I finally understood why he didn’t care what the public thought of our relationship. Because the only important thing was that we were about to have our own show. And nothing else mattered, all of a sudden.
A crew member gave us a two minute warning—then a sixty second, and then the final countdown to showtime began. The theme music played, the audience cheered, and we walked out onto our set.
It was showtime.
Nine
Eric
I’d never understood when people talked about having a “calling.” I never felt like I was called to do anything—sure, I liked doing a whole lot of different stuff, and in the past decade, the world of food had been my main focus. But “calling?” I don’t think I’d ever describe it that way. Food—and more recently, having my own TV show, were huge passions, but I didn’t feel as if I were made to be doing them.
Dash, on the other hand, clearly had a calling.
I have no idea if he would have described it that way or not—but God, he was such a natural in front of the camera and the live audience that it kind of rattled me. I’d known he was good from our rehearsals, but part of me thought his nerves would set in for the first live show.
But the opposite happened. He was better, somehow. Totally alive. It was the first time doing this for me, too, but I found it increasingly difficult to even feel nervous, because Dash made me feel like I was working with a consummate professional. It was almost beautiful to watch. He’d lit me up inside, ever since he smiled so earnestly before we stepped out to the set.
And the on-stage banter we had was friendlier than we’d been to each other in a long time. Since I fucked everything up at my house. It had been rough, after he left—I shouldn’t have gone to the party that night, but I did. And the entire time I was there, I’d just felt guilty about Dash. The way he’d looked before leaving my house, the sound of his voice. I kept compulsively checking my phone to see if he had contacted me that night. I wasn’t used to being the kind of person who even did things like that.
The rest of the week was a ruin, too. I drank alone at home a couple nights. I couldn’t sleep very well, after seeing how he avoided my eyes and left as soon as every meeting was over that week.
And yet I still couldn’t tell him the truth.
I couldn’t tell him how I’d felt that day. How he’d broken my brain, and how I didn’t know if I’d ever felt that way during sex before. How it wasn’t that I wanted him just as a fake TV boyfriend, but instead I was too nervous about my real, actual feelings toward him. Because that’s not who I was. I wasn’t a hopeless romantic, I wasn’t looking for a long-term relationship, I wanted to stay single forever if I could. Right?
It had been harder to convince myself of that when I saw how beautiful he looked when I was inside him.
But I was angrier at myself than ever, tonight. Watching Dash come to life while we filmed was nothing short of exhilarating, and I couldn’t look away. We prepared the shrimp linguine, didn’t fuck up the roasted vegetables, and suddenly I found myself in the last 10 minutes of the show, after the first portion flew by.
“Alright, Eric,” Dash said, looking away from the teleprompter and toward me. His skin glowed under the set lights, and I wondered if his radiance would show through to the TV screen. “This is the part of the show I’ve most been looking forward to,” he said.
“Oh yeah?” I replied, smiling at him. “Why’s that?”
“Because,” he said, addressing the audience now, “this is the segment at the end of each show where we will take questions from you guys—the audience—and answer them live on air. The questions might be from the audience here in the studio with us, or they could be from online, or even over Skype or the phone.” He turned to me, smiling. “Isn’t the 21st century great?”
The audience applauded.
“Okay. So for the first question tonight, we have an email from Mary in Pittsburgh,” I said, reading from the teleprompter. “Mary asks, what do you guys think is the best food to cook for a new person you’re dating? I want to impress this girl I just started seeing, but I’m a total bonehead in the kitchen. Help!”
“Ah, the age old question, how to impress someone with food,” Dash said, smiling and nodding.
“Ok Mary, I know what I think you should cook,” I said, “which is my favorite thing to make when I’m seeing someone new.”
Dash looked at me with a grin.
“Risotto,” he said, right at the same time that I said it—we hadn’t rehearsed this, it wasn’t on the teleprompter, we had just both said the same thing.
I caught his eyes and had to fight the urge to yell jinx, for God’s sake. Dash and I beamed at each other for a second while the audience laughed.
