide. “He tweeted it ten minutes ago and it’s already trending.”

I looked at Dani. “Uhh…”

She went rigid and stared at nothing in front of her. “Reid, Eddie fucking Chu is coming here. What are we going to do?”

I dipped down to catch her eye. “Dani. Look at me. This is going to be okay.”

“What’s going to be okay?” Oscar asked, leaning over to see the Tweet. He paled. “Holy crap.”

“Holy crap is right,” Dani said.

“It has two thousand retweets,” Sam said, looking at his phone. “The internet is blowing up. And the donation page has met our target.”

“Already?” Oscar’s eyes darted around.

“Dani, Sam, put your phones away.” I pointed at them. “You’re freaking everyone out. Oscar, you’re on door. Get ready because it’s going to get crazy. Dani, you and Jaime are on bar. Sam, concession. Naz is upstairs in the projection room and I’ll run communications and help out where needed. Shout if you need anything.” I grinned at all of them. “This is the big night. We got this. Okay?”

They all nodded. Dani seemed to have calmed down a bit.

“What’s going on?” Gemma asked at my side. The reporter and her cameraman were packing up.

Everyone looked at her and then me.

“What?” she asked.

“WE’VE HAD A CHANGE OF PLAN,” Gemma called in the office, which was functioning as a green room for tonight, like she had joked about. Inside, improvisers played warm-up games, sketch comedians got into costume and stand-up comics flipped through their notebooks, muttering to themselves.

“Is this about the Tweet?” one of the comedians asked.

“You bet it is. Eddie Chu will be here for midnight.” She pointed to the improvisors and the sketch comedians. “You’re bumped to one o’clock, whenever Eddie wraps up. He’s doing an hour.”

They nodded. They understood. This was the business, Gemma had explained to me in the hall. Comedians got bumped when bigger fish wanted stage time.

“Tell everyone on social media,” she directed and they pulled out their phones.

“Dani will do fifteen after Dave gets off the stage around eleven fifteen. Pat?” She smiled at him. “You’re opening for Eddie.”

Pat shook his head. “Gem, this is your event. You should do it.”

She took a step toward him with her hands on her hips. “No way, dude. Not only am I the host and that’s poor form, you’re the biggest comic of all of us here, and you’re funny as hell. You’re doing it.”

He shook his head, stood, and gave her a huge hug. “You’re one in a million, you know that?”

She patted him on the back. “You’d do the same for me.”

I made eye contact with Cady across the office. She stepped her way through everyone to get to me.

“Hi,” she said.

“Hi,” I said, nodding at her. Tonight was the first time she’d ever set foot in the theater.

She glanced out the door behind me. “It’s beautiful. I can see why everyone loves it here.” She looked up at me with a thoughtful look. “It’s nice to see you like this.”

“Like what?”

“Doing what you always wanted. Happy.”

I thought about her loving her life in Amsterdam, a life she couldn’t have with me. “You too.”

We smiled at each other and something settled in my chest. She left the office and I stood there, watching comedians warm up and talk and laugh and take pictures and ask Gemma questions. I could hear audience members buzzing with excitement and energy in the lobby. A tight kind of happiness filled me. This memory would sit on the shelf with the other warm, grateful moments in my life.

Later, when Gemma stood there in the wings watching Eddie Chu with a look of complete adoration, I begged the universe for Gemma to get her turn. I could feel it in my blood, her potential, like her star was in a slingshot, about to fly high in the sky. Every part of me wanted great things for her, even if it meant she would leave for LA or New York. She couldn’t stick around this old theater forever, wilting and letting her shine wane.

Her destiny was out there in the bright lights, making people laugh so hard tears rolled down their faces and they gasped for air. She was made for the stage.

AROUND THREE THIRTY in the morning, the rush settled down. Eddie Chu had left the building, the improv and sketch groups had their stage time, and a movie played inside the full theater. Cady’s improv group had people wiping tears from their eyes. Dani’s sketch group had to keep pausing to let the audience laugh it out, but none of the performers minded one bit.

A chorus of laughs sounded in the theater.

“What’re we at?” I asked Dani.

She typed in her phone and her eyes went wide. Gemma looked over her shoulder and put her hand over her mouth. “Oscar. Oscar.” Dani grabbed his arm. “We made our goal… and then some.”

We had quadrupled it. Eddie Chu had handed Gemma a $10,000 cheque when leaving the stage, leaving her speechless.

Sam held up his phone. “He tweeted again.”

“Read it,” Gemma urged.

“‘Big thanks to The Indigo and The Capitol theater for tonight. Feels so good to be back on stage. My new hour is ready, are you? I’ll be touring starting in September so watch out. In the meantime, you can donate to the variety show here.’” Sam glanced up. “And he linked it. It has a thousand likes already.”

Gemma beamed at me with elated disbelief. Dani, Jaime, and Sam scrolled through the comments on the Tweet on her phone.

“Is that enough to get your head above water?” I asked Oscar with a grin.

“Yes. More than enough. I don’t—I can’t—I…” He looked at all of us with watery eyes.

Dani put her hand on his arm. “We know.”

“To be clear,” Gemma said, “this means no O’Sullivan Group, right? This isn’t our last hurrah?”

Oscar huffed a laugh. “Definitely not.”

We all stood there for a few minutes, talking and laughing and reading and re-reading the Tweet and refreshing the donation page, watching the number go up until I gestured at the empty lobby.

“I think the worst is over. If any of you want to go home, Oscar and I can handle the rest on our own.”

Dani shook her head. “Sam and I drank Red Bulls. We won’t be sleeping anytime soon. And besides, we’re all in this together.”

Jaime nodded. “I’m a bartender. I don’t sleep until four or five on weekends anyway.”

I nodded at them. “Right, how about I order some pizza?”

THE VARIETY SHOW went until eight in the morning. Another round of stand-up started around five, following by some silly sleep-deprived improv from Cady’s group that had the audience in stitches. They kept forgetting the storylines and character details but the audience was happy to help them out. The theater was full the entire time. Gemma maintained energy and roused the audience in between sets. She switched from heels to sneakers as soon as Eddie left.

At six in the morning, I called our local coffee shop and told them to bring coffee and bagels and breakfast wraps.

“We should do breakfast movies more often,” Gemma remarked. “Like, open the theater and play movies in the mornings.”

“We?” I asked her with a raised eyebrow. “Have you seen the donation page? The Indigo is going to be open in no time.”

It was a nail in my chest, but I knew it was a good thing.

She nodded and pressed her lips together. “Yeah, I saw. It’s amazing.” She looked up at me and gave me a sad smile. “I’m going to miss this place, though.”

When the last audience member had stumbled out into the blinding daylight and we swept up the last corn kernel, we said our goodbyes.

“Thank you all,” Oscar said, blinking hard and clearing his throat. “We’ll be back open in no time. I can’t thank you enough.”

I locked the door behind them and headed to the back staircase so I could take Sally for a quick walk and collapse for a couple hours before reopening the theater. A flash of gold sequins caught my eye in the office.

She stretched over the couch, eyes closed, mouth parted, hair fanned out and bare feet dangling off the edge. Her chest rose and fell.

I slid an arm underneath her shoulders and one under her knees and carried her up the stairs, careful not to wake her. Inside my apartment, Sally opened her eyes and yawned from her bed. I carried Gemma to my bedroom and lowered her onto the bed.

After taking Sally out for a quick walk—still wearing my tux, I was too tired to change—I removed my bowtie, threw my jacket over a chair, and laid down beside her on the bed. I watched her like that for a few moments, lips parted and chest rising and falling.

I WOKE up that afternoon to her watching me.

“Creepy.” My voice was groggy with sleep.

Her head rested on the pillow beside mine, pretty brown eyes studying my face. A feeling bloomed in my chest. Nostalgia, maybe. I already felt nostalgia for this moment, even though I was still living it.

She narrowed her eyes at me while smiling. “How did I get up here?” Her voice was gravelly with sleep, too.

“You fell asleep in the office, but it gets cold down there. And there are all the rats and scorpions and tarantulas to watch out for.”

“Right.” She sighed and looked out the window at the sunset. It was late afternoon in November so the sun set criminally early at this time of year. “I can’t believe how well last night went. We did it. Thank you for everything you did.”

“Believe it, Ice Queen. It was all you. You made that variety show a success.” I glanced at her dress. “Well, mostly you. Gotta give the dress some credit.”

A dreamy look came over her face, tinged with sadness.

“What are you thinking about?” I asked.

She studied the ceiling. “I wish my dad was here to see last night. He would have loved it. He would have stayed up all night and watched every show.”

I slipped my hand over hers and she turned to me, a wistful smile on her face. The thoughts that had been rolling around in my head for weeks sat right below my vocal cords. She looked so beautiful in the late-afternoon golden hour glow. I brushed a soft lock of hair over her ear, watching her expression. Her gaze clung to mine like a life raft.

I pulled her toward me and tucked her into my chest. My chin rested on top of her hair and I let out a long breath.

She wasn’t ready, so I would wait until she was.

26

Gemma

“A MUTUAL FRIEND told me a guy I used to see can’t get his new wife pregnant,” I told the audience with a raised eyebrow.

It was the Wednesday after the variety show. The show had revived something within me—an energy, an excitement for comedy and performing I forgot I had. I was having fun. Maybe it wasn’t all about working myself to the bone. Maybe it was about having fun on stage, connecting with people, because if I was having fun, the audience was, too. The sad reality that we had to go back to The Indigo at the end of December loomed in the background, but for now, I was ignoring it.

“I’m not surprised, seeing as he couldn’t get it up with me. HEYO!” I punched the air and roused a big, sudden laugh from the audience. Reid’s laugh rose above the rest and made my heart skip.

That night, I wore a tomato-red tailored suit and a white t-shirt with aqua blue hoop earrings. I was wearing white sneakers Dani had dug out of a bin at a thrift store last year. My hair had major volume. I felt very Miami Vice meets Hillary Clinton.

Pat gave me a high five when I stepped into the lobby after my set. He’d performed at the theater a couple times this month after the variety show whenever he was in town.

“Whiskey sour, as you like it,” Pat said at my side, handing me the drink. “Reid, that tux you wore at the variety show? You looked like an actor at the Academy Awards.” He punched Reid lightly on the shoulder and Reid’s beard twitched as he hid his smile.

That tux. I’d been thinking about Reid in that tux every day since the variety show. I had almost lost my mojo that night when I saw him standing there, all broad-shouldered and handsome like Paul Newman. And then again when I woke up on his bed the next day, when he was all undone and ruffled.

I wanted to be the one to make him look undone and ruffled.

“Gemma?” Pat asked.

My gaze snapped into focus. “Mmm?”

“Ladonna Hill needs an opener in Whistler this weekend. They’re opening the ski hill and throwing a big party with bands and comedians and stuff. I can’t do it because I have a Friday show in town. You in?”

My heart shot into my throat. Ladonna Hill was a big comedian. She was loud, bold, and her punchlines were unexpected. She had two Netflix specials already. Meeting her would be incredible, but opening for her?

A dream come true.

I glanced up at Reid. His eyes glowed with excitement and he nudged me with his elbow. He was excited for me. He wanted me to win.

My heart swelled with gratitude. I couldn’t believe we weren’t friends at one point. Having him in my corner made me feel like I could do anything.

Pat misinterpreted my silence as hesitation and gave me a what gives? look. “Gem! This is how it happens. People are going to hook you up and you need to take advantage of those opportunities.”

“You should do it, Ice Queen,” Reid added.

“Pat—” I started.

He shook his head. “The shows you’re doing this weekend can find other people. Hell, I’ll fill in for your spots. I’ll do five sets a night if I have to.”

“Pat! I’ll do it.”

“You will?”

I nodded and my chest shook with laughter. “One seat on the rocket ship, please.”

Pat pointed at me with enthusiasm. “There it is. You can take my car if you need a ride up there.”

“I’ll drive you,” Reid cut in. “They have it covered here this weekend.”

“Yes!” Pat shook me by my shoulders and I giggled and flopped around like a doll on purpose. “I’m going to message Ladonna with your info.” He stepped away, tapping on his phone.

I looked up at Reid with a little smile on my lips. Whenever I looked at him, I felt like smiling. He had a great face. Sharp jawline. Eyes filled with humor and warmth. “You don’t need to drive me. I can take the bus or rent a car.”

I wasn’t testing him. I would be fine taking the Greyhound or renting a car to drive up there. Him accompanying me to all my gigs, and now having to bodyguard me on the road? It was too much. I didn’t want to rely on him like this. Or make him think I was relying on him.

The idea of him and I spending more time together sent a little thrill through my veins, though.

“I want to. I haven’t been to Whistler since my twenties.” His mouth quirked. “It’ll be fun.”

“It’s going to be so fun.” I sloshed my drink a bit in excitement. “Oops.”

We paused, studying each other. Whistler was about a two-hour drive from Vancouver. Were we going to stay over Friday night? Or drive home after my set?

I gave him a side-long look. “I guess we’ll drive home Friday night…?”

His face was devoid of expression. “Let’s stay Friday night and leave Saturday morning. Check out Whistler’s brunch game.”

We’d be spending all of Friday and Saturday morning together. And the part in between. The nighttime part where sexy things have a high risk of happening.

Somewhere in the corner of my brain, an alarm was going off. Warning! Dangerously close to Relationship Territory! Sudden Doom Ahead!

But I told that alarm to shut up.

The Indigo was reopening in a month. I wouldn’t be spending as much time with Reid after. And one day, I’d be leaving Vancouver. A part of me wanted to savor this time with him, because I knew there was a ticking clock.

My face broke into a smile before I could stop it. I nodded. “Let’s do it.”

“It’s nice this time of year. Cold but not too cold.” He raised his eyebrows at me. “This is your first touring gig.”

Something pinged in my chest, a happy little chime of excitement. I beamed at him. “You’re right.”

He nodded and smiled down at me. “It’s happening.”

My stomach flopped and I took a long, calming inhale. “It’s happening.”

The expression on his face made me think he was going to swoop down and kiss me. Or hug me. Or something. He had this look of complete and total affection, like when he looked at Sally or when we were watching a good part in one of those rom-com movies he was always showing me. He was looking at me like I was the most important thing in the world to him.

I thought something would happen the night of the variety show. I had worn a gold dress. I pulled out the big guns. And with how good he had looked in his tux, I wouldn’t have resisted one bit if he had pulled me into his office and kissed me until my lips hurt.

But here in the theater, he was looking at me like he might. My heart raced. My brain showcased potential scenarios, like a menu.

Running my fingers through his hair while he kneeled in front of me, my head falling back against the door.

Tugging on his beard. Brushing my lips against his, feeling the gentle graze of his stubble.

Him pulling me against his chest

Him pushing me down onto my bed.

The memory of Shane flashed into my head, lying in my bed, flipping through my joke book.

I took a step back from Reid. “I need to get to my next gig,” I said louder than necessary, and gave him my big shiny stage smile. “See you tomorrow?”

Surprise flickered in his gaze before he covered it up. “See you tomorrow.”

I was nodding and I couldn’t stop, like a bobblehead on a car dashboard in stop-and-go traffic. “Cool. Cool, cool, cool.”

I gave him the finger guns and left.

The cold air hit me when I opened the door but my skin burned with heat.

Finger guns. Really?

All night, a question ran through my head on ticker tape. By going to Whistler with Reid, I was playing with fire. Could I handle it?

“LADONNA HILL?” Dani whispered into the phone. “The Ladonna? Ladonna with two Netflix specials?”

