If Ever

by Angie Stanton

Tom takes my hand. "I'm sorry to bring you down."

  "You didn't. So what's good here? I'm starved." I pull my hand away and open my menu—taking a moment to shake off the dad discussion. I avoid Tom's apologetic eyes as I glaze over the list of entrees. He drops the subject and offers a couple of suggestions.

  The waitress takes our order, leaves, and we’re back to this awkward silence. Shit. I finally get to see Tom again and I'm messing this up. I hide behind my drink and ask how his matinee went.

  "Funny you should ask." There's a glint in his eye.

  "Really? What happened?"

  He swallows and pulls at the neck of his sweater. "I went on stage in the second act with my fly open."

  My jaw drops open. "You didn't?"

  He nods with a grimace. "Oh yes. Sang an entire ballad that way with nearly a thousand people watching. I was wondering why there was whispering and laughter from the audience." A flush crosses his face.

  I cover my mouth and giggle. "What did you do?"

  "Well, nothing until Paige stood in front of me and gestured to the front of my pants. She couldn't say anything because her mic was live. I zipped up, and the audience applauded, so I took a quick bow and continued."

  He shakes his head. I feel for him, but still grin. Our earlier awkward moment is forgotten, and dinner flies by as he has me laughing over stories of his stage antics and the many things that have gone awry.

  "I don't know how you do it, day after day, when so much can go wrong."

  "That's live theatre for you." He smiles and his eyes connect with mine.

  There's an invisible line of energy connecting us, and I've never been so attracted to another person in my life. But there's the small issue that I don't actually live in New York. There's an apartment I'm paying rent on back in Iowa City. All this is too much to figure out right now, so I'll follow Hank's sage advice and take one day at a time, trying not to think beyond that.

  Tom places his hand on mine, warm and soft. "I hate to break this up, but I have to get back to the theatre."

  "But we just ordered crème brulè."

  "For you. You deserve something decadent." He rises and slips on his coat. "You know how to get to the theatre from here? It's just around the corner and down a block."

  I stand, reluctant to say goodbye even for a little while. "I do."

  His soft kiss lingers. "I'll see you right after the show. Go to the stage door like last time. Ed will let you in."

  His show is better than I remembered. I'm mesmerized by his strong, pure voice belting out song after song. I think of his matinee performance with his fly open and giggle, but Tom commands his role, disappearing into his character, who transforms throughout the show from clueless young man to tortured soul.

  He's funny and lovable at the beginning, then angry and scared during the incredibly physical fight scenes. It's got to leave him battered and bruised. He's tender in the love scenes, leaving me desperate to be the girl in his arms and wondering how he keeps his stage life out of his personal, if he does at all.

  At intermission I buy a souvenir program, the sound track, a mug, and a key chain, texting him a grinning selfie with all my swag. He texts back a pic of him gagging. His texts continue right up to when the lights dim and the orchestra plays the intro to the second half. When he appears on stage a minute later, he's not Tom, he's back to his character and I'm lost in his fictional world. He's funny, poignant, and breaks my heart with his soul wrenching songs. His voice soars above the rest of the cast giving me chills.

  When the show is over, I take my time following the masses outside. I nudge my way to the stage door where I knock and after being checked off a list, am admitted. The security guy smiles. "It's Ed, right?"

  "That's right. You remember the way?"

  "Thanks. I do." I take the staircase, loving this special access I have to the star. His door is open so I pop my head in. "You were amazing!"

  Fully dressed and ready to go, he looks up from where he's stuffing items in his backpack and grins. "You're too nice."

  I enter the room. "I'm serious. I don't know how you do it. It's like it isn't even you up there, but it is."

  He slips his arms around my waist and kisses me. "That's about the nicest thing anyone's ever said to me."

  "God, I hope not. You deserve way better compliments than that."

  "I thought I'd give you a choice tonight. We can go out for drinks and music, or go back to my place where it's quiet and we won't have to yell to hear each other."