“Yes,” I continued, “Risotto. Risotto is a perfect thing to make, because it seems like a fancy, complicated dish—and it always comes out delicious—”
“—But it’s actually not that hard to make,” he picked up my sentence where I left off. “20 minutes on the stove, some ladling and stirring, and you’re there. I have a favorite recipe that includes tomatoes and Italian sausage. I’ll be sure to share it on the Eat Network website this week, Mary, so that you can make it for your new girlfriend. I’m sure she will love it.”
Dash handled the next question, which was about soufflés, and after that, our first show came to a close. We thanked the audience, told them we’d see them next time, and the end credits music played.
And honestly, I felt like I was on top of the world.
“Eric!” Andrea called out to me, as soon as I walked off the set, and I braced myself as she bounded toward me, nearly tackling me with a huge hug. “That was so awesome! You did amazing!” She turned to Dash and gave him the same treatment, and I looked around and saw that the crew members were beaming and giving each other hugs and high-fives.
“Alright—Eric, Dash, you know the drill, we’re going out for drinks, we’re celebrating, and we don’t stop ‘til you can’t think straight anymore. You deserve it, guys. Let’s go. And we’re carpooling with Devin, because I don’t expect any of us to be in shape to drive later tonight.”
I smiled so much my face hurt, and nodded at Andrea. “Yes. Fuck yes. Let’s do it.”
Dash and I were caught in a flurry of congratulations, and twenty minutes later, we piled into the back of Devin’s truck. Devin was one of the camera operators and he didn’t drink, so Andrea had recruited him to be a designated driver. He careened around corners and seemed to ignore his own turn signal, so I didn’t know how good of a designated driver he was, but we made it to the bar in one piece.
The bar was fairly close by, one that Andrea and I had been to before. It was on the second story of an old building that looked out over the San Diego bay, and while it wasn’t exactly an ocean view, it was still great to look out at all the boats resting on the water in the bay.
When we walked into the bar it was already packed with people, and within two minutes Andrea had come up and pressed a drink into my hand. I felt weird about how acutely aware of Dash’s presence I was, even when he wasn’t near me—I noticed that he was perched on the other side of the bar, talking to other people.
Just because the show filming had gone so well didn’t mean that Dash would want to talk to me now. He was always like that when we filmed—open, friendly, joking with me. But when the cameras went off he seemed to slip back into his usual avoidance of me, and there was no reason to think tonight would be any different.
“Eric,” Andrea said, returning a couple minutes later with another drink in her hand. “What is up with you? Usually by now you’d be leading a group of people onto the balcony for a dance party.”
I smiled at her. “We’ve only been here five minutes,” I said.
“My point exactly. That’s precisely how long it takes you to get a party started.”
I shrugged, sipping lazily from the drink she’d gotten me. “God, this is good,” I said.
“I know,” she
replied, “the bartender said it has fresh peach, and bourbon, and some other stuff. But enough about the drink—seriously Eric, you and Dash should go round up the whole crew and get crazy. It’s your night tonight.”
I bit my bottom lip, hesitating a little. “Yeah, pretty sure Dash isn’t gonna want that,” I finally said.
She narrowed her eyes. “And why not?”
I hadn’t really told Andrea what had happened between the two of us. I was very comfortable and friendly with her, and normally I was an open book, but she was still our producer. I didn’t know if I should clue her in to the fact that I had already fucked things up with Dash before we even began filming. I took another big sip of my drink, and stared up at one of the huge, bright TV screens that was showing a soccer game.
“Eric,” she said, putting a hand on my shoulder. “It’s fine if you guys are hooking up. Do you really think I would care? I’ve seen how awkward you act together in the offices. Are you just trying to hide stuff from me?”
I was tempted to just blurt out to her the truth—that we’d had sex, but then I’d been an idiot and Dash had left—but something stopped me. Because even though I wouldn’t care if Andrea found out what we’d done, I wasn’t certain if Dash would want her to know.
