“Kathleen Rosenberg,” Cal and I said at the same time.
“Sorry,” Whitney said. “It’s just…wow. I was a really, really big fan of yours. Still am.”
I wasn’t that surprised—she looked close to my age, so it would have been more unexpected if she hadn’t known who I was. And I appreciated the quick amendment to her comment. I still had an ego, and it had a tendency to bruise easily.
Whitney’s gaze bounced between me and Cal again, and I could see her remembering everything that had been implied about the two of us back in those days. Implied, never confirmed, but that didn’t really matter. It was all true.
And if they were friends—or more—she probably knew that.
“Oh my god,” Whitney said. “You. Her.”
Cal just stood there, his expression patient and placid.
“Just say it, Whitney,” he said.
Instead, she slapped him on the arm.
“Don’t be an asshole,” she said.
“Asshole!” Sammy echoed.
“Shhhh,” Whitney said.
Cal didn’t seem ruffled by any of it.
“I’m sorry for him,” Whitney said. “Both the kid and Cal.”
“I like you,” I said to Whitney.
“Why am I not surprised?” Cal asked. He seemed to be speaking rhetorically. “Of course you two would become immediate friends.”
“Did we?” Whitney asked.
“Since it seems to annoy Cal, then yes,” I said.
Whitney beamed. “This is the best day of my life. I can’t wait to tell my husband.”
“He won’t care,” Cal said.
“He will,” Whitney insisted to him, and then to me. “He will.”
“If you were a Katee Rose fan, does that mean you were a CrushZone fan too?” I asked.
Whitney laughed. It was a deep belly laugh. A “wow, that is really very funny” laugh.
“Not exactly,” she said.
“Whitney is responsible for CrushZone,” Cal said.
“That’s giving me too much credit,” Whitney said. “I just dared him to audition. I’m not responsible for…the others.”
My eyes widened. I’d always wondered exactly how Cal had gone from college graduate to boy band superstar. Everyone knew that he’d been plucked from a cattle call lineup; I just never bothered to ask how he’d gotten in that lineup in the first place.
“You did not dare me,” Cal said.
Whitney scoffed. “Uh-huh,” she said.
“Did you go to college together?” I asked.
“Sure did,” Whitney said. “Want to hear some embarrassing stories about him?”
“Always,” I said.
“Mommy.” Sammy squirmed. “Mommy, can we go see the sparkle rocks?”
“The Hall of Gems,” Whitney interpreted.
“Ah,” I said. “That’s one of my favorites.”
“I can take him,” Cal said, “if you want to regale Kathleen with tales of our college years.”
“I can multitask,” Whitney said. “Unless you’ve got something better to do than walk around looking at rocks with the three of us.”
I thought about it for a moment.
“Actually, that sounds like a perfect way to spend my afternoon.”
* * *
“And this one is my favorite rock,” Sammy said.
“More favorite than your other favorites?” I asked.
There had been at least a dozen.
“Uh-huh,” Sammy said.
“Cool,” I said.
“Want to go look at some meteorites, Sammy?” Cal asked. “Let your mommy and Kathleen get a chance to gossip about Uncle Cal?”
“It’s not gossip if it’s the truth,” Whitney said as Cal slung her kid up onto his shoulders.
“Have fun, you two,” he said.
Both Whitney and I watched him walk away. I might have stared at his butt while he did, but even my general annoyance and distrust of him didn’t erase the fact that he had a really, really nice ass.
“Sammy loves him,” Whitney said.
“Bet he saves cats out of trees,” I said, only slightly under my breath.
She laughed. “I think he’s afraid of heights, but yeah, he probably would.”
“You don’t need to tell me what a great guy Cal is,” I said.
Whitney raised her eyebrows. “I don’t?”
“All I care about is making the show good,” I said.
“Then you two are in agreement,” Whitney said. “But I wasn’t going to tell you what a great guy Cal is.”
This time I was the one raising my eyebrows.
“Okay.” She lifted her hands. “Maybe I was going to try to grease the wheel a little, but he’s a grown man.”
“Mm-hmm,” I said.
I’d unfortunately noticed. It made all this even more complicated and confusing. My brain and my body were not in agreement over how to handle Cal. My brain wanted to keep him at arm’s length. My body…
Well. It wanted to handle him. Carnally.
My body was an idiot.
“It must be hard,” Whitney said.
“Excuse me?”
“Working together,” she amended. “After everything that happened.”
I admired her nerve. I couldn’t remember the last time someone had been so direct about the whole thing. Even Harriet and I tended to give it the side-eye.
“I’m impressed that you’re doing the show, honestly.”
“It’s a good show,” I said.
“Sure,” she said. “But there must be others.”
Wow. We were just putting it all out there, weren’t we?
“Nope,” I said.
“Really?”
“Really.”
I’d tried. A few times. Always as Kathleen Rosenberg.
Either they didn’t recognize me—and I didn’t get the part—or they did and the whole process changed. The expectations changed.