by Lily Kate
“I am interested—”
“Hold on, please,” I interrupt. “I know you don’t want a girlfriend, and if I say I don’t want to date you, I mean it too. This is a two-way street, got it?”
“Understood.” He nods. “To be clear, whether or not I end up in Los Angeles, we are not agreeing to do anything more than hang out and have some fun together.”
“Exactly,” I say. “We’ll have some fun until the wedding, and then I’ll come back to LA and focus on school and comedy while you focus on hockey. No pressure for anything.”
“No pressure.”
I extend a hand, and eventually, he extends his own with a smile. As we clasp hands, he hesitates. “What is it this time?” I ask. “Don’t tell me you’re backing out now.”
“I completely forgot one of the reasons I showed up this morning.”
“It wasn’t to bring me coffee?”
“It was, but…I came to tell you that my flight home is tomorrow. Yes, I realize this is horrible timing, but when I saw you, I forgot everything I’d come to say. I have to head back to the Cities for preseason training.”
“Oh.”
“I want to see you again,” he says. “Are you sure you can’t come out to the party tonight?”
“I’ll call you after my show,” I tell him again. “That’s the best I can do, sorry.”
He shakes his head. “I understand, I just…” He looks down at his lap, where there’s a distinct outline of his magical staff, and it is raring to go. “Do you see what you do to me? I need to see you tonight—or better yet, skip this class. We only have twenty-four hours left together until I leave. After today, I probably won’t see you until the wedding.”
“Crap!” I glance at the clock. “I’m late again!”
I fling open the door, wave, and hightail it toward the building. My brain isn’t thinking. I realize once I near the doors that it might’ve been rude to leave him like that, all ready to go after driving all the way over to see me. I run the few steps back to the car, knock on the window, and gesture for him to roll it down.
He does, and I stick my head in there. “Sorry to run,” I say. Then I point to the outline in his pant leg. “Hold that thought, okay? We’ll find time. I promise.”
“We’d better,” he says. “Or I’m taking you with me tomorrow.”
“That’s kidnapping.”
“Get to class before I kidnap you right now,” he says with a wink.
I laugh then wave as I make my way to the front doors.
I walk into the room five minutes late and receive a death stare from my professor.
Worth it.
CHAPTER 24
Ryan
That girl catches me off guard more than anyone in the country. On the planet. In the whole damn universe.
Last night after Andi left, I went upstairs to take a shower—a cold one. It didn’t work, even after I took care of myself twice.
This morning, it happened again. Another cold shower, a frustrated breakfast in which both Lilia and Lawrence told me to pull the stick out of my ass and stop acting like a jerk, and I knew I had to see her. I didn’t care if I had to drive across town; the only cure for my mood was the sight of her smile, the curve of her lips, those lights blinking on in her eyes when she caught sight of me standing at the car.
I hadn’t bargained on her updating our entire arrangement, but what can I say? Maybe my fingers are magic. I’m sure her mouth and her hands are magic, too. I certainly intend to find out.
Currently I’m sitting in traffic with a hard-on that won’t quit and the image of her smile burned into my mind.
Friends with benefits, I think to myself. I like the sound of it.
Except the friends part. I don’t want her as a friend; I want her all to myself. I’m possessive, and having her part time just isn’t going to work for me.
So, I have between now and the wedding to find a way to prove it to her.
I’ll start with tonight.
Andi can’t come to the party because she has a show; well, I’ll bring the party to her.
“Lawrence,” I speak into Lilia’s bluetooth—she let me borrow her car today since mine’s still dented and damaged, but I won’t tell Andi that. “How do you feel about kicking off the festivities at a comedy club tonight?”
“What?” he asks.
“Trust me, you won’t be disappointed.”
CHAPTER 25
Andi
I’m standing backstage and my nerves are shot.
I can hear people out there. Real, live people.
Something is wrong. There are never people at my shows.
“What the hell is happening out there?” I ask Lisa, who’s primping next to me backstage. “Did a group of tourists get lost and end up in here?”
