Years of friendship is all she needs for proof.
“Fair enough. Can I ask my question now?”
“Yes, you big baby.”
“Why are we friends?”
“That’s your question?” She arches a brow.
Oh my god, this is karma getting me back for all the shit I’ve given her through the years. But doesn’t me helping her get together with her husband count for anything?
“No.” I suck in a deep breath. “When…when you and Gage started dating…I know…I know you told him all the stuff about the gym and your…feelings.” I shudder like feelings are something contagious.
“You mean like how I felt pigeonholed into the job and how I felt like I needed to work twice as hard to feel like I deserved it?” Her gray eyes soften in understanding.
“Yeah…that.”
Please, please tell me. I’m lost here and I need guidance. Be my sherpa, Balboa.
“It’s not really something I can quantify.” Her hand goes to her belly, rubbing circles on the baby bump poking out. “Why?”
My insecurities over being the less than Donnelly brother are not something I’ve discussed with anyone, not even Rocky when we dated.
I may have been the one to broach the subject, but I chicken out, not ready to delve deeper into this particular area of self-doubt, shoving it into the penalty box in my mind. Time for a redirection.
“I don’t know.” A lie. “I guess being with Mels, getting to know her made me wonder why the subject never came up with us.”
Liar, liar, pants on fire.
“Well, to be fair…I wasn’t a full-time employee when we were together. My issues came after graduation.”
“You know I’m always here for you right, Rock?”
“I do.” She places a reassuring hand on my forearm. “You’re my best friend outside of the girls for a reason—even when you tell my brother about having a girlfriend before you tell me.” Guess she hasn’t fully forgiven me for that. “You’re a good man, Jason Donnelly. Don’t let my crap ever make you doubt that.”
“Love you, Rock.”
“Love you too, Jase.” A growl comes from behind her. “Oh hush, you. I may love him, but I’m in love with you.” She kisses her husband on the cheek.
Is this a sign? Does my best friend’s ability to get over her crap mean I can get over mine?
You do when you’re with Mels.
Sure, it may not be all the time, but my subconscious is right. When I’m with my baby, my baggage feels lighter.
“Now.” Done with their little love-fest, the James-es turn their attention to me. “How about you tell me all the things while we watch Brick actually lose at ping-pong for once.”
That’s a plan I can get on board with.
Chapter Twenty-Six
I burrow under the covers, sinking into my pillow-top mattress. My entire body is wrecked, from the top of my messy bun to the tips of my beat-up toes.
I’ve seen every production Zoey has choreographed throughout her career so I know how talented she is, but witnessing it firsthand is magical. If only muscle memory would take over so I could stop feeling like I’ve been hit by bus. That would be great.
One more day and I’ll have the weekend to recuperate. I do love that particular perk of rehearsals. If only I could spend it with Jase.
Did I really just think that?
Shit. I’m in deeper than I thought.
Speaking of the hockey hunk…
“Hey there, All-Star,” I say after accepting the video chat request.
“Hey, baby.” There’s that wink.
“Back in your room?” I take in the tufted headboard behind him.
“Yup. I left all the crazies downstairs so I could talk to my girl without anyone jumping into our conversation like earlier.”
Yeah, that was entertaining.
I prop myself up on an elbow to see him better. “Taking advantage of being roommate-free?”
“Hell yeah.” He runs a hand through his hair, the muscles of his arm popping with the movement. “In college I was always the one forced to room with Ryan for away games.”
“Why do I have a hard time believing your brother is a bad roommate?”
“He’s not.” He chuckles. “He’s a model roommate…well, except…”
“Except?”
Another chuckle, another tousle of hair.
“Dude snores louder than a herd of elephants.”
“He does not.” I choke on a snort.
“He does. I think I’ve lost count of the number of times JD has tried to murder him in his sleep with a pair of socks.”
“Socks?”
“She would shove them in his mouth to shut him up.”
I drop my phone, not having expected that at all.
“What?” I scramble to pick it back up.
“You okay over there, baby?”
“Yup. Fine. Just dropped my phone.” I circle a hand in the air. “Details please.”
He’s ridiculous 99% of the time. I’m never sure how much I can believe, but I’m highly entertained as we share stories of our time in school—him in college, me from the arts high school I attended with Ella and Zoey.
Every day he does something, no matter how minor, to prove he is nothing like the playboy I believed him to be. Yes, he is cocky, alpha, exaggerates like a boss, and can turn anything into a sexual innuendo, but he is also sweet, kind, and loyal.
“So…” He shifts the pillows behind him and leans back.
“So…”
“Is there a limit on the number of people who can come to opening night of your show?”
“Well…yeah. There are only so many seats in the theater.”
“You’re cute when you act clueless.” He shakes his head. “What I mean is, are you limited in the number of people you can reserve tickets for?”
“I don’t think so.” I mull it over. “I think the most I’ve ever needed to reserve was three or four, but getting an extra one or two shouldn’t be an issue.”
Acquiring the tickets won’t be an issue; the problem will lie with if all the tickets—or one in particular—are used.
C-O-M-P-L-I-C-A-T-E-D.
Don’t you think it’s time to tell them, Mels? The longer you continue to lie, the worse it’s going to be. You know the truth always comes out.
“Yeah, no, baby. I’m talking we need like two dozen or so.”
What?
I blink. There are no words. Where’s a script when you need one?
“Did you really think we weren’t coming to your show?” There is a hint of amusement lacing his words.
“Well…I mean…you guys…” Words. Seriously, I need words. “You all have your own packed schedules. I don’t expect you to worry about making it.”
“First off.” He sits up, getting serious. “It’s not a worry. And second, we want to be there.”
I’m not gonna cry. I’m an actress. I have impeccable control over my emotions, can cry on demand, go from angry to happy in the blink of an eye if the scene calls for it—but holding back tears? Talk about a challenge.