“The Ladonna. I’m going to barf,” I whispered back, smiling. “Also, you don’t have to whisper. Only I do.” I sat at my desk at work on Thursday morning, buzzing with excitement.

“I’m putting you on speaker. Hmm, there are no available Airbnbs in Whistler.”

“What are you talking about? Why are you looking up Airbnbs?”

“So we can all go up and join you.”

Alarm shot through me.

I could hear Dani typing on the other end. “It’s going to be tough to find a place on opening weekend. Hold on, I’ll see if Til and Cady are interested.”

“What? No!” My phone pinged in my ear with her message to the group chat. “I need to focus. I can’t party when I’m up there.” And I needed to spend as much time with Reid as I could before it was all over.

Ping.

“Your show is Friday night. You won’t even see us before.”

Ping. Pingping. Pingpingping.

“Noah’s rich uncle’s cabin is available.” She whistled. “Four bedrooms with a hot tub. That’ll do.”

Pingpingpingpingping.

I pulled the phone away from my ear and glanced at the screen. The chat with Matilda, Cady, and Dani was going nuts.

“Noah, Matilda, and Cady are in,” Dani said.

My stomach lurched, but what choice did I have? I couldn’t say, no, please tell everyone they can’t come because I wanted to hang out with my platonic male friend this weekend... and do non-platonic things.

What did that say about me, that I didn’t want all of my friends to join me on what was sure to be an incredible weekend? That I wanted him all alone to myself?

“I should invite Reid, too,” she said to herself, already in thinking and planning mode.

What did it say about me that I thought about him every day, from when I woke up until I went to sleep? That I looked forward to seeing him every night when I went to gigs? That I fantasized about running my hands over his chest or inhaling into him in that charged second before we kissed?

“Gem.” Dani’s voice was very far away.

Fuck.

I was in love with Reid. My feelings had pulled me under and it was too late.

My stomach tensed into a tiny steel ball. I wanted to slide off my chair and curl into the fetal position under my desk.

“Gem,” she repeated.

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, in and out. This was a catastrophe. I needed to find a way out of this.

“What’s going on? I can hear you breathing.”

Spending time with Reid was like playing on a merry-go-round with the big kids, spinning faster and faster. I was laughing and having a hell of a time and holding on for dear life but I had no idea how I was going to jump off and land in one piece.

I could keep it to myself, but it wouldn’t make it any less true. This was Dani. She’d take this to the grave if I asked.

“I’m in love with Reid.” My voice was quiet, small, and defeated. I fought this for so long. I did everything right. My stomach sunk into the floor.

She was silent on the other end, waiting.

“I don’t know what I did wrong.” My voice wavered. A tear rolled down my cheek I was grateful she couldn’t see.

“Oh, Gem,” she said in a soft tone. “You didn’t do anything wrong. You’re human, like the rest of us.”

“It’s all going to come crashing down like a house of cards but I don’t know how to stop it.” I stared at nothing in front of me, only seeing Reid’s face. “I don’t know if I want to.”

All I wanted to do was hang out with Reid. Somehow, he’d become one of my closest friends.

We were quiet for a moment.

“What are you going to do?”

“Nothing!” I said, louder than intended. “Just because…” I struggled for the words, “… this is happening doesn’t mean I have to do anything about it.”

A memory flashed into my head. I was thirteen and Mom and Sam’s dad had separated a couple months ago. She was getting out of bed every day and getting dressed and singing in the kitchen again. A sheet of paper sat on the counter beside the phone with a list of auditions.

And then she met the man who would become her third husband, and she stayed out later and later, and I made more and more dinners for Sam, and that sheet of paper sat untouched until it ended up balled up in the recycling.

I cleared my throat in my cubicle. “I’m going to leave it and it’ll go away. It’s like a rash or a bad haircut.”

Dani didn’t say anything.

“What?” I asked.

“I think you should talk to Cady.”

I shook my head furiously. “And say what? Oh, hi Cady, you know your ex who you were with for years? Well, surprise, turns out we’re two peas in a pod and I’m madly in love with him. But don’t worry, I’m not planning to do anything about it. I’m telling you so it can linger in the back of your head anytime you’re thinking about trusting me. How’s that dagger in the back feel? Here, let me wiggle it a bit for you.”

But Cady cared about me. She was one of my best friends and would be with me through thick and thin. Cady supported me no matter what, and I was in love with her ex and keeping it from her.

Men would come and go. My mother’s life was a testament to that. Girlfriends were forever. Girlfriends were special. Girlfriends were soulmates.

Cady had said it herself, she wanted Reid to be happy. She was over him. She wasn’t in love with him anymore.

Admitting it to her made it real, though. Panic sat at the edge of my consciousness, watching and waiting to pounce.

I blew a breath out. Fear wasn’t an excuse. “I have to tell Cady.”

“Yep,” Dani said.

Tonight, as soon as I saw her. I’d tell her then.

27

Gemma

REID LEANED on his car and eyed my suitcase as I wheeled it out the front door of my building on Friday afternoon. “You packed too much.”

“I’m a performer. This is how we pack.”

I handed him a coffee I picked up on my way home from work and studied his shorter, clipped hair. I bet the back of his neck would feel like velvet against my fingertips. “You got a haircut. And your beard is shorter. It looks nice.”

He looked more than nice, honestly. He looked incredibly handsome, like a guy from a deodorant commercial or an advertisement for an outdoor equipment store or a leading man from an old movie that played on TV on Sunday afternoons.

“It’s your big weekend. I can’t show up looking scruffy.”

“I like it when you look scruffy.”

“I bet you do.” He looked down at me with one of those gazes that warmed me to my toes, leaned down, and placed a soft kiss on my mouth.

I forgot every thought in my head.

I was still blinking in surprise when he straightened up, took the suitcase from me, and heaved it into his car.

“You make me crazy when you do that,” I muttered, opening the passenger door.

He winked and climbed into the driver’s side. “I know.”

Two hands grasped my shoulders and shook me. “Whistlerrrrr!” Noah sang from the backseat.

I whipped around. Sally lay curled in a ball beside him. “I didn’t know you were coming with us.”

Did he see Reid kiss me? Of course he had. Shit. We were doing a terrible job of keeping whatever was happening a secret. I’d have to lock that down for the next few hours.

Just until I spoke with Cady.

Noah shrugged. “I couldn’t get a ride with anyone else. Matilda said to ask Reid.”

This was supposed to be my time alone with Reid and now Noah was here.

I mustered a smile. “Whistler!” I sang lightly.

Reid nodded once at me. “Toothbrush?”

“Got it.”

“Deodorant?”

“Don’t need it,” I said, wiggling my eyebrows.

Reid winced. “We both know that’s not true.”

I snorted.

“Clean underwear?”

“Also don’t need it,” I said in a haughty voice.

He raised an eyebrow and a smug look flashed across his face. “Oh, really?”

“Really,” I lied, raising my eyebrows at him. “Commando all the way, baby.”

Heat flashed behind his gaze. “I know that to be a lie.”

Something dangerous and electric streaked through my body and we held eye contact.

Noah stuck his head forward and both Reid and I jolted. It had been less than two minutes and we’d already forgotten about him. “Can you two finish flirting so we can have the best weekend ever?”

Reid laughed and I turned to Noah. He stuck his tongue out and I stuck mine out right back at him.

“Best weekend ever in three, two, one,” I said and pointed forward through the windshield.

Reid pulled the car away from the curb and the three of us grinned out the windows.

FORTY-FIVE MINUTES LATER, we were out of the city and on the highway, driving higher and higher into the mountains, past trees and lakes and breathtaking views. I rehearsed my set in my head and tried not to sneak glances at the man in the driver’s seat.

“Damn. We’re so lucky to live here.” I watched as we passed a crystal blue lake, mountains rising out of its shores.

He nodded, keeping his eyes on the road. “I camp around here a lot. Joffre Lakes was nice until it got overrun with tourists, but there are other lakes that haven’t made it to the internet yet.”

“I bet Sally loves that. So many things to sniff.”

We smiled at each other. In the backseat, Sally was curled up in Noah’s lap, both fast asleep. Noah’s mouth hung wide open.

“Maybe we can even convince you to come with us.” Reid’s voice was light.

I raised an eyebrow. “I like to view nature, but I don’t want to be one with nature.”

He grinned. “There’s nothing like waking up in a tent in the morning, with the sun shining and the birds chirping. Bonus points if you can hear a creek. It’s the best way to start the day.”

The image of a sleepy, bed-headed Reid flashed into my head and my heart twisted into a knot. That would be the best way to wake up, next to him with his bleary eyes and hair sticking up and a heavy arm around me. That was what I wanted.

“I feel like getting pee on my shoes would counteract that.”

He looked out the window with a rueful smile. “Camping is the best way to clear your head. Out there in the forest, there are no distractions. You figure out what’s important.” He glanced at me. “How are you feeling about tonight?”

“Nauseous. Excited. Terrified.” Frustrated. Horny. Unsure. “You know, all the typical emotions before the biggest gig of my life.”

“What are you nervous about?”

“If it goes well, this could mean big things for me, but if it doesn’t go well, word will get out and it’ll hurt me. It’s a lot of pressure. Also, it’s an outdoor gig.” Whistler Village sprawled around the bottom of the ski lifts. Bars and restaurants and shops bordered brick streets which were for pedestrians only, and the stage would be at the center of the village near the lifts. “I’ve never performed outside. What if it’s different?” I thought about the energy in a tight space, how it crackled and bounced back at the stage. What would happen outside? Would it float up into the sky and feel like I was performing in a vacuum?

He nodded. “That’ll be interesting. I’m not worried about you, though. You’ll figure it out up there.”

I pressed my lips together and thought about that time on stage after Shane stole my jokes, and I stood there to complete silence. “The audience isn’t there to see me. They’re there to see Ladonna. My comedy isn’t similar to Ladonna’s and it might not work. She didn’t choose me. She chose Pat, and Pat referred me.”

Cold dread seeped into my stomach as I remembered the silent pain of bombing back in university. I had bombed since then but that time was because of a mistake I had made, so it was worse.

He glanced at me. “Are you thinking about that time you froze? When that guy took your jokes?”

I looked out the window and nodded.

He shook his head. “Ice Queen. Listen to me. You’ve told these jokes a hundred times. They work. You know they work. You won’t bomb.”

That nickname used to make my blood boil and rush into my ears, but it wasn’t so bad anymore. I let out a breath. “Yeah. You’re right. I won’t bomb.”

“And you know what? If you bomb, it’s good for you. I know it feels bad, but I was listening to this podcast where this comedian said—”

“You were listening to a podcast with a comedian? Since when is that something you do?”

He laughed. “I listen to podcasts when I run. Let me finish, okay?”

I nodded. “Go ahead.”

“I was listening to this podcast and this comedian said he had bombed so many times he didn’t care anymore what people thought of him, and it allowed him to try material on stage he never would have before. Maybe if you bomb tonight—I’m not saying you will and I don’t think you will—it wouldn’t be a terrible thing. It’s experience. You’d learn something from it.”

I let out a long sigh. “Can’t you tell me I’m pretty and it’s going to be okay?”

He smiled and his gaze lingered on me. My stomach rolled over in the best way. “You’re beautiful, and everything is going to be great.”

Fucking hell. No wonder I was in love with the guy.

“I’m sorry everyone is tagging along on our weekend.”

He shook his head. “Don’t worry about it. We’ll get our weekend away. One day.” A small smile was on his face as he watched the road. “Hope you like drinking from a creek.”

I made a face but inside, I was floating.

We continued on like this—talking and listening to music and me singing along and making up the lyrics when I forgot them. Noah and Sally slept through the whole thing.

It was when we approached the town of Squamish on the way to Whistler, that the traffic hit. Bumper to bumper cars for kilometers, crawling forward, all trying to get up to Whistler for the opening weekend. Squamish was a small town and often used to pass through, fill up on gas, or get a bite to eat on the way to or from Vancouver. In the summer, climbers hung off the sides of mountains beside the highway. Tonight, all I saw was tail lights.

Reid’s gaze flicked to the dashboard clock, and he swore under his breath. “What’s your call time again, eight?”

I nodded. The clock said seven. It was about forty minutes to Whistler from Squamish in no traffic. Who knew how long this stop-and-go would last. I had wanted to talk to Cady before the show, but now I wasn’t sure if I’d have time.

Reid blew out a frustrated sigh. “I should have known, Ice Queen. There’s always traffic in Squamish on busy weekends. We should have left earlier.”

I squeezed his shoulder. “Stop worrying. We’ll make it in time.”

I didn’t know if we would, though, but I didn’t like seeing the lines of worry on Reid’s forehead. Outside, I was a mask of calm and cool. Inside, I was a wreck. This was my shot. Who knew if another chance would come along, especially if I screwed this one up.

I turned up the music, let out a long sigh, and rested my head on my hand.

A few minutes later, a message popped up from Cady on my phone.

Cady Winters: Lady! Break a leg tonight. Just wanted you to know I’m so proud of you! I brag about you all the time. You’re going to kill this, superstar, I know it. Just be you. Love you.

Cady Winters: PS we’re roomies this weekend.

I stared at the message. Thick and thin, I reminded myself. I’d tell her tonight, the second I saw her.

AT SEVEN FIFTY-SIX, we sped into Whistler. Noah had relocated to the front seat while I changed in the back and Sally looked bemused. My heart hammered in my chest.

Reid took a right turn and my face hit the back of his seat.

“You okay back there?” he called over his shoulder. “You should be wearing a seatbelt.”

“I’m fine, keep driving.” I zipped up my fly.

The parking lots near Whistler Village were full but Reid pulled all the way up to the walkway as I was tucking in my shirt. I threw the car door open and almost fell out onto the sidewalk. I could see the stage from here. There were a lot of people in the village, walking around, talking, laughing. The atmosphere buzzed with anticipation, and for the first time today, I felt truly excited.

This was going to be fun.

“Wait,” Reid called, leaving Noah and Sally in the car and running after me.

“Hey, dude, you can’t park there.” Some kid in a toque and safety vest was approaching.

“One second,” Reid told the guy.

I jogged backward toward the stage. “Reid, I gotta go.”

He caught up to me, grabbed my hand, and pulled me toward the stage. “I know, I know—”

The electronic billboard came into view. I halted in place, looking up at it with a huge smile on my face. Everything except Reid and the billboard blurred into the background.

WHISTLER BLACKCOMB OPENING WEEKEND FESTIVAL PRESENTS

LADONNA HILL

W/ GUEST

GEMMA CLARKE

“You’re doing it, Ice Queen.”

“I’m doing it,” I whispered.

He turned me around, stood me in front of the billboard, and then ran back and crouched down, taking a picture with his phone.

“Point up at your name,” he called and I obliged, grinning at him.

I bet they could see my smile from outer space.

28

Reid

“YOU PROBABLY KNOW this from looking at me,” she told the crowd, gesturing at herself in her red velvet pants and Led Zeppelin t-shirt, “but I can’t dance. That’s white culture. White people don’t realize it, but it is.”

The audience laughed, warming to her. About eight hundred people, bundled in toques and ski jackets with their breath puffing in little clouds, pressed against the barriers around the stage. Giant stage lights illuminated Gemma against the dark. Her bright red lips glowed.

“I didn’t grow up dancing. White people don’t dance at family birthday parties. They sit really far apart on the couch, drink too much white wine and make passive aggressive comments about how Aunt Diane is a bad mother.” The audience laughed again and she shot me a wink.