  I try to read his body language, but he's giving nothing away. Is he asking me over for a booty call? I don't think so, but am I that naive? I want to be alone with him without interruption. "We're always rushed. I'd love to just hang out and talk."

  "Perfect," he says with a quick kiss. "Let's go."

  On our way down we run into Tanya, the girl in the ensemble I met last week, and another woman who plays his love interest. Tanya smiles at Tom and then recognizes me.

  "You're back," she says, sounding surprised.

  "I am. Nice to see you again."

  "Chelsea, I'd like you to meet Paige," Tom says.

  Paige is a beautiful brunette. "You were wonderful," I say. "The show is great, and I'm so in awe of all of you."

  "Thanks. It's wonderful to finally meet you. Tom talks about you all the time." She smiles broadly looking from me to Tom and back again.

  He does? Tanya's head turns as if she's thinking the same thing. "I'm glad you two finally have some time in the same city."

  Another cast member dashes out the stage door to applause. Tom frowns. "Paige, do you mind creating a diversion while we sneak out the front?

  "Not at all. You guys have fun tonight."

  His apartment is just as I remembered with the brick interior walls, wood floors and mismatched furniture that give the place a warm vibe. Tom hangs our coats in a cramped closet.

  "Where are your roommates?" I peek around the living room occupied by a big screen TV, a gaming console, and sound system, but the apartment is quiet.

  "There's just the one. Ryan went to a friend's late cabaret performance at 54 Below." He flicks on a single light, casting soft shadows in the room.

  "I figured you had a couple roommates after meeting all those guys last week."

  "Sometimes it gets a little crowded when people need a place to crash, but I try to keep couch surfing to a minimum. One roommate is plenty." He picks up a remote and aims it at a sound system. "What kind of music do you like?"

  "Anything's fine."

  Soft acoustic guitar sounds float through the air, and I think of Anna teasing me about sleeping with him.

  "Can I get you something to drink?"

  "Sure, what do you have?"

  He goes to the kitchen and opens cupboards. "Gin and tonic, of course, beer. There are a few left over bottles of booze from various parties, but I did pick up a bottle of red and a bottle of white. The liquor store guy assured me it wouldn't taste like vinegar, so I think they're both safe."

  "With that stellar sales pitch, I'll try the red." I check out the view from the living room window while Tom clinks bottles and glasses in the kitchen. The shops below are closed, but the city is dotted with lights as far as I can see. When Tom hands me the wine glass, his fingers brush mine. "Thank you. The city is beautiful at night."

  "Yes, it is." He gazes at me, the glitter of lights reflect off his eyes.

  We relax on the couch, comfortable sharing the same space. The wine tastes of berries and is velvety smooth. "Definitely not vinegar."

  "Good. I was hoping to impress you." He sips his gin and tonic.

  "If you're trying to do it with wine, it's not hard. I'm perfectly happy with Three-Buck Chuck. However, tonight at your show, you blew my mind again. How do you perform like that night after night?"

  He shrugs as if it's no big deal and swirls his drink. His other arm is draped over the back of the couch behind me.

  "I'm serious. You should see how har
d it was for me to get through that rumba with Ivan. You transform into this other person."

  "And you were spectacular with Ivan. So much that I was ready to fly out there and throw down the glove.”

  Clearly he doesn't want to talk about his incredible talent, but I want to know more. "When did you start performing?"

  He kicks off his shoes and puts his feet on the coffee table, showing off blue and yellow-checkered socks that make me smile.

  "I started in middle school. My mum never knew what to do with all my energy."

  I love how he says Mum instead of Mom.

  "I was a hell raiser, always climbing onto roofs, sneaking into locked buildings, and basically pushing the limits of every rule."

  "You seem like a decent, upstanding citizen to me."

  He shakes his head. "My poor Mum, she tried everything to keep me busy and out of trouble. She put me in gymnastics, soccer, swimming, violin—that was a joke. One summer, at her wits end, she signed me up for auditions with a local youth theatre. At first I refused but then heard a cute girl from my school was part of it, so I went."

