Page 30 of Barre Fight
“Musicals. You don’t like musicals?” No wonder he didn’t know who Kurt von Trapp was.
“God, no.” Justin screwed up his nose. Ivy raised her eyebrows. “But if you want to go to a musical, then I’ll come with you,” he added hastily.
“What if I want to go to a musical every night?”
He grimaced but didn’t miss a beat. “Then I’ll come with—” he started, but then he cut himself off. “You can’t, because I’ll be performing some of those nights.”
Crap. That was true, and she’d have to be there. Still, he wasn’t going to be on stage every night. And Broadway did matinees, right? She could still go to a musical or two. And so could Justin Winters, if he was going to hold up his end of this deal.
“If I do this, I am going to see New York, including at least one musical,” she said firmly. “Those are my conditions. Take them or leave them.”
He nodded eagerly. “I’ll take them.”
Ivy eyed him warily. “Really?”
“Really.”
“I’ve heard that before,” she said skeptically, a strange mix of disappointment and excitement churning somewhere under her sternum. Had she been expecting him to refuse? Hoping he’d object and leave her no choice but to stay here in Sydney and admit defeat?
“I know, but I mean it this time, I swear. I’ll do whatever you want.”
Her mouth went oddly dry at his words, and she swallowed against the unwelcome sensation.Whatever you want.
What did she want? She wanted to go to New York. She didn’t want to admit defeat. She wanted another chance to succeed at this job, to prove that it hadn’t been a colossal mistake to leave journalism behind for something she didn’t enjoy and couldn’t do well.
“I—” she said, casting around for a reason to refuse, and findingnothing.
“You…?” he said, leaning forward and placing his elbows on his thighs and knitting his fingers together in hopeful anticipation. The motion made his biceps flex and she tried to ignore it. She kept her eyes on his face.
“Fine,” she said quietly.
He leaned forward further, eyebrows raised. “Fine, like, yes?”
“Fine like yes,” she exhaled.
“Thank you,” he half sighed, half laughed, and then he coughed like he’d choked on air.
She watched as he spluttered a few times into the crook of his elbow, his face awash in surprise and embarrassment and relief and anticipation and oh god, the man was nice to look at even when he was hacking up a lung. That was nothing, though, compared to what he looked like a moment later when he recovered himself, lowered his arm from his face, and smiled at her.
That smile was lethal up close. She’d seen it from her press seat in the orchestra section of the Opera House, of course, and she’d seen flashes of it directed at his friends at the end of class, when they were all messing around to see who could land the most complicated jumps. But now he was beaming it right at her from the other side of her suddenly small and airless living room and Ivy could have sworn that wine had been whisky. The sight of that smile made her insides swim with the kind of warm looseness she associated with a strong cocktail, and she felt her own face lift into a wide, goofy smile.
“So we’re going to New York,” she said, hearing the giddy excitement in her own voice.
“We’re going to New York,” he repeated, “and fuck the haters.”
“Right, fuck the haters!” she agreed, but then she paused. She didn’t have haters, unless you counted the man in front ofher. Did Justin have haters? Whatever.They were going to New York.
For a long moment they sat there grinning at each other as “I Hate Men” reached its trilling conclusion.
Then the song ended and Justin seemed to shake himself loose of the odd tension that had wound itself around them. He glanced over at her computer. “Um, obviously you’re in charge and we’ll do whatever you want to do, so this is just a request, but… whatever musical that was, could we see something else?”
Ivy blinked, then widened her eyes. “I don’t have time to explain the brilliance ofKiss Me, Kateto you right now but believe me, if it’s showing in New York, we will be seeing it.”
Justin shook his head. “We’ll see whatever you want to see.”
“I actually think you’d enjoy it,” Ivy said quickly.
“I’ll enjoy whatever you want me to enjoy,” he agreed dryly.