Bartender Rick calls backstage. “Andi, are you almost ready to go on? You’ve got a full house tonight.”
“Why, Rick?” I turn to him, throwing my hands up in the air. “Why do we have a full house tonight? I didn’t bring anyone. You didn’t either, did you, Lisa?”
“No,” she says, crinkling her eyebrows. “Why are you so nervous? You want an audience. That means you’re successful. Who knows? Maybe some agent heard about you and is coming to see what the fuss is all about.”
“Maybe that’s it!” I shriek with understanding. “It’s your fault. You did so well at the Laugh House the other night that everyone is coming to see you. It’s free, and maybe they wanted another show. God, Lisa! Why are you so good? I can’t handle this sort of pressure.”
“Sure you can,” she says. “I’ve heard your material before. How many times have I told you it’s a great set? All you need is to catch the right person’s attention, and it’ll blow up. I guarantee it.”
“I’m not doing my usual set!” I whimper. “I couldn’t sleep last night, so I wrote all new material. It’s not tested at all. I haven’t even tried it on Angela.”
She winces. “Can’t you revert to your old stuff?”
“I think the new stuff might be good,” I say. “Or it will be. It’s just a little rough right now, and I usually prefer to try it on Angela first because she always laughs and then tells me what’s stupid. She’s very blunt.”
“Get out there, Andi,” Rick says. “I’m serious. This is the most customers I’ve seen in this bar since we opened our doors. If you bomb and send them all running, you’re never doing a show here again.”
I crumple onto the couch. “I can’t. I give up.”
Lisa sits down next to me and then hits my thigh with enough force to leave a mark. “Get out there. He’s just kidding, aren’t you, Rick?”
There’s no answer, but he’s only two feet away; he definitely heard.
“Rick, you asshole, tell Andi you’re kidding,” Lisa says. “Or we’ll never bring our business here again.”
“I give you free drinks,” he grumbles. “I’m kidding, Andi. You know you always have a place here. Just go out there and do a great job like you always do.”
I burst into tears. I can’t help it. I clasp big, burly Rick into a hug. “Thank you, buddy.”
Rick peels me off of him; neither of us are much for touchy-feely-ness, but these last few weeks have been an emotional rollercoaster. What with my morning sex confrontation with Ryan, the news that he is leaving tomorrow, and my desire for more of him, my poor hormones are a mess—a mess that came out all over Rick’s shirt in an unusual display of emotional tears.
“Can you…fix her?” Rick asks Lisa. “Please.”
“I’ll go first,” Lisa says, handing me a towel and a tube of mascara. “But I swear, woman, if you’re not back here when I get off stage, I will hunt you down. Understand?”
I smile, wipe my tears away, and wave the tube. “I’m fine. I just needed to explode in a crying mess on Rick, I guess. I feel better already. Go get ’em, tiger.”
Lisa gives me a half-sympathetic, half-threatening look before she takes the stage. As I apply my make
up and clean my face, I hear her killing it out there. It makes my insides war with themselves; as much as I’m happy she’s a hit, it adds extra pressure—if I go out there and suck up the stage, it’ll be made doubly worse by following Lisa’s winning set.
Lisa’s ten minutes go all too fast.
The thing to understand though, is that onstage, three minutes takes a year. A ten-minute set is like winning the lottery in showbiz; it is a big deal—maybe not such a big deal at a tiny bar like Rick’s, but at some of the bigger stages, anything over five minutes means the comic has made it.
So when Lisa passes the mic off to me, I drag my feet on stage, paste a smile on my face, and try not to stare directly into the lights. I fail, and it gives me an instant headache, but I blink a few times and introduce myself. “Hey guys, I’m Andi Peretti, and—”
I stop speaking because the hoots and hollers are too loud. Even with my microphone, their whistles are drowning me out. It’s even louder than the rambunctious applause Lisa received at the end of her bit.
I frown, still blinded, trying to make out the shapes of people sitting in the audience. “Wow, I haven’t even done anything yet. You guys are a great crowd.”