So for once, I kept my dumb mouth shut. “He’s just an awkward person, Andrea. And he kind of hates me. Like, seriously, he’d rather eat ten thousand spiders than talk to me. He puts on a good act for the cameras, but—”
“Then what were those instagram pictures of you and him at the farmers market together, all cozy with each other?” she said with a sly smile. “Boyfriends, I think the woman called you?” She leaned against the bar, cocking her eyebrows at me.
I glared at her. “Those women were fans. They made an assumption. You can think whatever you want, but trust me, Dash and I are definitely just coworkers.”
She shrugged, the smile still on her face. “I’m just sayin’,” she said, “People don’t go to the farmers market with people they hate.”
A crew member from the show came up and joined our conversation, and I quickly steered the topic elsewhere. For a while, I kept glancing up, looking through the crowd of bodies in the dim light so that I could find Dash. He was talking with people I knew from the show, and then later on some people I didn’t recognize, maybe just strangers or new friends from the bar. I saw him talking and laughing with a heavily tattooed guy, and it kind of made me feel a kick in my chest when I saw how he lit up and laughed as they spoke.
Why did I suddenly wish I was that guy?
So I turned away, went and talked to Amelia and faced away from where I could see Dash. I didn’t want to see it happening. Didn’t want to see him in the process of meeting someone who would no doubt want him, and would certainly be better for him in every way.
God, I didn’t even know where this was coming from—I wasn’t a jealous person at all, and in the past, I would have been delighted to see someone hot talking to another hot person. I wasn’t possessive. I liked to share. And I certainly never demanded exclusivity of anyone. The more sex the merrier, I always said.
So I don’t know why I got such an ugly, gut-wrenching feeling seeing Dash responding so well to the gorgeous stranger.
It was too much. I started to feel the hot clutch of claustrophobia in the packed club, dizzying and constricting. I made a beeline for the bar to get a cup of water.
“Eric!” I heard as I put my hands down onto the cool wood of the bar. I turned to my right.
“Kristin,” I said, genuinely surprised. “Hi.”
I wrapped my arms around her in a hug. I had dated Kristin—dated her as much as I was capable of dating someone—about a year ago, and it had ended amicably when she found someone who was actually willing to settle down with her. I never had been.
“God, Eric, it’s been so long,” she said, beaming at me, her shiny brown hair falling over her shoulders.
“I know,” I said, smiling back, “How have you been, Kristin? How is… God, I’m so sorry… how is….”
“Gabe,” she answered, her smile falling a little. “It… didn’t actually work out with Gabe. We broke up about a month ago.”
“Oh shit, I’m sorry to hear that, Kris,” I said.
She waved a hand, like it didn’t matter to her. “Eh. What’s done is done. I think he loved his chinchilla more than he loved me, so it was for the better. I’m taking a break from relationships for a while,” she said, eyeing me. “I just want someone to fuck, right now.”
I nodded, my eyes widening. “Wow, cut right to the chase. Nothing wrong with that.”
The smile returned to her face. “Let me buy you a drink,” she said, and before I could stop her, she had the bartender’s attention, and a minute later she pressed the cold glass into my hand.
“Thank you, Kristin, I—”
“So how have you been?” she asked, leaning toward me.
I nodded. “Fairly good, actually, I’m actually here celebrating the first taping of my new show on Eat Network.”
“Oh my gosh!” she shouted, putting her hand on my forearm. “Eric, I’m so proud. I hope this works out for you.”
“I really do too. If it doesn’t work out, I’ll have to go with my plan B: becoming a professional avant-garde street dancer.”
She didn’t laugh at my dumb joke, but she left her hand on my arm, and began to stroke me there. I pulled back, but a minute later, her hand was on me again, this time on my upper arm, squeezing me.
“I heard that you and Abe called it quits,” she said, gazing at me.
