He grins at me. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”
The expression on my face must tell him what I think of that comment, because he laughs.
“Did you need something?” I ask.
“Just to let you know we’ve been invited to a last-minute thing at Derek and Trav’s place tonight. Do you want to go?”
I think about it. We’d planned to take advantage of the New Year’s Eve activities and celebrations here at JU—there’s a whole bunch of stuff going on at the various parks and resorts—but it might be nice to do something a little more low-key. Plus, I’m still making connections here, and Derek and Trav have some good ones.
“Sure, sounds good. Do we need to bring anything?”
“I’ll take care of it. Meet at your place? We can walk from there.”
“Good plan.” If I know Derek and Trav, they’ll have allowed for drunken revelers to crash at their place, but there’d be no privacy, and Dimi and I are still, er… exploring things. Walking home is a better idea.
***
A laughing, tipsy woman plonks herself on my lap, nearly upsetting my drink, and declares, “Take me to bed or lose me forever!”
Beside me, Dimi laughs so hard that my slightly fuzzy brain worries he’s going to rupture something. It’s not that funny, but then again, he’s probably as tipsy as she is… as I am.
I plant a kiss on her mouth and tell her, “I would, but that would ruin you for any other sexual partner ever. You’d have to move to Argentina and become a nun, cloistered from life and forever mourning the loss of sexual pleasure.”
She screws up her face as though she’s thinking about it. “Never mind, then. It would probably be great, but I’ve never met a man worth giving up sex for. I like you, though. Come and talk to me later.” She lurches to her feet and throws herself into someone else’s arms. “Take me to bed or lose me forever!”
“I like her,” I tell Derek, who’s perched on the arm of the recliner beside me. I do know who she is, by the way—her name’s Gina, and she used to work on Derek’s team. He claims he still hasn’t forgiven her for leaving him. Dimi swears she’s the best colleague he’s ever had, including me. She and I had a long conversation earlier about the best way to tell someone they were an idiot without burning bridges.
“I like her too, traitor though she is,” Derek agrees. “Why Argentina?”
Dimi goes off in fresh gales of laughter. I’m beginning to wonder if I should cut off his liquor intake.
“What?”
“Of all the places in the world where she could become a nun, why did you choose Argentina?”
Wow, that’s a good question. Isn’t it?
I’m not sure.
“It was just the first place that came to mind.” Huh. I tilt my head. “I wonder why? I’ve never been there.”
“Who knows how the mind works?” he asks dramatically. “Maybe it’s a sign. Maybe your subconscious is telling you something. You’re supposed to go to Argentina to fulfill your destiny.”
I blink, confused. “My destiny to become a nun?” I don’t think that would work. I’m not religious. And I like a sex. A lot.
“You can’t become a nun. They wear those ugly robe things, and I don’t think they make them from quality fabrics. You like high-end cotton too much to become a nun,” Dimi informs me, and he’s right. I have a weakness for really nice cotton shirts.
“Not your destiny to become a nun.” Derek sounds exasperated, like we’ve missed the point or something. “Your destiny to live in Argentina and reinvent yourself and fall in love with a con artist with a heart of gold who plans to betray you but ends up loving you back and dies tragically when he double-crosses his bosses so he can be with you.”
Silence.
“Have you been watching daytime TV?”
He shrugs and looks away shiftily. “Maybe. But sometimes those storylines are based on real life events.”
“You can’t move to Argentina,” Dimi tells me firmly. “I will not allow you to fall in love with a con artist. Or anyone.”
“Plus it would be bad if I was the cause of someone’s death,” I agree, because it would. Realization strikes, and my eyes widen. “Is that why I become a nun? Because Edoardo’s death fills me with guilt and remorse?”
“Who’s Edoardo?” Derek sounds confused now, and I roll my eyes.
“My Argentinian lover.”