I smile to more whistling and screaming. The only explanation is that they’re drunk—out of their minds drunk. That’s when I catch sight of a lick of white fabric draped over someone’s head, the end dusting along the gross floor—a veil. It’s a bachelorette party.
Crooked chairs line sticky tables, and Rick moves between them. He’s not used to having to maneuver around customers, so he knocks more than one person in the head with his tray. Even as I watch him clumsily dish out the drinks, I don’t put everything together until I hear his voice.
Ryan’s voice. “We love you, Andi!”
In that moment, everything goes clear. The darkness adjusts and suddenly those dark forms resemble bodies…bodies I recognize. Lilia’s in the veil, obviously. Lawrence is on one side of her, fingers in his mouth as he lets out an ear-splitting whistle. Ryan’s next to his brother, and beside him are a few guys with tattoos on their arms and the beat-up look of professional hockey players. One of them is missing a tooth.
“Holy shit,” I breathe.
“Go,” Lisa says behind me. “I don’t care if it’s the Queen of England, do your bit!”
I take a deep breath as Lisa’s words echoing in my head. Then I lock eyes with Ryan and nod to him as my heart beats in a suspicious way, as if it’s happy…happy to see him. He probably brought the party here as a joke, a gag for everyone to get a kick out of, but it means something to me—even if he’s here in hopes of sex. This thought gives me the strength to go on, to do the best I can.
The best I have is pretty decent, as it turns out. I don’t perform at my absolute best since I’m too busy weaving together new material with the old, but it’s certainly not the worst. By the time the red light flashes in the back of the room signaling the end of my time, I wrap the last joke with a bow and blow it into the audience with a kiss.
“I’m Andi Peretti. Thanks for coming out tonight.” I raise my microphone. “And congratulations to Lilia and Lawrence. Round of drinks on me!”
Rick leaps to attention as I turn to face Lisa. It’s a habit, me looking to her after a show. We always give each other a thumbs up or a thumbs down, lovingly rating each other, and we’re both harsh and kind, all at once. If I bomb, she’ll let me know. If I nail it, she’ll tell me that too.
Judging by the two thumbs up and her shit-eating grin, I nailed it.
I thank the heavens. I’m finally about to make my way offstage when a figure comes up from behind and sweeps me into a hug. Ryan’s scent is spicy and his cheeks are freshly shaven and smooth as they brush against my neck while he nuzzles into my body.
“You killed it,” he says. “I loved every second. We all did.”
“Ryan, you didn’t have to do all this—change your plans, bring everyone here…” I turn to face him, his arms slipping to rest just above the waistline of my jeans. “It’s too much.”
“I wanted you at the party. You couldn’t make it, so we brought the party to you,” he says with a grin. “Everyone loved it. They can’t stop talking about it. One of Lawrence’s agent friends wants to get your card.”
“My card?” I say faintly.
“Business card.”
“I, uh…”
“Don’t worry,” he says. “I’ll take care of it and get him your information, if that’s okay?”
“Of course it’s okay,” Lisa says from behind me. Her eyes are in shock, but she pulls it together and sticks out her hand. “I’m Lisa.”
“You killed it, too,” Ryan says. “But then again, we met the other night, and you already know I enjoy your work.”
She retracts her hand. “Right. Sorry. Autopilot.”
He clasps her in a one-armed hug, and she gives me a look over his shoulder as if she’s not sure what to do with it. I can’t help but laugh. The night is already one for the books.
It’s now that I realize I can never be just friends with Ryan.
Already, the tenderness in my heart is too much for a casual acquaintance. That scares me, but I remember my dad’s words—that it’s better to fall in love, no matter the cost—and I forget my worries. I let myself sink into the moment, and when Ryan plants a kiss on my lips, I let it happen. I kiss him back despite the hoots and hollers from the crowd, and when he pulls back, we can hardly breathe.
“Will you come out with us?” Ryan whispers in my ear. “I need you tonight—alone…after.”