I sighed. “Yep. That was also for the better, I think. He didn’t love a chinchilla more than me, but he sure didn’t love me. ”
“Listen,” she said, taking a gulp of her drink and then putting it on the bar. “I’m gonna be blunt. I want you to come home with me tonight. Can you do that for me, Eric?”
I met her eyes. Honestly, just a few months ago, I would have been enthralled by the proposition—both the idea that she just wanted to fuck, and how forward she was being. She was relentlessly attractive, and I did like her as a person.
But somehow I didn’t want it.
I felt wrong, like I was broken, like I wasn’t me anymore.
“I… can’t believe I’m saying this, Kris, but I don’t actually want to.”
Her face fell, and her hand dropped from my arm. “Oh,” she said. “Wow, Eric, gotta say, that’s surprising, but okay.”
“Yeah,” I told her, furrowing my brow. “It really is surprising. It’s definitely not because of you—trust me—I just think there’s something wrong with me.”
She laughed, and I was shocked to hear it. I met her eyes again and they’d softened, like she was no longer as surprised. “Eric. It’s not a big deal. We’re still friends. So what’s up? Do you know why you’re feeling off? Is something wrong?”
I sighed deeply. “Yeah, I think I do fucking know why, and that’s the problem.”
“Oh—oh wow, is there someone? Does Eric Ronson have feelings?” A smile crept over her face.
“Shut up,” I said. “And no, there isn’t someone. At least, not someone who wants me, anyway. God, this is so weird. How do normal people deal with ‘catching feelings’ like this? If that’s even what’s happening with me—I don’t know. Do you know any doctors who specialize in temporary insanity?” My face was burning hot, some combination of the alcohol and my all-encompassing embarrassment.
She laughed again, and this time wrapped her arms around me in a friendly hug.
“Enjoy this, Eric. It’s not often you meet someone special enough to make you feel something—really feel something—so if that’s happening for you, I think you should pounce on it. No matter how scary it seems.”
I looked to her and nodded weakly. “Easier said than done.”
“Is this person here tonight?” she asked, and I nodded. “I thought so. I could tell by the way you’re looking around every ten seconds like you’re trying
to find something that’s missing.”
“You always were smart,” I said with a sheepish smile. “And don’t worry, I think I already fucked things up with him anyway, so it doesn’t matter.”
“Hey,” she said. “It’s never too late. Unless you did something really bad, but, uh… listen. I suck at this pep talk stuff, but fuck it. The fact is, it’s probably not too late. You should go after him. Because I said so.”
“Thanks, Kris,” I said with a laugh, realizing I was drunker than I should be.
“Now I’m gonna go find someone who I can take home tonight,” she said, grinning. “And you should do the same.”
She disappeared into the crowd. I kept looking to the spot where I’d seen Dash talking to the tattooed guy earlier, but neither of them were there anymore. Of course, my brain performed some leaps of logic that made me believe they must have scurried off to a bathroom somewhere, or already gone home together, already were fucking, hell, maybe the tattooed guy had proposed already.
I knew I was being crazy. I hated it.
I chugged the rest of my drink, got a water from the bartender, and started to press my way through the crowd. I didn’t think it was possible that the place could have gotten more packed, but it had, and I needed to get out. The music had gotten louder and I snaked through the sea of bodies until I reached the doors that led out onto the balcony.
I finally pushed through them, and when the cool rush of air met me as I stepped outside, I stopped and breathed deep. Actually closed my eyes.
It was exactly what I needed. There were still people outside on the balcony, of course, but far fewer. There were little lanterns strung up everywhere and it gave the deck a cozy feel. I made my way over to the railing and looked out at the boats resting on the water ahead.
Someone came and rested their arms on the balcony right next to me—my first reaction was annoyance, as I wanted some time on my own, but right as I looked up I saw that it was Dash.
“Oh,” I said, unable to suppress my surprise at seeing him. My eyes widened and I almost choked on the sip of water I was taking. So much for playing it cool.
The Sweetest Star: Under the Stars Book 2 Page 10