  I sip my wine. "It all boils down to a pretty girl."

  "Doesn't it always." He flashes his eyebrows and plays with a lock of my hair. "When we put on our first performance and I got to become someone else, I fell in love with acting. Then I heard the applause and was hooked."

  His face lights up as he speaks, and I see he still holds that same enthusiasm from before he made it big. "I bet your mother was happy."

  "Yes, happy to have me occupied with something that wouldn't get me arrested, but I still wasn't an easy kid. I don't think it was until I'd been in the States for a year with a proper job before she finally relaxed."

  "I find that hard to believe."

  "It's true. You’ll have to ask her someday.”

  Is he suggesting that I’ll meet his mother? He has no idea how amazing that would be. "Did you ever think you'd be here on Broadway?"

  "I didn't. Certainly I knew about Broadway, but I was so busy doing theatre in the West End and television on the BBC. If anything, I was hoping to break through in movies."

  "What brought you to New York?"

  "Kismet, you could say. The television show, the one where you saw the song "Stay", was canceled after two seasons. I was about to wrap up production of a musical when there was a big industry party where numbers from the various shows were performed. After I sang, this dorky guy in a bow tie and high tops comes up and asks if I'd consider auditioning for a new show on Broadway. It's a long story, but basically I was cast as the lead, flew to New York, and moved into my first flat. We start rehearsals and I find out I haven't actually got the bloody lead, I'm in the running for it against the producer's nephew."

  "No."

  "Oh yeah. You can guess how that turned out." He takes a drink.

  "You didn't get it."

  "Nope. I'd never been so destroyed in my life. When I left home, my entire neighborhood came to my send-off party and now I had to call my parents and say I lost the roll to a kid from Oklahoma who couldn't hit a high A."

  "What did you do?"

  "I knew that I could go home with my tail between my legs, another washed up Broadway wannabe who failed, or I could stick around and figure something out. I was still in the show, his understudy. He ended up getting vocal nodes and had to drop out after a month."

  "So you got your shot."

  "I did."

  "Your parents' must be so proud."

  He laughs. His fingers caress my shoulder, shooting little tingles down my arm.

  "My dad's more concerned about whether I have a retirement account and proper health insurance. He never stops asking if I'm done playing and ready to settle down."

  "Oh no."

  "I understand. My parents worked hard for everything they earned and they don't want to see me homeless."

  It's hard not to think of my own deadbeat dad who probably doesn't know my area code, let alone what I'm doing with my life. "You seem to be doing great. I don't see any signs of you panhandling."

  "As long as I don't have to call home for money, I consider myself a success." He grins and drains his glass, setting it on the coffee table. "What do you plan to do now that Celebrity Dance Off is over?" He asks shifting the attention to me.

  "I'd like to find a book with all the answers to life, so I'd know exactly what to do."

  He tilts his head and smiles. "I hate to break it to you, but no such a book exists."

  I slip off my boots and curl my feet under myself so I'm facing him. Tom holds up the wine bottle and with my nod pours. "My goal was always to work in international business, but it turns out I hated it. It's not me at all. I spent years working for that degree, and soon I need to go back to work at a grown up job, but it's the last thing I want to do."

  "They're holding your job for you?" Tom's brow creases as if this is a possibility he hadn't considered.

  "No. I quit. Half the reason I agreed to do Celebrity Dance Off was to escape."

  "So rather than figuring out the rest of my life, I'm taking a little time off and enjoying life." I say with a confidence I don't feel. I'm terrified of what's next, and Tom and I never talked about the future other than seeing each other once I was off the show.

  "As long as you’re in New York, I'm happy."

  I breathe a sigh of relief because he's talking about the future. I'm a realist. I really want this to work, but know better than take it for granted.

  "You look serious."

  "It's nothing." I smile and push down my insecurities.

  "Good." He takes my glass and sets it next to his. His hand cups my jaw, his other hand curls around my waist and he kisses me. I relax in his arms and savor the touch of his lips to mine. His eyes open slowly at the end, gazing at me like no man ever has, and I'm a hurricane of emotion.

