Page 115 of Road Trip to Forever
I bite on my fingernails as I wait, time crawling by before I turn my head and find the models returning. They’re laughing and beaming and pulling out hair accessories. Coordinators start unzipping their skirts and tops and dresses. Hangers are shoved into sleeves, and that’s it.
It’s all over.
“Lola.” I hear my name shouted across the room and I turn to see Patrick standing there, a grin on his face and his cheeks bright red. He moves through the masses of people, offering an apology to a poor intern holding a tray of sandwiches who he nearly runs over. “Holy shit, baby, they looked so good. The colors popped. The fabric moved like it had a shape of its own. Those dresses werehot.” He scoops me into his arms, spinning me around, and I promptly burst into tears. “No. No, no. Don’t cry. Hang on.” He sets me down and my shoulders shake, a sob racking through my entire body.
“Did you see the whole thing?” I ask.
“Every second.” He pulls out his phone and taps his screen. “Watch.”
I know these are my designs. I’ve stared at them every day for weeks. I’ve fallen asleep dreaming about these hemlines, wondering if I should make them shorter or longer. I know the exact shades of blues and purples, the shape of the busts and the flares of the skirts.
Seeing them on real people as they strut with their model posture and hips swaying is… an out-of-body experience to say the least. It doesn’t seem real because they lookso good.
“Oh my god,” I whisper. I bring the phone closer to my face, my nose almost pressed against the screen. “This is—”
“Unbelievable,” Patrick finishes for me. “Look at your clothes. You’re a fucking superstar. The crowd loved it. The dress the first girl was wearing? With the silver buttons and the half sleeves? They went ballistic when they saw the back, honey.Ballistic.”
“For me,” I say. My lip quivers and I almost drop his phone, my hands shaking too much to get a good grip on it. “That’s all for me?”
“Yeah,” he murmurs, his arms around my shoulders and his face buried in my hair. “For you.”
I’m attacked by a swell of emotions. Mainly happiness and joy, followed by anxiety, and then the intense desire to want to work on something new right this very second.
“I can’t believe I made it to this point. I can’t believe I did it and I did it well. I’m so proud of myself.” I pause and blush, embarrassed by the admission. “Does that make me conceited?”
“Hell no it doesn’t,” Patrick says. “It makes you an incredible artist whose work is finally being recognized on the stage and scale it deserves. This is just the beginning, sweetheart. I have a feeling everything in your life is about to change.”
“Except you.” I settle my cheek against his chest and listen to the beat of his heart. “I don’t want you to change.”
“I’m not going anywhere, Lo. You’re stuck with me until the end of time.”
THIRTY-TWO
PATRICK
“What doyou want to do tonight?” I ask Lola as I clear away our empty dinner plates.
We ordered room service again instead of accepting an invitation to go out with her group of friends, exhausted after a long day of being at the show and socializing. Food takes over the entire spare queen bed on the other side of the room, one of everything off the menu spread out on the comforter because she couldn’t pick what she was in the mood for. Soup, salad, pasta, and burgers for entrees. A stack of French fries and a massive bowl of tater tots as sides.
“I want to stay in,” she answers, dusting off her hands and stretching her arms above her head. Her robe falls off her shoulder with the movement, sliding down and bunching up around the crook of her elbow. “We could put on a movie and relax. Or take another bath and pretend we’re at a spa.”
“It would be rude to not use the seventy-inch television in the living room,” I agree. “Want to go pick something to watch? I’ll try to fit our leftovers in the fridge and meet you out there in a minute. We can take a bath after the movie. I’m sure you could use some decompressing. It was a busy day, and tomorrow won’t be any slower.”
“Sure.” Lola pushes up on her knees and wraps her arms around my neck. “Thank you for today. It means so much to me you were there.”
“Anything for you, Lola Jones.”
“Anything?” she asks, taking my hand in hers.
She trails our joined palms down the front of her robe to the thick ties holding the Egyptian Cotton in place. I’ve been glaring at those pieces of fabric all night, wishing I could pull them open and make the entire thing disappear.
I swallow, my thoughts becoming less coherent as she drags my fingers underneath the opening against her chest. I find warm, bare skin and I almost groan the realization that she’s been naked and two feet away from me all night.
“Yes,” I say shakily. I swallow again and try to find my voice, but words are difficult. “Anything.”
Lola hums and tilts her head back, her long blonde hair bright against the mahogany headboard. She pulls on the belt around her waist and lets the knot free. The robe falls away in slow motion, and with it, so does my restraint. I feel like I’m watching a private show. An intimate moment no one else will ever see.
I want to touch her. I want to kiss her and taste her and have her in every way she’ll let me. And this… this seems like an invitation to do just that. An offering that barrels past slow and steamrolls into frenzied and frantic and desperate.