“You’re dating an Argentinian?” a new voice asks right before a guy I met briefly earlier sits in the armchair Derek’s perched against. “I thought you and Dimi are a thing?”
“We are,” Dimi says, even as I wonder how the hell so many people know that already. “And I think I might be the reason Edoardo dies. Because I kill him.” He looks fierce, and while my sober inner self knows it should be appalled by the talk of murder, my drunk moving-to-Argentina-and-becoming-a-nun self melts at the thought that Dimi is jealous of my make-believe lover.
The new guy, whose name I cannot remember, gives us a weird look, then hands his phone to Derek and says, “Did you see this? Head office is not going to be happy to be associated with this.”
Derek takes it, and a crease forms between his eyebrows as he reads aloud, “Caught on the Casting Couch? Director Jon Reynolds, best known for Joy Incorporated box office hits Bongolicious and Let It Happen, was today caught with his pants down in the on-set trailer of actor Bret Weiss. Reynolds, who only last year married renowned Broadway costume designer Rick Henessy, has declined to comment, but Weiss advised Bonjour Celeb that their love is real and they plan to be together in the future.”
My whole body goes ice-cold, and the pleasant alcohol haze disappears, leaving me absolutely sober and slightly nauseated. Derek squints at the screen and says, “Why do I know—”
His eyes widen. His gaze darts to me for a split second, and I know Trav has told him the whole messy story. It’s not exactly a secret—most of Broadway knows—but we managed to keep it out of the gossip pages with some clever half-truths.
“It’s not like head office isn’t used to dealing with publicity crap,” he says dismissively, handing the phone back. “I think we need to change this music and start dancing!” He shouts the last and is met by a chorus of cheers. There aren’t that many people here—maybe twenty—but they’re all enthusiastic.
I’m glad for the distraction he’s providing, because I’m still numbly processing.
“Hey, you okay?” Dimi leans over, and I force a smile on my face. What am I supposed to say? My ex who I found out was cheating on me when he married someone else just got publicly humiliated when his new husband cheated on him?
When I think of it that way, I’m actually not sure why I’m upset. I mean… he got what he deserved, didn’t he? But on another level, it was almost easier when I thought he’d done that to me because he’d found his soul mate—a “forever love.” Knowing that he threw away what we had and shattered my life for just another fallible relationship hurts.
“I’m fine. I guess the alcohol just hit me. Let me get some water, and then we’ll dance.” Derek and Trav are loudly arguing over which playlist would be better. I don’t know what Derek’s taste in music is like, but Trav’s leans heavily toward the 80s—the music of my youth—so I hope he wins.
Dimi gives me a kiss and says, “I’ll get it. I’ve gotta use the bathroom anyway.”
I use the time while he’s gone to get a grip. The fact is, nothing that happens to Rick matters to me anymore—not really. I’ve moved on and am rebuilding my life. It was just a shock to hear about him again. But at some point, I’ll probably have to mention him to Dimi. He’s casually referred to a couple of his exes, and it will be weird if I keep avoiding talking about Rick, especially since we were together for so long.
He comes back with a bottle of water just as Trav wins the music battle, and a moment later, classic
Bon Jovi blares through the sound system.
It’s time to dance.
Chapter Ten
Dimi
Watching Jason dance is a revelation.
A hot as fuck revelation.
Maybe it’s the fact that he’s drunk, but he’s a lot looser than I ever expected him to be. Jase usually has this contained air about him. He’s got a reputation for being a real hard-ass director, which I haven’t really seen from him yet, but the guy I know is actually a little… I don’t know, shy? But not really. I get this sense that he can take on the world, but that he’s afraid to. I don’t know. Maybe I should stop drinking.
Anyway, all hints of that reticent, contained Jason are gone right now. He’s the best dancer in the room, and considering fully half the people here are professional dancers, that’s really saying something. The other half of the group have stopped to watch, me included.