My heart hammered in my chest. I watched from backstage with a VIP pass hanging from my neck. Our friends wanted to watch from the audience. Ladonna stood behind me, watching with her arms crossed, but Gemma was all I saw. We were finally here. This was her moment. She was on the rise and I couldn’t take my eyes off her. My chest swelled with pride.

This audience, they didn’t know her, they didn’t trust her, and they had no reason to like her. They were here to see Ladonna and Gemma was killing time for them.

She was going to make them love her, though. I knew it.

“Can I get some music?” she asked the sound technician over the mic. He knew what to do. They’d gone over this in sound check.

Music began at a low level—seventies soul with a beat.

“I discovered all my go-to dance moves by accident.”

She started wiggling in an odd way, jerking her shoulders and thrusting her chest out to the beat. She looked ridiculous, but she held her face serious as if she was posing on the red carpet.

“Like that time my bra kept riding up on my boobs.” She jolted her shoulders back and forth with a wince on her face.

The crowd burst out laughing, feeding her energy. She rolled her torso like a worm while her eyes narrowed in concentration at them.

“It shrunk in the wash because I forgot most of my clothes can’t go in the dryer. This bra is now sized for a Barbie doll.”

Gemma seemed to get taller. The beauty of watching Gemma perform was that everyone felt like they were in on a private joke. Like you were laughing with your friends after school.

“Or that time I tried to pull a wedgie out in public.” She shifted her hips from side to side with discomfort on her face. She began lunging across the stage. The crowd loved it. “This thong shrunk to the size of a baby’s hair tie.” Her nostrils flared and she breathed out her nose. “It’s really stuck in there. Please send help.”

The audience was in hysterics. Ladonna gasped beside me, leaning on the wall for support. She nudged me. “Your girl is killing it.”

Your girl. The grin wouldn’t drop from my face.

Gemma raised her eyebrows at the audience. “No one will even know,” she confided. “They’ll be like, did you graduate from the Royal Academy of—” she snapped her fingers and pulled a disco move, “—Friggin’ Sick Dance Moves?”

A burst of laughs. She squinted in concentration and jolted her ribcage to the left. “First strap is off!”

The crowd cheered. She straightened up and gave them a big grin. “You’ve all been incredible tonight,” she shouted and they cheered again. “Give a warm welcome to the reason we’re all here, Ladonna Hill!”

The crowd erupted and Ladonna stepped out onto the stage from beside me. She waved at the audience, beaming, and gave Gemma a big hug on stage.

The second Gemma stepped offstage, I wrapped her in my own hug, lifted her up, and spun her around. She smothered her laugh against my chest. We had to be quiet backstage during Ladonna’s set.

She pulled back to look at me. “My head is spinning.”

“Ice Queen.” I put her down and looked into her eyes. “You killed it. You really did. I’m so proud of you.”

She beamed. “That was incredible.”

I reached up, held the sides of her face, and gave her a quick, hard kiss before pulling away. I couldn’t help myself. We’d never get a replay of this moment, so I wanted to make it count.

She tugged on the front of my shirt with half-lidded eyes. “More.”

I huffed a quiet laugh. My whole body protested pulling away. Trust me, I wanted to kiss her and run my mouth down her neck until she sighed and pulled on my hair.

“Let’s watch Ladonna’s set first.” I knew she’d regret missing it.

We watched her set and my arm found its way around Gemma’s shoulders. She leaned into me and it was fucking heaven. When I died and my soul left my body, my consciousness would return to this moment. I wanted to bookmark it for the universe to remember. Put it in my file for when my time was up, for whoever was working admin up there in the sky to flip through. They’d say, send him back to that moment where everything was perfect, and the woman he loved was getting everything she dreamed of and worked so hard for.

My throat constricted.

The woman I loved.

I did. I did love Gemma. Of course I loved her. I couldn’t think about anything and anyone else. I dropped everything for her, often, without a second thought. Everything was more fun with her around. Everything I did was only to get close or stay close to her. I mean, I was envisioning heaven and she was in the picture. That was love, right? If that wasn’t, what was?

Fuck.

A weight settled in the bottom of my chest, above my stomach. I was in love with the one woman who I couldn’t fall in love with, the one who discarded men like used tissues during allergy season. The woman who could, and would, crush me with a single glance.

That was the old Gemma, though. My fingers brushed the worn fabric of her t-shirt on her shoulder. It wasn’t that Gemma had changed—she was never the man-eating, ruthless ice queen I thought she was. That nickname couldn’t be further from the truth. She was warm, kind, and loyal. She protected her people. I had never felt as close to anyone as I did with her. And I knew she felt the same way.

She was terrified, like I was. We had something to lose now.

I thought about Rory and Derrick, and how Rory couldn’t help herself with him. She was so head over heels no matter what he did in the past, no matter how many times he had hurt her, she always took him back and she always thought the best of him. She had an unrelenting faith in him which he exploited, and it screwed her over every single time. A memory flashed into my head.

I was seventeen, Rory was twenty-one. She was still living at home while at university. The phone had rung.

“Can you come pick me up?” she had asked. Her voice was high and wavering, like she was crying.

When I pulled the car up outside Derrick’s house, she was already waiting outside, tears still streaming down her face. She dropped into the passenger seat and slammed the car door closed.

“Derrick is a fucking asshole,” she had said as an explanation, sobbing into her hands while I stood there, helpless. She continued sobbing all night. I could hear it through the wall our bedrooms shared. A month later, they were together again, and she waved away my concerns.

Backstage, my chest twisted and my arm tensed against Gemma, pulling her tighter to me. She glanced at me, leaned up, and pressed a kiss on my cheek, before turning back to Ladonna on stage.

I swallowed. I wasn’t Rory, and Gemma wasn’t Derrick.

Telling myself not to love her was useless and futile. It was biochemical, coursing through my veins and ingrained in each piece of DNA. Trying to stop myself from being in love with her was like trying to learn to run without oxygen.

When Ladonna finished her set, the audience gave her a standing ovation. Gemma smiled beside me.

“It’s incredible to see someone accomplish their dreams,” she whispered to me, and I squeezed her closer to me. I knew how that felt.

Ladonna entered backstage with her arms in the air like a UFC fighter approaching the ring. “I killed it, you killed it.” She pointed at Gemma before pointing at the staff and road crew. “You all killed it. This team is the bomb. Where’s the party at now?”

Her assistant consulted her phone. “We have a bar booked all night.”

Ladonna clapped. “Great. I’m starving.” She pointed at us. “You’re coming with us.”

When we exited the VIP area, a squeal pierced the air and Cady, Dani, and Matilda tackled Gemma in a hug.

“We’re so proud of you!” Cady told her, squeezing her.

“You did so well!” Matilda added. “We were telling everyone we knew you.”

Dani grinned at me over her shoulder and I smiled back at her.

“Do you want to go to a bar with Ladonna’s people?” Gemma asked them.

Cady’s eyes lit up. “Hell yes, we do.”

HALF AN HOUR LATER, we scattered throughout a bar with Ladonna and her crew. Warm moody lighting gave everything a romantic glow. Our group had taken over the area above the bar. Matilda and Noah were scarfing down onion rings, Dani and Cady were talking with some of Ladonna’s friends, and Gemma and I were sitting on a couch off to the side. A DJ spun records in the corner of the bar down below while people danced in front of him. Bartenders shook drinks as fast as they could, servers raced orders to the tables, but they joked and laughed and tossed napkins at each other.

Gemma glanced over at Cady again.

I tipped my chin at her. “What’s up?”

Her gaze swiveled back to me and she squinted. “I want to talk to Cady about something.” She pressed her mouth in a line and studied me.

I cocked my head and studied her right back. “Something… about me?”

She nodded and her eyes gleamed.

Hope swelled in my chest. The Ice Queen was ready to tell her best friend about us. Great. This was a step forward. I wasn’t insane, thinking this could go somewhere. She was ready for this.

I rested my arm along the top of the couch so my fingers brushed her shoulder. “I support that.”

She glanced at my fingers and then back up at me with a smile on her face. “I think this might be heaven.”

“Yeah?” I looked out at the bar, packed with people. “This place? I thought it would be The Indigo.”

Her eyes narrowed while she thought. “Heaven is a state of mind, Beardo.”

That old nickname made me grin. It rolled off her tongue with affection and teasing, and didn’t have the bite it used to. She shifted on the couch, facing me more.

“I’m with my best friends and I had one of the best sets of my life.” The side of her mouth pulled up and her gaze settled on me. “We could be lost at sea, floating on a raft under the scorching sun with a seagull circling us, and I’d still be in heaven.”

“Me too.”

She glanced at my hand brushing her arm and then back up at me, still smiling. “How’s your drink?”

“Great. This is all great.”

“Great,” she repeated.

Something was going to happen tonight. It was in the air, in that look between us—that long, lingering, charged look. I couldn’t pinpoint the second things changed between us, but Gemma and I were in a territory we could never come back from. We were already over the line, past friends into who-the-fuck-knows land. I liked it here, and I never wanted to go back.

I wanted to say it those words I had realized earlier. Something told me not to rush her, though. I couldn’t push it. Not yet.

Gemma scanned the group around us and her brow furrowed. “Where’d she go?”

I looked over my shoulder. Dani was still talking at the bar with Ladonna’s friends but Cady had disappeared. “I don’t know. Washroom?”

Her forehead creased before a server moved into our periphery with more drinks for us, and Gemma made me cheers her, even though we’d already cheers’d twice. I liked seeing her like this, a couple drinks in. The person in front of me right now felt like the truest Gemma, the one I’d get to see with no barriers or guards up.

“Are you tired? Are you okay to stay out a bit longer?” she asked. “It’s almost midnight, it’s past your bedtime.”

I took another pull of my beer, watching with an amused grin. “My mom said I could stay up late tonight.”

“Good.” She wiggled her eyebrows at me. “We’re celebrating.”

By one in the morning, the bar’s energy had turned up tenfold. People crowded the dance floor below. It was loud, dark, hot and humid, and my head blurred from the free drinks pushed our way all night. Gemma and I leaned over to watch from our spot on the second floor balcony.

“I love it here!” she yelled over the music. “Let’s freeze this moment forever! How come you can drink so much and not act like a drunken fool?”

“I’m always a fool, and I am drunk,” I told her, my gaze skimming her face.

“You’re not a fool.”

I nodded. “I am.” I’m a complete fool for you, and I’d do anything to make you happy.

She made a sad face at me, put her drink down on a nearby table, and put her hands on each side of my face. “Poor sad man who fills the graveyard lamps with oil.”

I laughed against her hands but she didn’t let go. She studied my face with an indiscernible expression before pulling away and draining half her drink. “Damn, this is good. It tastes like Disneyland and fireworks. If you’re drunk, prove it.” She skewered me with a challenging look. “Tell me a secret.”

I thought back to our tell-me-a-secret game on Thanksgiving. I was playing with fire here.

“I love watching people fall in love,” I told her. “I love seeing them get their happy ending.”

She narrowed her eyes while a smile played on her lips. “Reid Elliot, you’re such a romantic. It’s disgusting. You make me sick.”

I hung my head in mock-shame. “I am. What’s the cure, doc?”

“I’m afraid it’s terminal. And that’s not a secret. Everyone knows you love those movies.”

“Your hands are warm,” she murmured, and her breathing sped up.

The song changed and Gemma’s eyes lit up. She pointed up. “I love this song.”

“Where are you pointing?”

“At the ceiling. That’s where songs live.”

I laughed and my restraint broke. Fuck it. “God, you’re beautiful.”

Her pupils dilated and her mouth opened in surprise, but Dani walked past, snaring Gemma’s attention.

“Where the hell is Cady?” Gemma called to Dani. “I haven’t seen her in like an hour.”

Dani shrugged. “She saw some Australians and she’s talking to them downstairs, I think.”

She left and Gemma turned to me. “Can we go find her?”

I nodded and we made our way out of the VIP area to the bar downstairs. Gemma’s eyes roamed over the crowd, over the dance floor and the people clustered at the bar, over the groups at tables around the perimeter.

I put my hand on her shoulder and pointed across to the corner of the bar, where Cady sat with one of their Australian friends, the guy she had been joking with in the hallway on Halloween. Whistler was a hotspot for Australians—they worked, skied, and drank here, so running into him was no surprise.

Gemma sucked in a deep breath, steeling herself. She glanced up at me, chewing her lip. “Okay. I’m going to do it.”

This was it. It was real now, this thing between us. I gave her a quick nod and squeezed the back of her neck, rubbing my thumb along the sensitive skin below her ear. She shivered under my touch.

“I’ll be here waiting.”

29. Gemma

“Can I talk to you?”

Cady was deep in conversation with one of the Australians, Baz, leaning against the bar. She turned to me with a grin. “Hey, superstar. What’s up?”

My heart hammered in my chest and my stomach was in knots. I tilted my head.

She winked at Baz and followed me off to a quieter area, in the hallway to the washrooms. My hands wrung in front of me.

“You’re freaking me out.” She eyed me warily.

One deep breath. I could do this.

“I like Reid.”

She blinked before raising an eyebrow.

“Your ex, Reid. I like him.” I flinched. It was still a lie. I was still holding the truth back, keeping it safe. My eyebrows pinched and my hands clenched. “I… I’m in love with him.”

There. The truth was out and now all I could do was watch Cady’s expression as she processed the words. Her eyebrows went up but she didn’t look angry.

“The guy you called Beardo Fuckface for ten years?” Her eyes narrowed.

My mouth pressed in a line while I nodded. “That’s the one.” My heart rose into my ears while I studied her expression. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.” A knot formed in my throat. “Are you furious with me?”

Her mouth twisted to the side and shook her head. “Um, no. I guess not.”

My frown deepened. “You are.”

She played with her fingers, studying her thumb nail and picking at the red polish before lifting her gaze. “Sorry. It’s taking me a second for it to sink in.” A weird laugh burst out of her. “I asked you to be friends with him.”

Fuck. My stomach thrashed and I rubbed my neck. “I didn’t mean for this to happen. I never wanted to hurt you.”

She let out a long breath. “How long?”

I thought back to the first time Reid and I had kissed, against the front door of the theater. I cleared my throat. “A couple months.”

Her eyebrows shot up again. “Wow.” She winced. “Did everyone know but me?”

“No!” I shook my head hard. “Absolutely not. No one knew. Dani suspected and kept pushing me to tell you.”

“So, why didn’t you?” Her gaze on me was tentative and she leaned against the wall.

I met her gaze. The panic I’d felt earlier still sat at the edge of my consciousness, waiting for me to trip and fall. Waiting and watching.

“Because if I said it out loud, and if I told you, it would be real. I’d have to do something about it.”

She nodded and looked down at her hands. When she lifted her gaze to mine, a sad smile played at her features. “Like when I let you believe he didn’t want me to leave Vancouver. If I admitted I was the one holding myself back, I couldn’t use that excuse anymore.” She sighed. “I’m not mad.” Her throat worked and she winced again. “It’s a little weird.”

“Is there anything I can do to make it less weird?”

The corner of her mouth lifted in a rueful smile and she shook her head. “No. I’ll get over it.”

“I’m serious, Cady. You’re one of my best friends.”

She nodded and the worry dropped from her expression. “I know. You don’t fall for guys every day, Gem.”

My pulse pounded in my ears. “No, I don’t.”

“You want my blessing or something?”

I gave her a bemused look. “Kind of, yes.”

“You’ve got it.” She wrapped me in a tight hug and I let myself feel okay for a quick moment.