  We lie back on the couch, his lithe form stretched out beside me. I'm consumed by the sensation of his body pressed against mine, and his sexy blue eyes that try to peek into my soul. He kisses me again and again. I melt into him, letting my worries fall away as our bodies warm the room like dueling furnaces.

  I lose all track of time, focused only on the decadent senses dancing over me. Our legs are tangled together with his knee between mine. My hips, with a mind of their own, press against his. I should try harder to control myself, but I'm under his spell.

  Breathless with desire, he lifts his head and leans on his elbow so he can see my face. I don't want him to stop. I smooth his hair from where my hands mussed it and touch his face and his lips. No one has ever affected me like Tom does. Not my old boyfriend and certainly not the idiot from before that. I take a deep breath trying to slow my erratic heart. "I lose all grip on reality when I'm with you."

  His lips curl into a smile. "I'm okay with that."

  "I bet you are," I laugh.

  He links his fingers with mine, is about to say something and then hesitates.

  "What?"

  He glances away and then back to me. "I was hoping maybe you'd want to stay here tonight."

  I swallow. This is that moment. My hands perspire, and a momentary glint of indecision crosses my mind, but it quickly disappears.

  He takes my hesitation as rejection, releases my hand, and sits up. "It's okay if you don't. I've been trying not to move too fast. I just thought..."

  I reach up and touch his face. "I'd love to stay."

  The air charges up another couple of notches. He captures my mouth and a trill of anticipation rushes through my body. Something about him makes me better, happier, and more complete.

  Tom stands, the low light casts him in mysterious shadow. He's sexy, holding out his hand. I grasp it, and with my pulse dancing the quick step, follow him to his bedroom.

  He closes the door with a soft click and leads me to the center of the room. The lamp on his nightstand sheds soft light. My breath catches at the sight of his neatly made bed. The room is spotless, unlike last week's im
promptu visit. He's been planning for this moment. I can't meet his gaze.

  He cups my face and kisses me with the most gentle, pursuing touch, coaxing the momentary shyness away. "You are so beautiful."

  It's been so long since I've been with a guy, and Tom isn't just anyone. When he looks at me, he sees me. He's like a mirage in a desert, a handsome man with a beautiful heart.

  He lands little kisses over my cheeks and forehead, brushes his hands through my hair. I want to throw myself against him, but fight not to embarrass myself. He must sense my need. His hands go to the bottom of my sweater. While holding my gaze, he lifts it up. I raise my arms and let it slip over my head.

  Next, he unbuttons my jeans, and with a catch of his breath, slips his fingers under the waistband, brushing my heated skin, and slides the fabric down over my hips. I shift to help him. He kneels before me holding the pant leg, as I pull my foot out of one leg and then the other, touching his shoulder for balance.

  I'm left wearing nothing but my new coral-colored lace bra and panties. He's at my feet, his warm hands resting on my hips and his lips parted as if I'm the Holy Grail. I'm not sure what to do, so to fill the silence, I start talking.

  "I don't normally look like this. My spray tan hasn't all worn off yet." Immediately I wish I'd stayed quiet.

  "You're perfect." He runs his hand slowly up to the curve of my waist and back down over my hip to my thigh, creating goose bumps in his trail. "I'll look like an albino next to you," he says with a smile, his breath warming my skin.

  He's still fully clothed, and my near nakedness leaves me vulnerable, turned on, and nervous, so I start talking again. "My hair and makeup team are miracle workers. Without them I'm really ordinary." Shit. Stop talking!

  He chuckles and stands, meeting my eyes. "Have you forgotten that the first day we met you wore barely any makeup, and your hair was scrunched in a messy ponytail?"

  I nibble at my lip and think back to how nervous I was that day. I guess not that different than now. He kept looking at my behind. "I haven't been with a lot of guys," I blurt.

  A slow smile crosses his lips. "Is that supposed to bother me? Because it's doing the opposite." He grazes my shoulder with his fingertips and kisses my neck.