He presses against me, and I can feel just how much he needs me. I let my finger brush against the front of his jeans. “That’s a lot of need.”
“Sweetheart, you don’t even know.”
I take his hand. “Do you guys have a place in mind that you want to go next? If not, there’s a great Mexican spot a few doors down.”
“Do they have beer?”
“And a mechanical bull.”
He nods his head and grins. “Lead the way.”
CHAPTER 26
Andi
If there’s life on Mars, I’m pretty sure the folks there can hear my screams.
The mechanical bull is way more vicious than I remember from my twenty-first birthday. Then again, I was younger, more flexible, and less sober than I am right now. I can barely hold on to this mother-bucker.
My jeans have slipped a little too low, and I’m sure my pink lace undies are peeking over the top. My tank is tight enough that I’m not flashing the entire population of the bar, and that’s a small miracle considering the amount of bouncing and jiggling going on.
However, when I’m finally thrown from the bull, it’s all worth it. There, waiting to help me up, is Ryan. His eyes twinkle as he extends a hand, pulls me to my feet, and squeezes me to his chest.
“You kicked Boxer’s ass,” he says. “Shit, if I’d known how good you were at riding bulls, I would’ve invited you to the farm a long time ago.”
“The farm?” I’m dizzy in my post-mechanical bull haze. “Oh, right. Minnesota. You know, I’ve never seen a farm.”
“Never seen a farm?” This is from Boxer. Danny Boxer is the biggest, meanest guy in the league, according to Lilia. He plays for Los Angeles. He’s also freaking hilarious. “You’ve never seen a farm?!”
I glance at Boxer’s arms, which are slathered in tattoos. He was the one with the missing tooth in the audience at my show, and there’s a scar above his eyebrow. I asked him if it was from hockey and he grunted. I don’t know what that means.
“Sorry,” I tell him. “I’m from the east side of Los Angeles. Can’t go more than a few blocks without seeing a 7-11. The most farming I’ve seen is the one time my brother tried to grow his own oregano.”
Boxer snorts. “Oregano, right. Teenage boy? Not oregano.”
I don’t know why I’ve never thought of it before, but Boxer has a point. My dad did throw that plant away mighty quick, but I was too yo
ung to understand. “I never realized! Do you think my brother was growing weed?”
“You’re cute,” Boxer says as Ryan tightens his grip on my arm. Then he shakes his head and repeats Never seen a farm several times before Ryan shushes him.
“Never have I ever,” Ryan says. “Let’s play.”
“Never have I what?” Boxer looks confused. He’s probably not the smartest bulb in the box. “I’ve seen a farm.”
Ryan is patient with him, almost adorably so. “Hold five fingers up,” he instructs Boxer. “We go around in a circle. Everyone says something they haven’t done, and if you’ve done it, you put a finger down. First one out of fingers has to take a drink.”
Once Ryan rounds up the gang—Boxer, me, Lawrence, Lilia, and a few other teammates—he points at me to start.
“Never have I ever seen a farm,” I say.
Everyone puts a finger down. “If I weren’t marrying him,” Lilia says, elbowing Lawrence, “I’d still have my finger. That damn Pierce farm.”
“Never have I ever delivered a pizza,” Ryan fires off next.
My finger goes down and I glare at him. “Not fair.”
“Two can play that game,” he says with a smirk. “You want to snipe me, I’ll get you back, sweetheart.”
“Never have I ever been engaged,” Tommy says. Tommy is another of Ryan’s teammates, and from what I can tell, he’s the team captain. He’s tall, handsome in a clean-cut sort of way, and the most responsible of the group at first impression—possibly because he’s the sober driver of the group. “Put ’em down, Lawrence and Lilia.”
They each put a finger down, which leaves them with only three left. I sneak a glance at Ryan and find he’s watching me. I leave my finger up, and so does he. The plot thickens.
“Fine, if we’re attacking people, then,” Lawrence says as he snaps his finger down, half joking, half annoyed. He’s probably had one too many beers, and we’ve started serving him water. “I guess it’s my turn.”