Page 40 of Crazy About Love (All About Love)

Chapter 9

PRESENT DAY

“You showed me your world,” I say into Rian’s ear, turning her toward the giant billboards and illuminated signs. “This is mine.”

The wind picks up, sending some of Rian’s hair into my face. I can feel her eyes on me, but I don’t meet them. This is the place I soak up as much as I can: the lights, the sounds…but not really the smell, because midtown New York often smells of ass.

“Times Square is your world?” she asks, skepticism in her tone.

I point her toward a large theater. “Just that part right there.” For more than half of my life my dream has been a Broadway stage. I’m so close to it I can taste it on the tip of my tongue, feel it with my fingertips; a small part of me believes that if I can reach that, I can reach anything. Even things I’ve given up all hope of having.

I scratch an invisible itch on the back of my neck, shaking my head free of the what-could-have-beens, and focus on Rian. She swings her arm out dramatically at the theater’s marquee with a large grin on her face.

“Annieon Broadway,” she recites. “Starring Alex with acas Mr. What’s-his-face—you know, the rich guy.”

“ThePlaybillwill phrase it just like that.”

“I like it.” She drops her arm and steps close to me. “So, have you ever performed there?”

I shake my head. “Someday. Maybe soon.” I grin at her tilted eyebrow. “I auditioned today.”

“Busy day for you,” she lilts. “Auditions, strip dances, auctions…”

“Well, the auction was last-minute. And the strip was alcohol-induced.” If you count the one drink I had before the show.

“Remind me to pour you some champagne when we get back to the limo.” She nudges me in the shoulder. “You weren’t doing the auction already?”

“Favor for a friend.”

“What friend?”

What a simple question with several different answers. A best friend. A complicated friend. The friend I’m in love with. The friend I’d promised everything to, only to take it back the second things got too painful. The friend who, after all we’ve been through, still manages to be exactly that for me—a friend.

“A good friend,” I say, settling on an answer that in no way blankets how I feel about Theresa.

Rian’s smile relaxes. “Your girl?”

I wince, the implication that Theresa’s mine cutting me in the chest. “She’s not my girl.”

“Was your girl there tonight?”

“She’s not my girl,” I repeat.

“How long has it been since she was your girl?” Rian presses. If I was a grade-A douche, I’d probably walk away.

“She’s never been my girl.”

“I don’t believe that for a second.” She laughs.

“Why not?”

“Because you’re a horrible liar.” She gestures to my bullshit face. “When was the last time the two of you kissed?”

My eyes narrow. “Kissing her does not make her mine.”

“Answer the question.”

I grin at her stubborn stance, the adorable know-it-all expression. I realize that I think it’s cute, but I still have yet to feel anything spectacular about it. Not like how a simple glance from She-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named would explode every possible nerve ending.

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