“Do you know what you’re doing?” she asked into my hair.

“Nope.”

She pulled back to look at me, expression unreadable. “Can you please be careful with him? He’s not like you.”

We both knew what she meant, and she was right. Reid was a romantic, and I wasn’t. I nodded at her with a tight smile. Panic shifted somewhere in the background of my mind, but I ignored it. Cady knew about Reid and I, and she wasn’t upset. We weren’t doing anything wrong anymore.

“I love you, superstar,” she said, and gave my arm a rub.

“Love you, too.”

We returned to the bar area and I found him as our gazes connected like magnets. He leaned against the bar, drinking a beer and waiting patiently.

He didn’t have to wait anymore.

29

Gemma

“OW,” I whimpered against his mouth when my toe stubbed on a table in the house. It was dark and we couldn’t see where the hell we were going.

“Sorry,” he whispered before kissing me back, harder. “Hold on.”

We fumbled through Noah’s uncle’s house, searching for a light switch or lamp before Reid found one and illuminated the living room.

“Wow.” I took in the vaulted ceilings, dark hardwood floors, and massive stone fireplace. “We scored with this place.”

Sally ran toward us with her tail wagging. “Hi, baby.” I scratched her ears while she yawned. “Were you sleeping?”

Reid grabbed her leash. “I’m going to take her out. Go sit in the kitchen, I’ll make you some food.” He tilted his chin at the tap. “Drink some water.”

A record scratched in my head. I didn’t want food. I wanted to pull him upstairs and do things friends didn’t do. The truth was out. We didn’t need to pump the brakes. I was about to protest but he was already out the door.

A minute later he returned and started pulling things out of the fridge. “You want some tacos? You barely ate any dinner at the bar.”

I narrowed my eyes at him. “Reid. What are you doing?”

He set a purple cabbage on the counter and leaned on his palms toward me. He let a long breath out and we locked eyes. “Let’s slow down a second. We’ve been drinking.”

He thought I was going to freak out. He thought I would back out at the last second and regret it, but I wouldn’t. I wanted this. I had waited for this for so long. This was our last chance, this weekend, and I wanted every second of Reid. I wanted every last bit of him I could get.

“I’m sobering up pretty quickly, but if you want to make food, we can. And then more making out.” I winked at him.

He grinned at the cutting board and put me to work, chopping the cabbage and warming the tortillas while he cooked. I put on some music and we moved around each other with ease. Sally hoovered any dropped food at my feet and for a split second, I could picture this. Years from now in a house, us and the dog, cooking with music on.

“What?”

I realized I was staring at him. I shook my head. “Nothing. You look handsome.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Thanks. You know I love it when you wear that lipstick, right?”

I nodded and took a step toward him. “A good red lipstick is powerful and restorative. It’s like the modern woman’s version of a shield or the Elder Wand.” Thank god this lipstick didn’t budge or he’d have it all over his face and neck by now.

He leaned back against the counter and pulled me toward him. I braced my palms on his chest.

“You’re giving me a very hot look right now,” he murmured, gaze flicking over my face.

I grinned. My brain felt slower, like molasses. “Friends don’t give each other hot looks.”

He leaned down and brushed my lips with his. I stood there, trying to capture this incredible moment in my memory forever. I wished I could carry this heightened anticipation around with me in a locket. Every molecule in my body vibrated in tune with his. Every molecule said yes please.

“I don’t want to be friends tonight.” He ducked his head down and covered my mouth with his and we stood there, leaning against each other, tasting each other and sighing. After a couple moments, he hoisted me against him, off my feet, and a surprised squeak came out of me.

“Are we done going slow?” I grinned against his mouth while he carried me out of the kitchen and up the stairs.

“I’m losing self-control here, Ice Queen.” He walked me down the hallway, throwing a door open and backing into a room. “You’re testing my patience.”

My thighs tensed around him and the softest part of me warmed.

He sat on the bed and laid back with me still straddling him. His hand palmed my breast and I moaned against him. Holy hell, I wanted that. I wanted that so much. As if he could hear my thoughts, he rubbed slow circles over the point through my shirt and bra, and I arched against him on instinct.

This. This was what I was missing out on with Reid.

“I am so attracted to you,” he said against my mouth, his hands untucking my shirt from my pants. In two seamless motions, he had my shirt and bra off and I was on my back. I wiggled out of my jeans, leaving me in a lace black thong. Thank god I wore the nice pair. “I need you.”

He broke away, hovering above me, both of us breathing hard, and his gaze lazily roamed over me, drinking me in. It was like he was trying to memorize this moment.

“I can’t stop thinking about you.” His eyes were dark and his throat worked. “You’re so fucking perfect, Ice Queen. I’m hooked on you. I want to devour you.”

I tugged on his sweater, watching his eyes. This was a different Reid—uncontrolled and charged and primal. And I liked it. I liked that I was the one who made him lose control.

He whipped it off. “You’re going to break me into a thousand pieces,” he whispered, leaning forward and kissing my neck one, two, three soft times. I undid the top buttons on his shirt, but he continued kissing my neck and one hand came to my breast where he pinched the tip, and my hands couldn’t get the buttons out of the impossibly tiny buttonholes.

“I can’t—” I gasped, “I can’t get the—out, off of you.” My breath hitched with every brush of his beard against my neck, every pinch of his finger.

He straightened up, pushed me lightly so I fell back onto the bed, and smirked down at me. He pulled his shirt over his head and my brain stopped functioning.

“Holy shit,” I whispered.

He was right in front of me, and it was all for me. Hard ridges and grooves. A smattering of chest hair over pecs I needed to run my hands over. Physical proof the guy ate clean and ran his ass off. An erection straining against his pants, emphasizing how much he wanted me right back.

“Ice Queen, you’re speechless.” He smirked but his gaze remained dark and heavy. “For once.”

He unbuckled his belt, pulling it through the belt loops and dropping it on the floor, the entire time watching me with that smug, knowing, heated look. His pants fell to the floor beside my dress, and my gaze dropped to the front of his boxer briefs.

“Holy shit,” I whispered again, like a prayer.

He kneeled on the bed and it sagged under his weight. He hovered over me and brushed a light, teasing kiss on my mouth. I wanted more. I leaned forward off the bed but he pulled away with a smirk.

I skimmed my hands down his warm torso, over every ridge and valley and dip. Lower and lower, until I hit waistband—

Reid grasped my wrist.

“Not yet,” he murmured against my mouth. “Wait your turn, greedy.” He pulled both my hands up above my head and pinned my wrists down onto the bed.

The area between my legs ached, and I squirmed with frustration. “Are we going slow again?”

He kissed me hard, muffling my groan. It grew into a moan as he pressed his hard length between my legs and moved his mouth to my neck. He released my wrists but I left them where they were, distracted by the way his beard scraped my skin.

“Don’t ever shave your beard.” My voice sounded raspy and breathless.

He smiled against my neck. “Noted.”

He brought his hand back to my breast and rubbed a tight circle around my nipple, that challenging smirk still on his face. God, that smirk was annoying, but in a way that made me want to torture him with my mouth.

Something began to wind inside me like a spring as his finger circled. His teeth scraped against the sensitive skin between my neck and my shoulder and I moaned.

“Found another one.” His voice was low and his gaze was dark as he watched.

“Found what?” I gasped.

“Another spot that’ll undo you,” he said, kissing a trail down my body, stopping at my breast, before he put his mouth on the peak. My head fell back again and another moan echoed around the room.

“One more,” he murmured. “Jesus, Gemma, your tits are magnificent. Your entire body is a work of art.”

The spring inside me wound tighter and tighter and my heart raced in my ears. I couldn’t form a coherent sentence while he was doing that with his mouth.

He traced his fingers down my stomach to my underwear and skimmed over the fabric until they met the part of me that had been aching for him all day. Maybe weeks, months. Since the last time he touched me. My back arched against the bed and the spring wound tighter.

“I don’t know how much longer I’m going to last.” My skin simultaneously sighed with relief at his touch and screamed for more.

“Mhmm.” He brushed his fingers over the fabric, light enough to elicit a whimper from me but too light to push me further. “I understand if you can’t get there, though. No problem at all.” His tone taunted me.

“Stop teasing me,” I gritted out and arched against him, but he grinned and took his hand away. My head fell back in frustration. He slid off the bed, and before I could ask what he was doing, he hooked his hands behind my knees and pulled me to the edge. The front of his boxer briefs was ready to rip open.

Oh, hell yes.

His hands came to my hips before he slipped my underwear down my legs. He kneeled on the floor at the edge of the bed, bringing his fingers to my slick, aching center, and I had to bite my lip to keep from crying out.

“Gemma, sweetheart, you’re always the boss.” He rubbed the softest, laziest circles over me with his fingers while I coiled and twisted and gasped on the bed. “But right now, I’m the boss.”

His other hand wrapped around my ankle, stroking. A wave of heat released inside me and I whimpered. I was so close, but he held me back.

A low laugh came out of his throat. “I guess you don’t mind.”

“Why?” I gasped.

“Because you just got very, very wet.”

The spring wound tighter.

Pressure built low in my stomach while his fingers circled me, and my back arched again. “I can’t take this anymore.”

“You want me to stop?”

“No!” I lifted my head to see his wolfish smile, his focus flicking between my face and where his fingers worked. He knew what he was doing. “Do not fucking stop.”

“You want me to keep going?” He lifted his hand away.

“Reid!”

“Alright, alright, I’ll keep going.”

He leaned forward and put his mouth on me and I forgot where we were.

He slid his tongue over me and I forgot his name.

He sucked on my clit and I forgot my own name.

“Reid,” I breathed.

“Mhm,” he murmured, closing his eyes. He slipped a finger inside and a jolt of warmth shot up my spine, pushing me further. He stroked inside me, against the front wall, and the spring wound tighter and tighter. His other hand snaked under my body, grabbing my ass and pulling me closer to his mouth.

“Reid.” My eyes clenched closed, my fists gripped his hair, and his tongue traced circle after circle.

“I’ve been dreaming about making you come again for so long,” he murmured against me. He pressed against my g-spot, sucked against the tight bud of nerves, and I was done.

The spring released. I tipped over the edge, falling and paralyzed and laughing in disbelief. My thighs clamped around his head as my hips shook and he groaned, lapping up every drop.

I laid there, sinking into the mattress, drained and relaxed and floating, while he walked over to his suitcase. A foil wrapper ripped. He lowered himself onto me, placing a soft kiss on my mouth and positioning his length where his fingers were moments before.

“How are you doing?” He ran his fingers over my hair. Drops of perspiration collected on his forehead.

“Good.” I sighed and shot a lazy grin up at him. “Really fucking good.”

He nodded with a faux-sorrowful expression. “Sorry I couldn’t give you an orgasm.”

I laughed. “Shut up.”

“I’ll do better next time, I promise.” His cock twitched against my clit and I gasped.

“Reid, stop teasing me.”

He tugged gently on a strand of my hair. “I’m trying to go sl—”

“Yeah, go slow, I know.” I looked him dead in his half-lidded eyes. “We’re done going slow.” I pushed my hips against him and his erection slid inside, stretching me.

I gasped and he exhaled a low moan.

“Jesus Christ, Gem.” His head fell to my neck. “I’m not going to last long. Pussy magic,” he gritted out.

My body felt different this time. The frantic need to orgasm had subsided and now I was free to feel everything and relax.

Except I didn’t feel relaxed.

I felt like I was going to come again.

He straightened up, pulled my knees over his shoulders, sunk in and out of me with a furrowed brow and dark eyes. The change of position had his cock working sensitive spots both inside me and out, and everything turned up to eleven.

“You understand we’re done with this friends bullshit, right?” he rasped.

I nodded. My eyes rolled back into my head from the way he hit that spot inside me. He watched me while wincing and looking up at the ceiling as if he were asking the universe for help.

He put a hand to where we connected and rubbed those circles I enjoyed so much earlier.

My back arched and I clenched. The heat built. He watched me with those dark eyes, face pained.

I almost said it. I was keeping it inside with everything I had.

I love you.

“Gem, baby.” His jaw ticked. He made a hoarse noise in his throat.

The dam broke and I fell again, rolling against the waves, vaguely hearing him groaning and feeling his shuddering before he leaned forward against me, exhausted.

He combed his hands into my hair, rubbing my scalp. “You are so fucking beautiful. And funny. And smart. And silly.”

“You are,” I sighed. I’m in so much trouble. I’m fucked.

He pressed a kiss on my forehead. “Be right back.” He got up off the bed and walked into the bathroom. A second later, he slid into bed beside me and pulled me into his side.

His warmth permeated my skin and seeped into me. “Mmmm. You smell so good. Like laundry soap and toothpaste and forest and sex.”

He huffed a laugh and resumed rubbing my scalp with his fingers. Heaven. I was in pure heaven. Why had I been avoiding this for so long?

Reid pressed a kiss on the top of my head and made a humming noise against me. Our bodies fit perfectly together. My head fit into the area between his head and shoulder like it was made to go there.

I breathed him in. “This is nice.”

“Mhm.”

Nice. Nice like oxygen is nice to have if you’re planning on being alive. Nice like marine life think water is nice. Cuddled up against Reid was absolutely critical.

In an alternate universe, one where my dad was still alive, Reid and him and I would stay up late on a Saturday night, eating pizza and drinking beers and watching SNL. Or maybe Dad would drop by Reid’s theater to watch a movie by himself.

I couldn’t imagine not knowing Reid. How clueless I was, to have someone like that in front of me for years while I wandered around with my eyes closed, hating him. Or, thinking I did.

He pulled the duvet over us. His heavy arm draped over my side and I sighed into his chest.

This wasn’t so bad, this slice of heaven we had carved out. Maybe we could do this for real, Reid and I.

Maybe everything would be fine.

30. Reid

“You’re in a good mood.”

Gemma padded into the kitchen the next morning, bleary-eyed and fucking adorable, and wrapped her arms around me from behind as I stood at the stove, waiting to flip the pancake.

“You bet I am.” I covered her arms with my free hand and gave her a light squeeze. Holy shit, we had sex. Incredible sex. The best sex of my life. Better than I ever could have imagined.

I almost said the words during, but I stopped myself in time. I love you. I need you. I want you forever.

Thank god I didn’t, though. What happened to waiting while she took baby steps? We couldn’t stop ourselves. It was like a dam broke and all the tension that had been building for months overflowed.

We had sex. I bit back a groan, thinking of how soft she felt under my hands, how she arched against me when I touched her and how hard she tensed around my cock when she came. That adorable, hot, frowny wince she made while she tipped over the edge. The way she looked at me like I was the most important thing in the world to her. You know how they say, once an addict, always an addict? That someone could give up the drug but they would always want it? They’d think about it every day until they died, and it would always be that need in the back of their mind they worked to resist.

That was Gemma for me. Gemma was my drug. Once an addict, always an addict.

“Where is everybody?” Her head leaned against my back.

“They got up early to go skiing. It’s just you and I.”

“Good. That’s the way I like it.”

I smiled at the pancake as I flipped it. “Me too, Ice Queen. Me too.” I set my spatula on the counter and turned, pulling her against me.

She looked up at me with a soft smile and my chest tightened.

“You’re not freaking out?”

She shook her head and raised up on her toes to meet my mouth. “Not one bit,” she whispered against my lips.

“One coffee and one almond milk latte, please,” she told the barista at a coffee shop in Whistler Village, holding out her card.

I pushed her hand down and handed my card over. “And one donut.” I knew she wanted one. I’d seen her eyeing them.