His body moves in a sinuous, sexy way that turns me way the fuck on. I spent a lot of time in clubs when I lived in Atlanta, but I’ve never seen anyone’s hips move that way.
Hoo, baby.
The music changes, and we must have switched playlists because the song that starts is not from the eighties. It’s got a low, thrumming, repetitive beat, and the dirty dancing factor ramps up immediately, which I wouldn’t have thought possible.
Jason starts twerking, and I’m immediately forced to rethink my stance that twerking is ridiculous, because I can’t breathe.
His ass.
My God.
This is why twerking is “popular.” People are trying to look like this. Too bad most of them fail.
Lucky for me, my lover is one of the successful few.
I wonder if he can move his hips like that while we’re fucking.
Or while I’m sucking him.
I’m still contemplating all the possibilities when he straightens and turns, catching sight of me. The slightly lost look he had before is gone, and he grins wickedly, crooking a finger in my direction.
“Ooooh, Dimi, you’re being summoned,” someone teases, but I don’t care. I don’t even care that I’m only a mediocre dancer and will look like an idiot amidst the highly talented group. I stride over to my guy and grab him by the hips, pulling him close for a big, wet kiss.
And the crowd goes wild.
Amidst the whistles and catcalls, Jason and I make out to the bass rhythm of a song I don’t recognize, gyrating against each other in a way that can’t be called anything but foreplay.
By the time we finally break apart, everyone is dancing, and if a stranger walked in right now, they might well think it was the early scenes of a dirty movie.
“I didn’t know you could dance like this,” I murmur, biting Jason’s earlobe gently. “You’re so hot. I wanna do filthy things to you while you dance.”
He makes a sound halfway between a chuckle and an explosion of air against my neck. “Maybe if you’re lucky, I’ll let you.”
My dick, which was already half-hard, perks right up. “Really? Will you dance naked for me?” I already have a song in mind. Imagine him twerking like that, naked….
Uhhhhhhhh.
He pulls back a little, gaze searching my face. “You want me to dance naked?”
I nod emphatically. “Hell, yeah. I’ll bet I can get off just watching you.”
That smug little smile comes back. “Well, then, we’ll definitely have to see if that’s true.” He drags me even closer, if that’s possible, and grinds his groin against mine. For the next few minutes, I lose myself in the music and movement.
“How do you even know how to dance like this, anyway?” I finally ask. Jason shrugs, which should look weird while he’s dancing, but doesn’t.
“I took a few classes in college, and then when I started working, I thought I’d be a more effective director if I had an idea of what I was asking of the performers, so I took a few more. Plus, I’ve always loved to dance and been kind of decent at it.”
Kind of decent? Talk about an understatement.
“I say this in the best possible way,” I say solemnly. “You could make a fucking fortune as a stripper.”
A startled laugh bursts from him. “Uh, thanks? It’s nice to know there are other career paths open to me.”
I leer at him. “If you like, you can try it out for me, see if you like it.” I slide a hand down over his ass and squeeze. “I promise to tip well.”
He leans in to kiss me. “Do I get a bonus if I give you a lap dance with a happy ending?”
“Oh, hell yeah.”
Chapter Eleven
Jason
Walking home in the wee hours, the streets are both busier than I expected and quieter than I’m used to. In New York, walking home from a New Year’s party at three in the morning (or nine, because the best parties end with breakfast), the streets would inevitably be almost as busy as on workday. In a town as small as Joyville, there’s a lot less traffic, but we still see more cars and people than I thought we would.
“Are you still tipsy?” Dimi asks, swinging our arms. We’re holding hands, something I haven’t done with a lover in years, and I’d forgotten how much I like it. It’s such a simple intimacy.
“Yeah.” I am. Once the dancing started, I quickly let go of my shock and tension. I haven’t been clubbing in a long time, and I’ve missed dancing. Moving here and being with Dimi have allowed me to rediscover a lot of the things I love.
