Page 64 of Barre Fight
It would be okay, he told himself. And besides, he’d be back from New York in just a few days.
With that thought, he tried to focus on his New York breakfast, his New York coffee, and the woman next to him—who might not want to do this once they weren’t in New York anymore. He put his phone back in his pocket.
“I don’t really have anything planned today,” Ivy yawned. God, she was pretty, even with her face stretched in a wide yawn. “I meant to make a plan yesterday, but I got distracted.”
“Oh, by what?” he asked, eyeing her knowingly over the rim of his mug.
“By the cockiest man in New York City,” she retorted.
“It’s not cocky if you’ve earned it.” He leaned over and brushed his lips against the shell of her ear. “And I earned it. Several times.”
Ivy shifted on her stool and he sat back, satisfied. She glanced discreetly around them but he shook his head. “We’re forty blocks from the theater. No one’s going to see us down here.”
And if they did, would it really be so bad? There was no rule against what they were doing. Would anyone be surprised to learn that after being made to spend the better part of a month in eachother’s company, he and Ivy had—not fallen for each other, exactly, but they’d certainly fallen into bed together. And stayed there. And then kept enjoying each other’s company during daylight hours. Ricky and Matty would give him a hard time about it, especially after how much he’d complained about Ivy at the start, but they’d shut up eventually. If there was an eventually, that is.
He glanced over at Ivy, who was scrolling through the list she’d made of things to do in New York. Would she wanteventually, or was this all going to end when the tour did?
Justin watched her think, a slight line between her brows as she scrolled. The weak winter sun found the freckles on the bridge of her nose and the golden strands in her hair, which she’d pulled back in a loose, low ponytail.
“I guess I could figure something out while you’re in company class…” she said vaguely, frowning down at the list.
“Let me make the plan today,” he said, putting out his hand, palm up. “What’s left on the list?”
“Not a lot, just?—”
“Ah-ha,” he said quietly, as his eyes landed on something. “I’ve got it.”
Which was how he and Ivy ended up tucked into halfway decent seats in a theater on 47th Street a few hours after company class ended, having had a pre-show meal at one of the few remaining places on her list, a hole-in-the-wall Korean spot that served the best bibimbap either of them had ever eaten. That was how Justin Winters, a man who truly did not understand musical theater, found himself delighted to secure two last-minute tickets to the critically acclaimed revival ofKiss Me, Kate. When he handed them across the table to Ivy during lunch, he remembered why. It wasn’t because he’d suddenly become a musical theater enthusiast. It was because he’d become an Ivy Page Smile enthusiast—a fan of how, when shewas excited about something, her eyes lit up and sparkled like Sydney Harbour in the heat of the day.
“How did you get these?” she squealed, and the couple at the next table, barely half a meter away, jumped and stared at her.
“A gentleman never tells,” he said mysteriously, sipping his Hite Extra Cold. “Let me have my secrets.”
The secret was money. He’d spent a stupid amount of money on a shady resale site to get the tickets that put that smile on Ivy’s face, and in that moment, it was worth every cent of the jaw-dropping fees and the eye-watering exchange rate.
“I’ve been wanting to see this forever, but it’s so popular I figured it wasn’t even worth it to try getting a ticket,” she said, clutching the envelope to her chest. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” he shrugged, like it was no big deal, like his chest hadn’t just swelled with pride and relief and some other unnamable feeling at the knowledge that he’d correctly guessed which of the two dozen shows currently on Broadway was the one Ivy most wanted to see. At being the one who made that happen for her. At the way she was looking at him right now, like he was the only person she wanted to see that show with.
Oh,god.Now he was actually going to have to go see a musical. He’d paid a ridiculous amount of money for that sparkle in Ivy’s eye, but also for the privilege of sitting through a Broadway show. He’d done this to himself.
“Curtain’s in about twenty minutes, so we should get going,” he said, as brightly as he could. Even though her smile was bright enough for the both of them.
Once they’d found their seats, a rowdy sold-out crowd of tourists and locals all around them, Ivy turned to him, her eyes still alight, but a curious tilt to her head. “You know, somepeople might call this a romantic gesture, seeing as you don’t like musicals.”
“I…” he started to object, but she only tilted her head further, looking amused now. “I don’t. But, um, I like you.”
The words hung between them in the buzzing air, and for a moment Justin wanted to wince and take them back. It was true—somehow in the last few weeks, it had become true, and then it had become undeniable, and then it had become unignorable. He didn’t usually make a practice of spending all day in the company of people he didn’t like. And he certainly didn’t make a practice of falling into bed with people he didn’t like, much less fall asleep with them. But saying it out loud point blank like that, like he was a child asking someone on the playground to be his friend, it was fucking frightening.
Ivy was silent, watching him with the ghost of a laugh still on her face. “I like you, too,” she said frankly after a long, heart-pounding moment. “Maybe not as much as you hate musicals, though.”
He chuckled, partly amused but mostly relieved. The house lights started to dim, and the crowd quieted down and settled in their seats.Romantic. He turned the word over in his mind, examining it. She was right, he supposed. He’d been accused of worse.
“Who would have thought, Kurt?” He smiled at her in the fading light.
Not him. Not when this all began. But now, it was all he wanted to think about. And when the curtain went up and the over-acting and bursting into song began, it wasn’t so bad. Well, it wasn’t as bad as he’d expected. When Justin was a kid, Shane had liked to play country music in his ute, and he was always sighing at the love songs, telling Justin they reminded him of Justin’s mum, who Shane called his “one true love.” The songs Justin liked best were the ones that told a story, created a character.The songs in a Broadway show were a bit like that, he supposed. When the entire company was on stage dancing, Justin couldn’t help but admire how skilled the men were. They all had strong classical technique, but they’d mastered jazz and tap, too, and they could sing while doing all that. And they made it all look so effortless and enjoyable. He still didn’t understand it, but he wasn’t going to pretend he wasn’t impressed by it.
And then there was Ivy, sitting next to him tapping her foot and beaming up at the stage, joy all but radiating off her. He could get addicted to it, to the knowledge that he’d had some part in creating it. By the end of the first act, it occurred to Justin that if they kept doing this, the time would inevitably come when he liked her a lot more than he hated musicals.