“Let me pay.”

“No.” I gave her a quick tap on the ass. “Next time.”

Her mouth twitched. I remembered how it looked wrapped around my cock in the shower that morning. She bit her lip, grinning wider.

I raised my eyebrows at her in challenge. My cock was already stirring, ready to be back inside her where I belonged. “Do we need to go back to the house already?”

She laughed and shook her head. “Not yet.” Her gaze lingered on my mouth. “Later.”

That word held all the promise I needed.

We wandered through the village, Sally trotting along with us. The mountain air was cold, crisp, and perfect. Every muscle in my body relaxed. My arm found its way around her shoulders and it felt like the most natural thing in the world. It all did. Everything about us.

It was supposed to be like this. We were fucking made for each other, the Ice Queen and I.

I glanced down at her and squeezed her shoulder. “I’m having a great time. Thanks for being on the cusp of a successful career in comedy. I can’t wait to ride on your coat tails.”

She snorted. “You would never.” She took a bite of her donut. “I’ve never seen you so relaxed.”

I shrugged and shot her a lazy grin. “Something about this mountain air.”

She rolled her eyes but couldn’t fight her own grin. “Yeah, right, it’s the mountain air. Nothing like waking up to mountain air to start your day off right.”

I laughed. “I was dreaming of mountain air all night. Glad we got to have a bit this morning.”

She shrugged with a smirk. “Who knows, maybe we can sneak off for some more mountain air this afternoon. What time is it?” She checked her jacket pockets for her phone, and then the pockets on her jeans. “I guess I left my phone at the house.”

“You don’t need it. It’s a little after one. Are you hungry?”

She shook her head.

“Let’s go for a walk around Lost Lake and then get some lunch. You might be hungry by then.”

She nodded. “Okay. That sounds perfect.”

We wandered through the village and into the forest to the path that circled the turquoise lake. Gravel crunched under our feet and I let Sally off the leash so she could sniff and run ahead and trot back to us. There was something so grounding about walking through a forest. It was a reset button for all your senses—the silence pierced by birds chirping, the smell of moss and trees and grass, the palette of greens from top to bottom, the way the air was still and calm.

This clear daylight made Gemma’s eyes look so brilliant and warm, it made my heart ache.

“You look beautiful,” I told her.

She smiled. “You do, too.”

“I look beautiful?”

She rested her gaze on me. “You’re a beautiful man, Reid Elliot. I’m a lucky lady to be hanging out with you.”

I was the lucky one, and I’d be the one replaying memories of her until I was a hundred years old.

When we reached a break in the trees where we could walk down to the water, Gemma made me stand in front of the lake while she took a picture with my phone.

She lowered the phone with an annoyed expression. “You look like a bored teen on vacation. Smile for real.”

“I’m smiling,” I insisted.

“Think about the first time you heard one of my jokes.”

My expression morphed into horror.

She laughed. “Reid! Fine. Think about when you first got Sally.”

I whistled at Sally, who bounded over. I reached down, picked her up and turned her to the camera.

“With teeth, not bad,” she muttered, snapping a couple pics. “Okay, we can keep going.”

“One second.” I raised my hand to get a passerby’s attention. “Excuse me, can you take a picture of us?”

I handed my phone from Gemma to the woman on the trail. My chest felt tight with Gemma under one arm, Sally tucked under the other, and I tried to remember as much as I could about this moment.

After taking a few pictures, she handed me my phone. “Cute family,” the woman said, smiling at us before walking way.

Gemma and I looked at each other and started laughing.

“Don’t you dare try to pay again,” she told me while we sat at a pub in the village. We had passed Sally off to Matilda, Dani, and Cady, who we ran into a few minutes earlier. They took her home so everyone could have a nap, including Sally.

There had been a moment of slight awkwardness with Cady, when she glanced at my arm around Gemma’s shoulders, but then her gaze met mine and she gave me a small smile and nod.

There it was. We were okay. Her and Gemma were okay.

At the pub, Gemma and I had snagged a couple spots at the bar and my hand rested on her knee while she studied the menu.

I thought about the last time we sat at the bar together at The Indigo, and how everything was different back then. My thumb brushed the fabric of her jeans. My mouth turned up at her words. I liked paying for us. Of course I believed in equality in relationships, but there was something about taking care of her that gave me a rush of pride.

I lifted my eyebrows at her. “You can pay next time we come to Whistler.”

Her eyes glittered with challenge and mischief. “I’m going to put a sticky note under your mouse so you think your computer isn’t working.”

“But you just told me, so now I’ll know.”

“I’ll wait until you’ve forgotten. Years from now, I’ll sneak into your office and do it and you won’t know what’s wrong. You’ll restart your computer again and again in frustration. It’ll be hilarious.”

“Sally does all my computer work these days anyway.”

The bartender set our drinks on the bar. Caesars, a classic Canadian drink best enjoyed during hungover brunches. Clamato juice—tomato juice with clam juice—with Worcestershire, hot sauce, a celery salt rim, vodka or gin, and something to snack on, like celery, a pickled bean, olives, or a cocktail onion. Foreigners hate them and we got it, they were an acquired taste, but they hit the spot.

“Thanks,” she said to the bartender before taking a sip and narrowing her eyes at me. “You’re so silly today. God damn, this is a good Ceasar.”

I raised my eyebrows. “I’m being myself. You bring it out in me. It’s very annoying.” I smiled at her. “And it’s the gin. Gin Caesars are so much better than vodka ones.”

“I like it. Always be this silly. Enough of the miserable, lonely lighthouse watcher.”

“I’m not lonely anymore.”

“Because you have Sally.” Her eyebrows lifted.

My gaze slid over her face, from her bright eyes to that mouth I couldn’t get enough of. “Right. Because I have Sally.” I cleared my throat. “And you.”

Her cheeks went pink in the most fucking adorable way and her throat worked, but she smiled at her drink, pleased. “When’s her birthday? We should throw her a party.”

“Three months ago. I made her a cake of dog food.”

She clasped her hands together with a pained expression. “You did? And you didn’t tell me? I missed it? She must have been so disappointed I wasn’t there.”

I gave her knee a squeeze. “We were mortal enemies at the time. Besides, she ate it in twelve seconds and then went back to sleep.”

“Tell me the story of you getting Sally.” She leaned her chin on her palm and sipped her drink.

“Let’s see. I had just bought the theater, quit my job, and everything in my life was different. Oscar was telling me about a couple he knew, they had to re-home their dog because their baby was allergic. I got in touch, drove over to their place, Sally came running up to me, and I scooped her up and took her home.” My throat knotted at the memory of seeing the little blur of fur sprinting toward me for the first time. “And now she’s my administrative assistant. Everything worked out great.”

“You wanted someone in your corner,” she said, watching me. She moved her foot so it rested against my leg.

I shrugged, smiling. I brushed my hand over her lower back. “We should talk about last night. Or this morning. Or what we’re going to do this afternoon.”

She shook her head with a small smile, but something flickered in her gaze. Worry. Anxiety. Fear.

She was freaking out.

“I’m going to show you a thousand photos of Sally,” I said, pulling out my phone.

After a few minutes, the petrified look hanging around in the background of her expression went away and I gestured to the bartender for another drink.

An hour later, we strolled home through the village while the sun set, buzzed on our afternoon drinks, stopping a couple times to look in the store windows. This was so effortless. I thought about a life like this together, Gemma on tour and me and Sally tagging along wherever she went.

My heart twisted. I didn’t want to leave the theater. And despite being head over heels for the woman, I couldn’t live my life for her. That wouldn’t make either of us happy.

I felt a prickle of unease.

Gemma said something to me and I looked into her bright eyes, leaned down, and placed a slow, soft kiss on her mouth. My shoulders relaxed. I’d worry about the messy stuff later. This was all I wanted, something to tide me over until we could get each other alone again. She sighed against my mouth and my heart beat harder in my chest.

Tonight. I’d tell her I loved her tonight.

31. Gemma

Back at the house, everyone was in the living room, talking and laughing. Someone had put out tortilla chips, salsa, and guacamole. Sally sat at Matilda’s side on the floor, watching closely for crumbs. Dani suggested restaurants for this evening.

“I’m going to grab my phone,” I told them before disappearing upstairs.

I had pulled my bag into Reid’s room this morning. It looked so domestic, our two bags beside each other. Like a couple. A real couple. I wasn’t sure how I felt about that. I loved spending time with him. Today had been the best day in a long, long time.

I chewed my lip and dug around for my phone. Reid had wanted to talk about us today and I stalled. What would happen if I went on tour? What would happen if I had to move? I couldn’t ask him to uproot his entire life for me. That was way too much pressure on me and on us.

I pushed the thoughts out of my mind. We were going to enjoy our weekend in Whistler, he would give me at least two more orgasms tonight, and then we’d deal with all this shit later.

I sat on the bed with my phone. Six missed calls. Four from Pat and two from an unknown number.

Alarm clenched at my stomach. Something was wrong. If I saw this many missed calls from someone who knew Sam, I’d be racing to the hospital. I tapped on Pat’s number.

“Gemma?” he answered.

“Hey. What’s going on?”

“What are you doing tonight?”

“I’m in Whistler. What’s going on? Is something wrong?”

“Hold up, nothing’s wrong. Can you get to the Orpheum by six?” The Orpheum was a theater in Vancouver.

I checked the time. It was just after five. “The earliest I can get back is seven. Pat, what’s going on?”

“Girl, the festival banned Trevor because someone found stuff on his Twitter from last year.”

I leaned forward. “What kind of stuff?”

“The big bads. Racist stuff, sexist stuff, homophobic stuff. It’s blowing up and the festival is getting a lot of bad press, so they took him off the lineup.”

I swore under my breath. “That was fast.” I didn’t blame them.

“One of the producers asked me if I had your number.” So that was who the other missed calls were from. “You’re up.”

“I’m sorry?” I choked out.

“Scattershot, Gem. It’s tonight. If you can get here by six, you’re opening for Regina Dhaliwal. I guess they picked the next person in line and you were number eleven on the list.”

My stomach plummeted. I had forgotten about Scattershot. It was this weekend. After I didn’t get in, I put it out of my mind so I could focus on other things. Regina Dhaliwal was a big deal. She started as a comic and then wrote a TV show about an Indian family emigrating to North America, which won multiple Emmys. Her shows always sold out. I would open for a packed theater with twenty-seven hundred people tonight.

This was my shot, and it was slipping through my fingers.

I stood. “Can you hold my spot until seven?”

“No can do. The show starts at seven. She’s doing two shows, one at seven and nine.”

“Fuck.” A double header. That would have been an incredible opportunity, to do two shows in front of similar audiences. Especially at The Orpheum. That would be even more people than at Whistler. There was no way I could make it in time, though. The drive was too long. “Can someone else open for her tonight and I’ll take their spot later in the week opening for someone else?”

He made a noise of regret. “It doesn’t work like that. It’s okay, you’ll get ‘em next time.”

I gripped the phone so hard in my hand. “Please, Pat. Is there anything you can do? I need this.”

“Uh…” He thought about it. “I don’t think so, Gem. I’m sorry. But hey, you had Ladonna. Don’t worry about this.” Someone said something to him in the background. “I gotta go, okay?”

“Yeah. Okay. Thanks.”

A memory played in my head. I was nine, and the phone rang. The babysitter took a message for my mom.

Michael Calhoun, Calhoun Casting, the note said. Read for lead role Monday @ 10am.

My mom had just started seeing Sam’s dad, and he considered her acting a hobby. Her dreams amused him, as if it was a phase she’d grow out of like scrapbooking, and not a lifelong calling, something she’d been training and striving for her entire life.

That paper sat on the counter for weeks, long after the audition was over.

My stomach pitched from the memory. This would not be the moment where everything went wrong for me. I could salvage this.

What would my mother do in this situation? She’d pick the guy. She always picked the guy. My mother never picked herself, and she sure as hell never picked us. She bet on the guy every time, and every time she lost.

I would not bet on the guy. The only person I could rely on not to fuck this up was myself. I’d slipped up with Reid, but I could turn it around.

I hurried over to my bag and began throwing clothes inside. My pulse raced and my hands shook. Tonight was supposed to be my shot. My rocket ship was leaving and I couldn’t make it to the shuttle door in time before it closed, because I was gallivanting around with Reid. Clothes went into the bag faster and faster, no folding or laying anything down nicely, just thrusting everything inside as fast as I could.

A knock at the door. It opened and I froze.

“Hey,” Reid said, looking concerned. He was so handsome, it made my heart hurt. “I heard you on the phone.”

“Trevor is an asshole so got himself thrown out of the festival, so they asked me to open for Regina Dhaliwal tonight. Except I won’t get there in time.”

He walked over and put his hands on my arms. “Hey, it’s okay. You had a great show last night, and how were you to know you needed to be back for tonight? You can’t beat yourself up about it.”

I wanted to fold myself into him, tuck myself under his arm where it felt like I belonged, but I couldn’t. I stepped back, away from him and his orbit. “I should have been ready. I need to be ready. Nothing will ever happen for me if I’m not around when opportunities present themselves.”

His eyes narrowed. “How? You couldn’t have gotten down to Vancouver by tonight anyway.”

“I would have if I had left this morning.”

He shot me a silent, unsure frown. Stomach acid boiled up into my mouth.

“But I’m here with you, missing my big break.” I shook my head. Everything inside me tensed. “I shouldn’t have done this. We never should have done this.” I could hear the urgency in my voice. The panic was here, finally.

His eyes widened in alarm. “What does this have to do with us?”

I pictured myself years ago, watching as Shane won on stage with my jokes.

“You know what I’m talking about. This is what I’ve always said. People fall in love and it gets in the way of everything else. It’s been one day, and it’s already starting. I’m missing out because I’m romping around with you when I should focus on comedy.”

His eyebrows knit together. “You’re in love with me?”

I closed my eyes. My stomach turned again. “I can’t do this anymore.”

His jaw tensed. “Gem, I know you’re freaked out but we can go slow, and we don’t need to make any commitments or plans. We’ll go at your pace and comedy can always come first.”

I put my hands up. Panic feelings thrashed in my stomach. “You’re not listening—we can’t go at any pace. We can’t do this. I’ve already lost my head. What would happen if we did this for real? It would be a total disaster. I can’t. I won’t.” I turned to my bag and zipped it up.

He blinked in disbelief. “So that’s it? I can’t believe you’re being so… so fucking obtuse about this.” He raked his hand through his hair. “You still can’t see it clearly. You’re so blinded by your crappy childhood and your mother and your asshole ex you can’t see what’s right in front of you. You can’t win them all, Gemma.”

“That’s not—”

“What if you got the call but you and Sam were away for the weekend? Would you say, oh, having a brother sure is ruining my life, it’s best not to have one! I should cut him off.”

“That’s different,” I managed.

“Or what if you were with Dani? Gee, having a best friend is ruining my career in comedy because I’m missing one gig, I better cut all ties with everyone I know and crawl into a hole of misery where I don’t need anyone or anything.”

Tears stung my eyes but I blinked them away. I would not cry in front of him. “You don’t understand me at all. You don’t get it.” My voice was ice cold.

His shoulders tensed and he heaved a breath out. His eyes flashed. “I do get it. I see you. You’re fucking terrified because your mom couldn’t get her shit together, but you’re not your mom. You’re your own person, and you have complete control of your life, so don’t throw something away because you’re in new territory and you’re scared.”