“Good. I plan to take advantage of your lowered inhibitions.” A delicious thrill runs through me, and I’m just contemplating the implications of that when he continues, “What was bothering you before?”
There goes my erection.
I sigh. “That article Derek was reading?” There’s no point fobbing him off. I may as well just get it over with. “Jon Reynolds is married to my ex.”
Dimi’s silent, and I sneak a glance at his face to see a thoughtful expression. “I think I remember hearing about that when it happened,” he muses. “They eloped overseas somewhere, didn’t they? It’s never easy to hear news about an ex,” he commiserates, and I wince.
“It’s a little more complicated than that.” I take a deep breath and go for broke. “We were still together—living together—when they eloped. I found out he’d been cheating on me when someone saw the news on a gossip site during rehearsal one day. I thought he was visiting his mom in Indiana.” I shrug. “Turns out he’d been cheating on me for years. He met Reynolds when he consulted on costumes nearly three years ago for the film adaptation of a show he’d worked on. They’d been fucking behind my back ever since, every chance they got.” I don’t mention the horrible, hurtful things Rick said when he got back from his honeymoon and came to collect his things. What’s the point?
Dimi swears a blue streak. “What a complete fuckwad turd.”
I laugh. Come on, you did too.
“Yeah. I’m lucky, though, because we managed to keep it out of the tabloids that he’d been cheating on me. He’d been away a lot—I thought his mom was sick, the bastard—and so we hadn’t been out in public together for months. A friend of mine is a publicist, and he spun it so it looked like we’d broken up and the thing with Reynolds had been a whirlwind romance. Neither of them disputed it, probably because it looked better for them that way, and that made me completely uninteresting to the gossip rags.”
He’s quiet for a minute, then asks, “Is that why you took this job?”
“Partly,” I say honestly. “I mean, it’s a great job anyway, but I was looking for a change. Everyone who knows me well knows what happened, and there’s been a lot of speculation from others within the industry. I’d rather be talked about for my work than because I’m an idiot who couldn’t see what was going on under my nose. I figured getting out of town would do me good.”
“I’m glad you came.” He squeezes my hand.
I squeeze back. “Me too.”
***
Dimi and I spend New Year’s Day snuggling on the couch in my apartment watching Netflix and nursing our hangovers. This is the second time I’ve been drunk in a week—and also the second time I’ve been drunk since the night Rick picked up all his stuff. My friend Brice took me to a bar that night and gave the bartender a hundred-dollar tip upfront to make sure my glass was never empty. I still can’t think of tequila without shuddering.
January 2, we’re back to work. More auditions today, but luckily, recruiter Sean is brilliant and arranged a temp contract for Chloe until her permanent paperwork can be processed, which means I once again have an assistant. I swear, I thought John was going to cry tears of joy when I told him.
Chloe and I run through the plans for today and my expectations of her through it all. I grab what I’ll need from my desk so we can head into the theater, but when I turn toward the door, she’s standing there with a weird look on her face.
“What?” I ask, feeling a strange kind of déjà vu. She had that same look during her interview the other day.
She hesitates. “I don’t want to piss you off,” she begins, and wow, that’s not a good sign. Did anything good ever come from a conversation that started that way?
I blow out a breath and lean back against my desk. “Okay, just get it out.”
“Are you and Dimi seeing each other?”
There. Are. No. Secrets. In. This. Place.
Seriously. Dimi told me—and so did Trav—that the JU rumor mill was crazy efficient, but Chloe’s been working here less than an hour. Has the news spread through town as well?
Oh fuck. Chloe used to work for Dimi’s mom.
I can actually feel the blood draining from my face, which is just as unpleasant a sensation as it sounds. It’s not that we’re keeping this a secret—in fact, for all I know, Dimi’s already told his family that we’re kind of seeing each other. But if he hasn’t, I do not think it would be a good idea for them to find out from gossip.
Follow My Lead: A Joy Universe Novel Page 12