He shook his head to himself with a humorless laugh and rubbed his hands over his face. “I knew this would happen. I thought, if I could show you enough of those movies and give you time, you’d figure it out. If I could get you to fall in love with me, it would be enough. But you are in love with me, and it isn’t enough, is it? I’ll never be enough for you.” He glared at me. “You showed me who you were again and again, and I thought you could change, but you can’t.”

My heart sunk as low as possible. Was this what heartbreak felt like? How did my mother ever endure this more than once? I didn’t know how I would get out of bed tomorrow. “I’m making the right choice for myself, and you don’t fall into that category.”

“Fine.”

“Fine.” I picked my bag up and carried it to the door.

“What the hell are you doing?”

I didn’t even care that my toothbrush was still in the bathroom. I couldn’t be here, not in the middle of all of this. I had to get back to my normal life. Being around Reid was effortless and easy and addictive, and if I didn’t go now, I never would.

“I’m leaving.”

“For fuck’s sake.” He was right behind me in the hallway, following with long strides.

The people in the living room went silent as Reid thundered down the stairs after me. I yanked my boots on while he stood with his arms crossed over his chest, breathing hard.

“Gemma, come back upstairs.” His voice was half as mad as a second before and his lips pressed together. “We can deal with this. Don’t leave.”

My chest panged when he said don’t leave. I grabbed my coat and opened the door. It was dark and snowing. Big, fluffy white flakes coming down in clumps, coating the sidewalks and streets and trees. It looked like a postcard, but it felt like a fuck you from the universe.

My hands shook. I wanted so badly to stay here with Reid and curl up in his bed and mope about the missed show and let him make me feel better. In an alternate universe where I was happy being an accountant forever, that’s what I would have done.

I turned to Reid and said the words which killed me. I closed my eyes briefly, summoning the courage to plunge the knife into my own heart. I was the Ice Queen, after all.

“This was always going to be temporary. Goodbye.”

30

Reid

SAM CLARKE: Hi Reid!! Hope you’re enjoying your vacation. :D :D :D

Oscar Hernandez: Buddy, party on Wednesday night at The Indigo to celebrate re-opening. Will you be back by then?

Dani Liu: Hey loser, when are you coming home? I have a bone to pick with you.

Rory Hoskins: Reid. Where the hell are you?

I flipped through the messages before tossing my phone back in the tent. Sally, laying on the air mattress, raised her head and looked at me.

“Coming out?” She laid her head back down. “No? Suit yourself.”

I zipped the tent back up and returned to the campfire.

It had been seven days since Gemma slammed the door on me and I’d been camping for six. It sure as hell wasn’t camping weather—it was cold and rainy and miserable, the kind of cold that seeps into your bones and makes you feel like you’ll never be warm again. But I had the campground and beaches to myself. Plenty of room to mope and throw rocks into the ocean and hate myself.

Whistler felt like a fever dream. I had flipped through my phone so many times, looking at the pictures of her and me in front of the lake to make sure it happened. Memories flashed into my mind like electric shocks. Watching her perform. Kissing her right after her set, when her eyes were bright and she was breathless from excitement. Talking and laughing with her in the bar. Feeling her writhing body tense under mine as she tipped backward. Her wet skin in the shower. Circling the lake with our coffees, talking and feeling so comfortable, like I was with another part of myself.

This is what I got. I knew this would happen.

I poked a stick in the campfire and watched it burn. They needed me at The Capitol, but memories of her stained the entire theater. Going back would be like haunting a tomb. I needed to clear her out of my head.

Camping was supposed to help. The forest usually absorbed problems and worries, and always left me feeling lighter and happier and more optimistic. I only felt worse, though. The heaviness in my chest weighed me down, and no amount of walking in the woods or trail running or staring into the fire, drinking bottles of whiskey would make it go away.

I figured, let the hundred-year-old trees have the memories of her waking up in the gold dress in my bedroom the day after the variety show, with that wistful expression on her face right before she confessed she missed her dad. The ocean could drown the thoughts of us in my apartment after Thanksgiving, talking and eating olives and hummus and carrots like actual friends for the first time and then ruining it with the best kiss I had ever experienced. The campfire would burn away the comfort, contentment, and wholeness I had felt when we went furniture shopping, when I wished we were buying furniture for a place we shared together. I’d have to get rid of that stuff, now.

Wasn’t it supposed to get better? With Cady, the second she left, I felt relief. It’s finally over, I had thought. I didn’t realize how unhappy I was until it was done.

But now, it didn’t feel better. It only got worse. Every day, the bruise spread and deepened and purpled. Every day, I hated myself more for ignoring the warnings and sinking further and further into the sparkling orb that was Gemma. It happened before I realized it, and then it was too late. I was the Rory. I couldn’t understand how Rory could do this, again and again over the years.

And I missed her. I missed her so fucking much. I tried not to, but I did.

I should have run when I had the chance. A smart man would have run, but I was not a smart man.

My stomach rumbled, so I ate ravioli straight out of the can.

“I fucking hate ravioli,” I muttered to myself.

I was sick of this weather, sick of this food, and sick of being alone, but I wasn’t fit to be around other people, and I sure as hell wasn’t fit to run a theater, the same theater where I had fallen in love with someone who used me for target practice.

The fire raged in front of me and I tossed the half-empty can in. The label burned in the fire, smoking and curling.

When I crawled into the tent that night and pulled Sally into my sleeping bag to keep us both warm, I knew I had to go back. I wasn’t ready, but being out here in the cold wasn’t any better.

31

Gemma

“WHAT’S THE DEAL WITH REMOTES?” I asked the audience at The Indigo.

‘What is the deal’? Who are you, Jerry Seinfeld?

The audience waited. I cleared my throat.

“Like, there are so many buttons, right?”

Stop asking the audience to agree with you. It’s needy. Don’t ask them, tell them.

The Indigo had reopened. It was still the same old Indigo but with a facelift, and no water stains blooming on the ceiling. The stage had better lighting, the floors were new, and the bar counter shined with new lacquer. It was beautiful. Reid would love it, if he ever resurfaced.

My stomach twisted. Reid. Would that feeling ever go away, the one where I got excited to show him something and then dread filled my stomach as I remembered the crushed look on his face as I slammed the door behind me?

On stage, I raised my hands in a what gives kind of way. “We don’t need that many buttons!”

I laughed with more energy than a comedian should ever display with their own jokes and looked out aimlessly into the audience. Someone, anyone, to connect with. “Big Remote is obviously in bed with Big Button.”

Silence.

“And what’s with everyone having a different name for them? Remote? Clicker? Channel changer?”

Nothing.

I fumbled through the rest of my set, nodded my appreciation to the audience when they offered polite applause, and passed the mic to the next comic.

The next set across town was the same. I couldn’t deliver jokes in a way that would elicit laughs. It was like performing in a vacuum. Any laughs got sucked into the HVAC system before they made it to me on stage.

My heart sunk. I knew what this meant. It had been like this for the last week, since I got back from Whistler.

I had lost my mojo.

Every set I did, I bombed. It was horrific. I even watched a video of a set I did a couple months ago and took notes. There was something different about me then. I didn’t know who that happy, bubbly, blissfully ignorant woman was. I couldn’t find her or connect with her. I was like a wilted flower now.

I hadn’t seen or talked to him since Whistler. I knew what most people would say, that I was bombing because I was heartbroken over Reid. I wasn’t heartbroken, I was fine. I was a little rattled. This was the part where I had to stop thinking about him and work as hard as I could. This was the adjustment period where my brain forgot about the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled or how smooth his hair was under my fingers or how him kissing my neck made me shiver, and instead I kept writing jokes, kept telling stories onstage, and kept going to gigs.

I couldn’t tell you how many times I looked at the picture of him in Whistler, standing in front of the lake and looking all handsome with Sally tucked under his arm. My finger hovered over the ‘delete’ button a dozen times but I couldn’t do it.

Imagine how much worse this would have been if I had let it go on longer. What if we dated for a month? A year. Two years. It would devastate me. I’d be on the floor crying. It would be like Shane all over, except worse. It’d be like my mother.

On top of it all, it had been raining the whole week straight. Gutters flooded. The rainfall broke records. Every night, I sunk into a bath and tried to thaw out but no matter how hot the water was, I could never feel quite right.

Falling asleep each night, my mind wandered, picturing him standing in the wings during one of my shows, watching with that familiar smirk on his face, before I shook the image out of my head.

Us sitting in the movie theater, eating breakfast. Pressed up against each other in the closet on Halloween. Walking Sally in the park.

I chose this, I reminded myself.

Telling him about my mom, in his office all those months ago, expecting him to laugh but being proven wrong. How patient he was with Sam, and how much his staff loved working for him. Lying on his bed the day after the variety show, us still in our dressy clothes, holding hands after I told him I wished my dad had been there. Him pressing me down on the bed in Whistler, looking down at me with those moody hazel eyes, full of affection and trust and love.

It was never going to end well.

After dragging my ass to work, staring listlessly at my computer, and then bombing sets in the evenings, I woke up every morning feeling like someone had hit me with a garbage truck. My head hurt and my eyes were dry and I had this unsettling, all-consuming feeling of complete and irreparable misery.

Maybe it was time to take a break. Until I was back to normal.

I HADN’T DONE a set in a week when I got the call.

“Hello?” An email pinged on my computer at work and I skimmed it. More corporate bullshit. Delete.

“Hi, is this Gemma Clarke?” a man’s voice on the other end asked.

“Speaking.”

“This is John Hart.”

I wracked my memory. Maybe he was a client. “Hi, John.” I typed his name into my email but nothing came up.

“I saw your show in Whistler.”

The Ladonna show. The last weekend of my past life, when I used to be funny and happy. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah, I was in town for the festival and spent a night in Whistler. I couldn’t pass up an opportunity to ski there.”

“Are you a comic or something?”

“No, I’m a booker. What’s your schedule like for the next couple months?”

My brain skidded to a halt. “Flexible. Very flexible.”

“You want to come on tour with Regina Dhaliwal as her opener? I showed her your website and she loves your stuff. We tried to get you to open for her in Vancouver when that asshat fell through but I guess it was too short notice.”

I sat there with my mouth open, staring at nothing.

He couldn’t have said—?

I blinked at the air in front of me. “I’m sorry?”

He laughed. “I said, do you want to open for Regina Dhaliwal on tour for the next four months?”

“Yes. When? Where?” I’d go to Mars if he asked.

He laughed again. “That’s what I like to hear. Next week in LA, if you can swing it. We had someone else on the books but they got a headlining tour and wiggled out of their contract. This business…”

“I’m there.”

“Fantastic. Who’s your agent?”

“Uh…” My brain froze. “I don’t have one. Is that a deal breaker?”

He snorted. “No, it’s not a deal breaker. It’s a lot better for me if you don’t have an agent, but I’ll throw you a bone since you don’t seem like an asshole. I’ll email you a couple good ones. Tell them I recommended you and you have an offer in hand, and they’ll snap you up like a finger in a piranha tank.”

I’m not sure how long I sat there at my desk after we hung up, holding the phone up to my ear and staring at nothing. I had a ticket on the rocket ship and this time, I jumped on before the door slammed closed. This was a tiny, bright spot in the dreary rain cloud my life had been for the past month.

I couldn’t wait to tell—

My chest panged.

“PASSPORT?” Sam asked.

“Check.”

“Headphones?”

“Check.”

“Phone?”

“Yep.”

“You’re supposed to say ‘check.’”

“Check.”

“Anything else you need?” he turned the corner into the drop-off area of the airport.

“Lip balm. Lip balm is utterly essential on the flight. Hand cream, too, if you’re over thirty. Also, why are you taking care of me? It’s supposed to be the other way around.”

He rested his hands on the steering wheel. He bought this crappy old car with his earnings from the theater. “I’m not a kid anymore.”

“I guess you’re not.”

“Lip balm and hand cream?”

“Check.” I patted my small backpack, which held my laptop, all the essentials listed by Sam, and a small bag of liquids Matilda had packed me.

“Remember, if you see any celebrities, mark down the location so we can go back there when I visit you at Christmas in a few weeks.”

I rolled my eyes and laughed. “If you have any car problems, talk to Dani, okay? Go to her mechanic.”

“I know.”

We paused in the car, looking at each other. My stomach was in knots.

“Are you going to be okay?” I asked. “I won’t be around to bug you about doing your homework and eating vegetables and showering.”

“In some cultures, being in my early twenties would mean I’m a grown man and can take care of myself.” He nudged my shoulder. “I’m going to be fine.”

I sighed. “I know.”

“I love you.”

“I love you too, buddy.”

“AIR CANADA FLIGHT 77 with service to Los Angeles will begin boarding now.”

I pulled my passport out of my bag and tapped it against my knee. People lined up for boarding but I didn’t move. No point in jumping up if I was going to wait in line. The plane wasn’t leaving without me.

My heart beat in my ears. A ball of tension sat between my stomach and my lungs, screaming something is wrong. I was going on tour to tell jokes for money—everything I ever wanted. So why couldn’t I shake the feeling I was making a huge mistake?

“Air Canada flight 77 with service to Los Angeles, we are now boarding all remaining passengers,” the flight attendant said.

I raked my hand through my hair. This was my brain letting go of him. I’d feel better once I got to LA. It was a lot of life changes in a short period.

The second before I stepped into the jet bridge to the plane, after the flight attendants checked my passport, I hesitated. I don’t know why. Maybe I thought he’d show up here or something. For a split second, I didn’t want to get on that plane.

“Ma’am? Is there a problem?” a flight attendant asked.

I shook my head. “Sorry.” I gave her a polite smile before continuing on to the plane.

32

Reid

“SAM KNOWS how to do the inventory orders, he can do that for you,” I told the new manager, Rebecca, on the phone, staring out the window at the cherry blossom trees. It was April, and they were in full bloom.

“Do you need me to keep track of any receipts or invoices?” she asked.

“Hold on to them, save them in a folder and I’ll deal with it later.”

“When do you think that’ll be?”

“I don’t know.”

“Okay. A package came for you, I think they’re running shoes. You sure buy a lot of them.”

“Leave everything in the storeroom. Anything else?”

She paused on the other end of the phone, no doubt thinking I was a rude asshole but I couldn’t summon the energy to apologize. “Nope.”

“Call me if you need help. Oscar is around at the bar, too.”

We hung up and I turned the phone off before tossing it in a drawer in the kitchen. This was Rebecca’s fourth month as general manager of The Capitol and between her, Sam, Naz, and Mica, another one of their friends I hired, the theater was out of my hands. We had a weekly phone call to answer any questions but it was getting shorter and shorter as she learned more.

In my bedroom, I sat on the edge of the bed and scratched Sally’s neck. My room was a mess. Dirty clothes and towels everywhere. A tower of books sat on the night table, most half-read. My laptop was on the floor, filled with the movies I’d been watching—crime dramas, action blockbusters, and sci-fi epics. I’d been killing time by either reading, watching movies up here in my apartment, or running until I couldn’t feel my feet. At the end of a longer run, all I could think about was my next breath of air and dragging my feet forward. I would run until I could hardly remember her laugh or the way my chest tightened when she smiled.

Hardly.

Running helped keep the boners at bay. You’d think someone as fucking miserable as me wouldn’t have that problem but every morning, I was hard as a rock, half-asleep with words like Gemma, soft, wet, tight in my head.

I thought going back to The Capitol would be hell, and it was. I stayed out of the theater, I didn’t see Oscar or Dani at The Indigo, and I avoided anything that reminded me of her. I ran, I went to the grocery store, and I took Sally out a couple times a day but hired a dog-walker to take her on pack walks every day so she could get more exercise and socialization. I survived on protein smoothies and coffee and rice. I stared out the window, like some fucking ghost who haunted the theater.

No memories. No heartbreak. I was on autopilot most of the time. There were no highs, but there were also no lows.

I scratched under Sally’s chin while she laid there in my apartment, watching me. My phone chirped with a text in the kitchen drawer but I ignored it.

It chirped again.

And again.

And again.

I sighed with frustration and stalked over to turn it off, but the name on the screen made my heart stop.

Gemma Clarke: Hi.

Gemma Clarke: It’s Gemma.

Gemma Clarke: I don’t know if you still have my number or not. I wouldn’t blame you if you blocked me and aren’t getting any of these messages.

Gemma Clarke: My tour is in town tomorrow and I have something I want to say to you. I’m doing a set at the Indigo after the show downtown. Maybe you can watch, and we can talk after.

My heart was in my throat, and I stared at the three typing dots on the screen with fascination and disbelief. Somewhere on this planet, she was staring at her own phone, texting me.

I hadn’t seen her in five months. I had to give myself credit, I had the self-control of a saint. I didn’t Google her, I didn’t look up her social media, and I didn’t ask her friends how she was. I was doing my best to forget her.

And now she was texting me, inviting me to her show tomorrow.

The typing dots stopped and I stared harder at the screen, willing them to reappear. Willing her to say whatever she had been typing before she deleted it.

She had left. When Oscar told me about the tour, I knew it was the end of it all. Any threads left between us snapped.

I didn’t feel any anger for her, though. This was what she always wanted and worked so hard for. That was the only light in all this bullshit—Gemma was getting her happy ending. One of us should.

I rubbed a hand over my face. Her being in town didn’t change the fact that Gemma would always put comedy and career above me. Always. She had shown me who she was. I had accepted it. End of story.

I would be lying if I said I didn’t want to see her. Of course I wanted to see her. Even if it was only for a minute, even if she was on stage under the bright lights and couldn’t see me.

One last time.

33

Gemma

OUR CAR PULLED onto Main Street and my breath caught.

Cherry blossoms, everywhere. Raining down from the trees in soft spirals. Collecting in the gutters like a pink river. Sprinkled on cars. They took my breath away, those soft pink petals against the dark sky.

I was home.

My heart still had a Swiss Army Knife sticking out of it but being back on familiar turf settled my stomach.

I ran on about eighty percent personality these days. In the evenings, I’d do my set and give it everything I had, and after, I’d collapse in a hotel room or in my seat on a plane and fill my head with music and podcasts until I stepped on stage again. It took everything in me to muster the energy for those sets, but damn if I was going to lose those, too.

I’d lost enough, but tonight was my chance to get him back.

“We have enough time for you to do a fifteen,” the tour promoter, Vin, told me from the front seat. “We have an eleven o’clock flight.”

I had been sitting on a plane last week, staring out the window as we landed in New York, when the realization had hit me:

I had guarded myself from Reid because if he had gotten in the way of comedy, I thought I’d be miserable. So I put comedy first, and kicked him out of the way.

I nodded at Vin in the car, waiting for The Capitol to come into view. “That’s fine.”

And now? I had everything I had always wanted. I was on my way up, holding on tight as the rocket ship rose through the atmosphere.

Vin checked the time on his phone. “We’re cutting it close.”

“This is important.” I told him. “Come on, I don’t ask for much.”

I was miserable without him. Every day, I thought about him and wondered what he was doing. I replayed everything that had happened with us. I thought about how proud he’d be about the fall tour, and how big he’d grin if I told him about the Seattle show, or how he’d reassure me about the joke that bombed in Toronto.

“That’s great, Ice Queen,” he’d say. “You’re doing it.”

The Capitol’s marquee lights sparkled from behind the trees.

There it was.

My insides twisted as I remembered all the things I said and did. If only I could turn back time and do everything differently.

Last week, I’d signed a contract to open for another tour in the fall, and the head writer of a late-night show had hired me onto the writing staff. The writer’s room started next month. This was it. My dream come true, but like in the airport before I left for LA, it still felt like it was missing something. A cake without the sugar. Bland. Tasteless.

Tonight was my chance to make it right. I would do my set, lay all my cards out on the table, and tell him the truth. My hands shook with nerves so I tucked them under my knees.

I would be brave, because Reid was worth it.

When I stepped in the door of The Indigo, Oscar gave me a big hug. I scanned the bar for him, gaze roaming through the small audience as someone on stage told jokes.

He wasn’t here yet.

“You sure it’s okay if I bump someone?” I asked Oscar.

He waved a hand. “This is the biz, kid.”

I smiled at him. “It’s nice to see you. How’s this place doing?”

He beamed at me. “We’re doing great. I miss that old theater, though.”

I nodded. My heart tugged. “Me too.”

A few minutes later, I waited beside Oscar as the comic on stage introduced me, still scanning the audience, watching the bar and the door for any signs of movement. My heart beat in my ears.

Maybe he had blocked me. Maybe he didn’t see any of those messages. My hands had shook yesterday as I texted him. I was about to text the thing I had wanted to say all those months ago in Whistler.

I love you.

I had stopped myself. Not like this, I had told myself. Not through text.

And now he wasn’t here.

“Our next comic is a Vancouverite currently on tour with Regina Dhaliwal. Give a big welcome home to Gemma Clarke!”

The audience cheered and I stepped up on stage, smiling at them. My internal showtime switch flicked on and I tried to ignore the sinking feeling of disappointment.

He didn’t show.

“It’s good to be back. I love this city.”

I adjusted the mic and my brain clicked into gear. The bar may have undergone renovations but the stale beer smell still lingered in the air.

I hadn’t told this to Vin or Oscar, but I planned to try out some new material tonight. Most of the tour, I hadn’t been writing jokes. Everything I wrote fell flat, sounded stupid or wasn’t funny. But a couple days ago, as the Vancouver date loomed, I started writing whatever was in my head. Every night on stage, I had been telling jokes from my previous life, but I wasn’t that person anymore. I’d smashed my own heart into a thousand pieces and not talking about it with the audience felt disingenuous. The audience was who I had to be truly honest with. That was the deal when they showed up to the show. Honesty.

So that’s what I would give them tonight.

Reid didn’t show up, but that wouldn’t change anything. I was still going to say it.

At that moment, I heard the front door open. The stage lights were so bright I couldn’t see past the front row, but my skin prickled with awareness, and I knew.

It was him.

It was the same feeling I’d get months ago on stage, knowing he was there, watching my sets. The corner of my mouth ticked up and I swallowed, taking my time on stage. The audience watched, enraptured. The mic shook in my hand.

Here we go.

“It’s hard being back, though.” I gripped the mic and wandered down the stage, feeling his gaze on me as I moved. “A lot of stuff happened at the end of last year that I tie to Vancouver, so it’s hard to step back into all those memories.”

I looked to the bar. I couldn’t see it in the dark but I looked to where I thought he might be sitting, his old spot.

“There was this guy, and I hated him.” I glanced at them. “He was my best friend’s ex. He was my mortal enemy. Every night, I’d sit right over there—” I pointed at the bar, “—and remind him he was Lucifer’s yeast infection.”

The first wave of laughs hit me. My brain was ready, waiting to accept the hit of dopamine that floods my system.

I gave them a half smile. “And then I fell in love with him.”

Silence.

I widened my eyes at them in emphasis. “I know. Whoops.” I nodded. “That was a curveball. And then we lived happily ever after. Okay, goodnight!”

A big burst of laughter and I shook my head. “It’s never easy, is it? We all have our shit to deal with and love is tough, because somewhere in our evolution, our survival instincts got a little…” I wavered my hand in the air. “…flipped.”

Alright, Reid, this one’s for you. I took a deep breath.

“I think us humans are afraid of the wrong things. We drink poison on Saturday nights with our friends at some tetanus-ridden dive bar, but saying ‘I love you’ first is terrifying.”

A few people laughed. Some nods of commiseration from the front row.

“I can get onstage in front of hundreds of people who don’t know me, don’t care about me, and don’t like me—” I gestured at the front row of regulars, faces I recognized. “You know, drunk people.” They laughed and I laughed with them. “But I can’t pick up the phone and say ‘Hey. I miss you.’”

More noises of acknowledgement. This set wasn’t rife with jokes, but I didn’t care. It felt so right, saying these things on stage, and I prayed to the universe he was watching. That I wasn’t imagining it.

“I’m on tour right now with Regina Dhaliwal.” Some whoops. “She’s incredible. We fly a lot on tour, multiple times a week. We shoot through the air in metal tubes, and that’s no problem to most people. The guy in 31C ate six hard boiled eggs and is displacing all the oxygen with his noxious egg farts,” I said and waited for the audience to laugh it out. “No one can breathe on that plane, but admitting a crappy mom and a dead dad affected my adult relationships was off the table because it meant stepping out onto the ice.”

Fewer laughs on that one, but I hadn’t lost them. They were still listening.

“Getting naked? No hesitation. We can show people our butts before we can say ‘I was wrong. Let’s try again.’”

Silence. I swallowed. My heart hammered in my chest. Finally, I was being honest.

“My best friend held my hair back in university while I vomited Molson’s into a toilet, but I couldn’t tell her I was in love with her ex.”

I glanced toward the bar again.

“I fell in love with that guy I thought I hated, and instead of letting us be happy, I broke both our hearts.” I closed my eyes a moment, sucked in a breath, before my gaze returned to the bar area. My pulse raced in my ears.

“I’d do anything to turn back time, and I’d do anything to make it right.”

The silence in that bar would have made most comics uncomfortable. Some people probably thought I was bombing.

The front door of The Indigo opened again, breaking the silence, and something changed in the bar. The energy dropped.

I chewed my lip, blinking to myself under the spotlight. If he was here, that was him leaving.

My grand gesture didn’t work. He didn’t want me, and we were done. I lowered my head, and my entire body felt heavy.

“You’ve all been great tonight,” I told the audience as they watched, not knowing what to make of me. I introduced the next comic and stepped off stage.

Oscar stood behind the bar, leaning forward with his palms on the counter, watching me warily.

I tilted my chin to Reid’s old spot. “Was he here?”

Oscar nodded. “You okay, Gem?”

The last pieces of my heart shattered. I had shown Reid the pieces, and he didn’t want anything to do with it.

But at least I knew. It hurt for the door to slam closed like this, but I had said what had been rolling around in my head for months.

I nodded at Oscar. “I will be.”

There. Now I could forget about him.

34

Reid

I STOOD in my apartment that night, staring down at the street, thinking about everything she had said during her set.

“…but saying ‘I love you’ first is terrifying.”

“…but I can’t pick up the phone and say ‘Hey. I miss you.’”

“…but admitting a crappy childhood and a dead dad affected my adult relationships was off the table because it meant stepping out onto the ice.”

She talked about us on stage. She never talked about personal things on stage. She made jokes about eating earplugs or being an accountant but she never talked about love or feelings or her parents.

The second I saw her on stage tonight, I could feel it happening again. Getting pulled into her orbit. Getting sucked under the surface. Being drawn to her. That familiar charisma and charm I missed so much. Seeing her tonight hit me over the head with longing.

She still wanted me. She still loved me.

But if she wanted me, why didn’t she come find me? Why’d she leave me to rot above the theater for five months while she was having breakthroughs and selling out theaters? Why would she talk about it on stage instead of saying it to my face?

“You showed me who you were again and again, and I thought you could change, but you can’t.” My words rang in my head and my throat closed up.

She didn’t come after me because she wasn’t sure if I wanted her anymore.

Sitting at the bar, watching her set, it was too much. It was every emotion I had held at arm’s length for the past four months, rushing back and badgering me from every angle.

I couldn’t breathe.

I couldn’t think.

I left.

The idea of going through it all over again, the highs and lows of being head over fucking heels in love with Gemma, it was terrifying.

I swallowed and watched people leave the bar, spilling onto the street.

What about all the horrible things she had said? This was always going to be temporary.

What about all the horrible things I had said? I can’t believe you’re being so fucking obtuse about this.

I couldn’t do it again, but I couldn’t live like this anymore, either. I huffed a laugh. It sounded dry, like starting a car that had been sitting for a while.

The next morning, I pulled Sally against me while I lay in bed, staring at the empty spot beside me where she once slept. I had tossed and turned all night and now, I knew three things.

Gemma had everything she had always wanted, but wasn’t happy.

The Capitol didn’t feel like my dream anymore.

I couldn’t live my life on mute any longer.

35

Gemma

MY PHONE RANG on the car’s console.

“Hi.”

“What’s wrong?” Sam’s voice came through the car’s speakers.

“Nothing.” Everything.

“You sound mad.”

“I’m not. I’m driving home. How was your exam?”

“Not at hard as I expected.”

“Nice. All packed for tomorrow?”

“I think so. All I packed are t-shirts, swim trunks, and sunscreen.”

I smiled. “That’s all you’ll need.”

It was mid-May and I was driving home to the apartment I shared with Pat in LA. It was about ten at night and dark out. Palm trees lined the streets, a sight I was slowly getting used to.

Pat was up in Vancouver visiting family and doing a couple shows, so I had the apartment to myself, although I wasn’t home much.

Tomorrow, Sam would fly in for a visit. My backseat was full of groceries, including ingredients to make him a big breakfast with pancakes, bacon, eggs, avocado, and hash browns, like my dad used to when I was a kid.

Like Reid used to.

Matilda was always urging people to take Vitamin D in Vancouver and to get outside on sunny days to avoid the winter blahs, but here in LA, it was sunny every day and I still felt them.

I was fine. I was moving on and settling into LA. This was my life now. I even bought a car, a little mint green hatchback I loved. Buying it was a total pain in the ass and I shot a couple really could have used you right now! thoughts up to my dad while fending off slick-haired, condescending salesmen. I ended up buying a car from the first woman I saw, the receptionist. She didn’t talk down to me, we figured out the answers to my questions using Google, and she made me take a picture with my new car to send to my friends.

So, I was fine. This was my life now. It wasn’t a love story, or not a good one. I was bouncing back. I pitched jokes in a room and wrote scripts for TV. On weekends, I did shows around town and made friends with the other comedians. I was supporting myself off comedy. I was living the dream. This was what I always wanted, it was just taking my brain some time to catch up.

The people in the writers’ room were fantastic. We were currently drafting the season storylines. Ten of us writers and the showrunner sat in a room from ten in the morning until six in the evening and threw out ideas—the weirdest, biggest, strangest, most absurd ideas we could think of.

I often stayed late in the office writing until the words blurred together on my laptop. Pat toured a lot and had only been home a couple days since I moved in last month. I would come home bursting with energy from the writer’s room, only to deflate in the empty apartment. I missed my girls. I missed Sam. I missed Mei and Oscar and Naz and Jaime and Sally and the other comics. I missed Noah and the Australians.

And yeah, I missed him, but I was moving on, trying not to think about him, and I was—

Yeah. Fine.

A few times, I did a double-take at someone who looked like him, and I swear I saw him on the freeway once, but of course I didn’t. The same thing had happened with my dad after he passed—I thought I saw him everywhere. This was part of it, letting go of someone you loved.

I thought about calling him and giving him a piece of my mind. I picked up the phone four, five, six, seven times, my finger hovering above the call button. After my set in Vancouver, I sat on the plane with my phone in my hand and wrote out messages and deleted them, again and again.

What would I even say to him?

Hi, how are you?

I love you.

How’s the theater?

I think about you every day.

How’s Sally?

I’d do anything to turn back time.

Why’d you leave during my set?

I’ll never find someone like you for as long as I live.

It was done. He said it himself. “You showed me who you were again and again, and I thought you could change, but you can’t.” Those words sliced right through me every time I heard them. Sadness and regret and nostalgia settled in my chest like a weight and I blew a breath out in my car.

Something caught my eye on the side of the road.

I huffed. I’d noticed the theater a few weeks ago. Now that I was working on the show, I passed it every day on my drive to and from work. It was run down and looked like it hadn’t been open in years. It looked like his theater, but stucco instead of brick, and that made me mad. It was like the universe was punishing me, saying you screwed it up, so here’s a giant reminder to rub salt in the wound!

Tonight, though, the theater looked different. The marquee was lit up, for once. Big, cut-out letters lined in small lights sat on top of a building above the marquee.

THE GEMSTONE

Opening June

Before I realized what the hell I was doing, I was circling the block, looking for parking. Ten minutes and a two-block walk later, I stood staring up at that beautiful old theater, thinking about him.

The door was unlocked. The inside was under construction still, with giant rolls of ruby carpet leaning up against the wall and exposed concrete floors. Plastic sheeting hung in lieu of doorways, and several navy velvet movie theater chairs clustered in the corner. An antique popcorn machine sat in pieces on a white sheet. A clanging noise came from behind one of the plastic curtains.

“Hello?” I took a step inside, taking it all in. No, I could never come here without thinking about him. He’d be all I’d think about.

“We’re not open yet,” a muffled voice said behind the curtain, footsteps drawing closer.

My ears perked up and I froze before I rolled my eyes at myself.

“I know, I wanted to look around, if that’s okay.” I stepped forward to peek inside the theater. It was too dark to see inside. I turned back to the lobby. “There’s a theater like this one back in Vancou—oh my god.”

Reid stood there in a white t-shirt, cheeks flushed like he was lifting something moments before. His eyes were bright and his mouth was parted, as if he wanted to say something but had forgotten how to speak.

I’d forgotten how to speak, too.

Holy hell. Every molecule in my body screamed at me to go over to him, touch him and fold myself into him or run my hands over that beard to make sure he was really there, but I didn’t move.

I opened and closed my mouth three times before breaking the silence. “What the hell are you doing in LA?” It came out angrier than I meant.

“Did Dani tell you about this?” His voice was low and quiet and he watched me. “Or Sam?”

I blanched. “Dani? What? How would Sam—why are you here?”

He continued staring at me. Maybe he wasn’t sure if I was really there, either.

“Reid.” His name ripped out of my mouth before I could catch it, and my heart panged. Saying his name physically hurt.

He watched me while he slowly exhaled. “I saw your set.” He watched me so intently, waiting for clues.

“I know.” I swallowed and clenched my hands at my side. “I made a huge mistake, leaving you in Whistler. I should have stayed. We could have figured things out together.”

Was this even real? Was I talking with Reid right now or was this some cruel dream where I was about to wake up? He was here in LA. Was he here for me?

Hope bloomed in my chest before I could stop it. Reid was right in front of me. Everything I’d been chasing for the past couple months—that feeling of connection and fulfillment—he was right in front of me.

I spent so long avoiding my mother’s life, because I didn’t want to be miserable, only to end up miserable anyway. My stupid rule—no love, no attachments, no heartbreak—had totally fucking let me down. Those guys who had let Mom down? They were nothing like Reid. Reid had only ever supported and uplifted me. He helped keep me on stage when The Indigo was out of commission, he made me a website to promote myself, he helped me with Trevor, and now he was here in another country. For me.

I shook my head. “You’re a real piece of work, you know that?”

He choked out a humorless laugh. “What?”

“I let you down again and again. I treated you like complete crap. And now you’re here.” I threw my hands up at our surroundings. “With this.”

His features softened and he opened his mouth but I held a hand up. “Hold on.”

It felt like one of my early open mic sets. I didn’t know what would happen, I didn’t know how it would go but I had to try, because it might be worth it.

I took another deep breath in and out. Like on stage, I was present. Nothing else existed except Reid and me, standing in this partially renovated old theater.

“I was so worried about falling in love and derailing my career and ending up miserable, I sabotaged us and ended up miserable anyway. My plan didn’t work. I was wrong.”

This is what I had wanted to say to him in Vancouver after my set. I took another step forward, about three feet away from him, close enough to see the bags under his eyes and inhale his familiar smell.

“I was so scared of being with you because it was the best thing that ever happened to me and I didn’t want to lose control. Everything is more fun when you’re around. Everything good that happens to me is better when I share it with you. Food tastes better when you’re beside me in the theater. Stand-up is more fun when you’re in the audience. You’re my absolute favorite person in the entire world, and life sucks without you. And my career?” I shook my head at him. “You only helped my career. You were always in my corner. I was so wrong.”

I took a deep breath and clenched my hands together. What was the point of coming this far and not giving him everything? At least, when I was a hundred years old and seconds from death, I’d have that. I’d know I did everything I could and said it all without hesitation. Maybe he didn’t want me, but I put it all out there.

“I love you. I’m in love with you. I don’t want to be without you. Maybe you’ve changed your mind or this is too much for you, but I needed to say that.” My hands fell to my sides.

His hands rested on his hips. He blinked at me. “Are you done?”

Maybe it was a cruel joke from the universe, him being here. It was a coincidence. He wasn’t here because of me. I’d cry into my pillow in the dark tonight but for now, I would hold it together in front of him. I couldn’t make him feel guilty on top of everything I’d put him through.

I nodded once before I put a hand up and shook my head. “No.” I looked around the space. “You can’t live here.” There was a bite to my words.

His mouth quirked. “What?”

“You can’t break my heart and then set up shop on my drive home from work. You can’t.” My voice was getting higher. “Don’t you see how cruel that is? Of all the cities in the world, you pick this one? So, no, you can’t live here. I don’t know what your plan is, but…” I shrugged. I was unraveling, fast. “You can’t stay here.”

He raised his eyebrows. I swear I saw the corner of his mouth twitch. “You’re banning me from the whole city of Los Angeles?”

I gave him a curt nod. “Yep.”

For a second, I thought he would turn around and walk into the back where he had come from, but he didn’t. He looked down at me, and the crease on his forehead disappeared.

“I bought this place last month. It used to be called the Criterion.”

I nodded. “And then you changed it to The Gemstone.” Like some kind of sick joke.

He nodded again, waiting.

I crossed my arms.

He threw his hands in the air in frustration. “I’m grand-gesturing you, Ice Queen. I was going to wait until it was ready in June to show you. It was fucking torture not reaching out to you.”

My hands flew to my face. It was like all my pent up hoping and wishing and maybe it’ll be okay broke through me. Please, let this be real.

He raked his hand through his hair and looked into my eyes. “There are so many things I needed to say to you. I’m sorry. I miss you. I love you. I want to be with you. I can’t fucking breathe without you.” His nostrils flared.

The weight that had been sitting on my chest for so long—so long I forgot it was there—lifted, and I could breathe again. My eyes stung. He watched my face with a growing smile and warmth spread in my chest.

Tears leaked out of the corner of my eyes. “Does this mean you still like me?” I choked out, laughing.

The corner of his mouth ticked upwards, and he took a step forward, bringing his hands up to my shoulders, gaze resting on mine. My hands went to his chest on instinct. “I’m crazy about you, Ice Queen. I always have been. Now, get over here,” he muttered and pulled me toward him.

Our mouths found each other. His hand was in my hair, the other around my shoulders. His beard bristled against me and I sighed. God, how I missed that feeling. The short hairs above his neck were velvet under my fingers. He kissed me and it was his turn to groan.

“I missed you so much,” he murmured in between kisses.

“I missed you every single day.” Our mouths broke apart and I placed a series of short, soft kisses down his neck, ripping a groan from his throat. He smelled incredible. When he wasn’t looking, I’d steal his t-shirt and huff it out of a paper bag. “I couldn’t forget you, even when I tried.”

He pulled away, only far enough to look down at me. His face was devoid of any facade or sarcastic expression. “I love you,” he said, simply.

“I love you, too. I’m so wildly in love with you.”

He raised an eyebrow. His eyes glittered. “Aren’t you going to tell me you still hate me?”

I shook my head. “Not a chance.”

Epilogue - Reid

“IT’S SO good to be here tonight,” Gemma said into the mic, and the crowd applauded and whooped. “Look at all your gorgeous faces.”

She took a sip of water. Her bright, tailored suit glowed under the spotlights and her hair was curly and wild.

I stood in the projection room and surveyed the theater. Oscar, Dani, Cady, Matilda, Sam, Mei, and Noah sat in the audience. Two camera operators were in the aisle, focused on Gemma, and two other cameras caught audience reactions. Netflix had booked The Gemstone out for the full weekend and this was the first show of three.

Tonight was my Gemma’s big night. Her dream come true. Her Netflix special. One of many to come.

“A lot of stuff happened for me in the past year and a half. I opened for Ladonna Hill.” The audience cheered and Gemma nodded. “Lots of love for Ladonna here tonight. Then I went on tour with Regina Dhaliwal.” The audience cheered again and she shook her head in disbelief. “She’s incredible. And then something terrible happened that changed my life.”

Silence in the theater.

She winced. “I fell in love.”

A big laugh. My adrenaline pitched I watched as she wandered up the stage with a little smile on her face.

Her shoulders reset. As soon as she got that first big laugh, she was coasting.

She nodded and wandered up the stage. “Yep, I fell in love. We think we’re so advanced, the human race. We think we’re so strong and we’re so smart.” She looked to the audience. “We’re bulletproof. We have penicillin and the internet and pacemakers and there’s almost nowhere left to explore so we’re going to outer space.” She cocked her head. “We have total control—until we fall in love.”

“Love caught me by surprise. I had a rule: no love, no attachments, no heartbreak.” She gestured at the front row. “So easy, right? Foolproof.” She shrugged. “My mom and my dad were head over heels for each other, and then my dad up and died.”

The audience was silent, unsure where she was leading them.

“My mom always wanted to be an actor, but she kept getting caught up in trying to find that love she had for my dad. So I was like—” She put her hand up. “No way, buddy.”

A small laugh from the audience. They were following her lead. Gemma was okay, so they were okay.

“Love sneaks up on you, though. Love is that aggressive Girl Guide outside the grocery store, pushing her stash on you. You can’t even say you don’t have cash because they take credit card. They’re relentless.” She made an exasperated face. The audience laughed. “I still can’t go back to that grocery store. Madison can smell my fear.”

She gave them a quick, cheeky grin and I smiled. She was having fun. She would always have The Indigo and The Capitol, but this place was becoming home now. She had performed here once a week since we opened last year.

“Love is persistent. I tried to ignore it and I failed. Love is that email list you’ve definitely unsubscribed from but the emails keep showing up in your inbox. What’s the point of the unsubscribe button if the emails keep coming, J. Crew?” The crowd laughed. “I don’t need any more pink jeans!”

They laughed again and she grinned at them.

“I didn’t want to fall in love because stand-up was my life and I thought it would get in the way. This?” She gestured between her and the audience. “It’s all I want to do. It’s the best feeling in the world. I love being up here in front of all of you, seeing all of you every night and hearing that incredible chorus of your laughter.” She beamed at them. “So love was inconvenient in my life.” She shrugged. “Love is inconvenient but it makes you a better person, like that vegan coworker who you feel bad eating meat around.” This roused a big wave of laughs from them. “You pack the chickpea curry because you don’t want Alanna to smell your pork breath.” The audience laughed bigger and she shook her head in dismay.

“I thought love would be easy to get rid of. I thought I could ignore it and it would go away, like a rash or a bad haircut. I thought love was like my grade seven bangs.” The audience laughed and she made a face at them. “They were way too short. They made my face look like a beach ball.” They laughed again. “They grew out and went away. Love wasn’t going away, though.”

“When I fell for him, I tried to hide it, but I quickly figured out it didn’t work like that. It’s a part of you and people will see it eventually. It’s that ironic lower back tattoo of a hot dog you got during spring break in university. Your friends are going to see it on that weekend away in Whistler in the hot tub. You can get it removed but it’s going to take a long time and a lot of healing, and there are no guarantees.”

“But love is worth it, despite the hard parts.” Her mouth quirked and she looked up to where I stood in the projection room. She couldn’t see me—she couldn’t see off the stage because of the bright lights—but she knew I was here.

“Love is like getting extra butter on your movie popcorn. Like paying for the extra legroom on flights. Like saying yes to extra guac on your burrito. Love makes everything better, like melted cheese. Melted cheese makes everything better.”

On the monitor beside me with the close-up feed of her face, I caught the wink she sent up to me. I smiled down at her and my chest felt like it would burst with pride.

Once in a while, I thought back to my past life, where I sat at the bar, sparring with the beautiful woman who hated me. Gemma had burst into my life like a comet and lit everything on fire so I could start from scratch.

I couldn’t believe it was real sometimes. I was watching the woman who I loved more than anything on this Earth, and next weekend, I would ask her to marry me.

Not tonight. Tonight was her night, but next weekend, once she’d come down off the high of performing to a sold-out theater, I’d give her the ring I bought the weekend she walked into The Gemstone. It had been sitting in my desk until the time was right.

We owned a house together. We loved each other. She still made my heart race. She still made me hard when she slipped into the shower with me. I never knew what she was going to say. And like all those movies we watched together in The Capitol, we would live happily ever after.

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Author’s Note

Thank you for reading The Heartbreak Rule! If you enjoyed it, I would love if you could leave an honest review online.

I’m fascinated by comics. Comedy is brutal for women, people of colour, the queer community, and differently-abled people. These people are brave badasses. Support them and show them some love. My favorites include Mae Martin, Nicole Byer, Patti Harrison, Tig Notaro, Steph Tolev, Fortune Feimster, Michelle Buteau, Dina Hashem, Emily Heller, Sophie Buddle, Julio Torres, DJ Demers, and Jo Firestone.

A few thank you’s are in order. Thank you, Ashley Herring Blake, for believing in me and this book. Sarah Smith and Michelle Hazen, thank you for reading an early draft and providing insightful, clever feedback. Thank you, Chloe Friedlein, for illustrating exactly what I had pictured in my mind.

My soulmates: Alanna Goobie, Bryan Hansen, Sarah Clarke, Helen Camisa, Anthea Song, and Lindsey Curtis. Thanks for making me laugh, inspiring me, and having my back.

Tim, my favorite. Life would be so dull without you.

About the Author

Stephanie Archer writes spicy, laugh-out-loud romantic comedies. She believes in the power of best friends, stubborn women, a fresh haircut, and love. She lives in Vancouver with a man and a dog.

Table of Contents

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Contents

1. Gemma

2. Reid

3. Gemma

4. Gemma

5. Reid

6. Gemma

7. Reid

8. Gemma

9. Reid

10. Gemma

11. Gemma

12. Gemma

13. Reid

14. Gemma

15. Gemma

16. Gemma

17. Reid

18. Gemma

19. Reid

20. Reid

21. Gemma

22. Reid

23. Gemma

24. Gemma

25. Reid

26. Gemma

27. Gemma

28. Reid

29. Gemma

29. Gemma

30. Reid

31. Gemma

30. Reid

31. Gemma

32. Reid

33. Gemma

34. Reid

35. Gemma

Epilogue - Reid

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Also by Stephanie Archer

Author’s Note

About the Author