“Jamie knows my brother, who probably only connected us because he was tired of me complaining about eating ramenevery meal. Big movies aren’t my thing, but I’ll take what I can get. It’s better than the freelance writing I was doing and getting pennies for.”
“What is your thing?” I ask almost selfishly.
“Interview work. Real people. Unpredictable shit. I was originally with a daytime talk show, not the end goal but I learned a lot about live TV. Hopefully, if I stick it out with Jamie’s franchise, I’ll get another shot.” Her passion seems to shimmer under the surface of her skin.
“So, you’re the person to call up if I ever wanted to feed my ego with a documentary?”
“I’d kill to do something like that, to hear what really happened. Sorry, I was a big Fool’s Gambit fan growing up, and with their reunion, I’ve been reading articles, people trying to piece together their careers, and I’ve always felt like something’s missing.”
“And what do you think that is?”
“You. I’d want the truth about what happened between you and…well, shit.” Her focus snares just over my shoulder, mouth popping open in shock. “Him.”
I turn to see what she’s fixed on, but part of me already knows as the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.
Wes stands out, and not just because he’s woefully underdressed in his signature jeans, cowboy boots, and T-shirt combo. He’s mastered the unkempt look—an image that promises sex and cigarettes for breakfast. One that lures you into thinking he’ll run his full lips over your neck, lingering as he feels your pulse, reveling in the simple miracle that you’re alive.
Or they’re thinking something like that.
And yet, he ignores the room full of eyes on him, as his meet mine. Our eyes don’t just meet, though. They never do. They have an affair.
He cuts through the crowd as if we’re the only people at the party. I stand my ground—it’s either that or run. That’s what everyone here wants—the drama Wes and I always promise when we’re in the same room.
A foot away, he grabs a flute of champagne from a server and tosses it back like a shot. Some of the liquid slips from his lips, dripping from the sharp cut of his jaw to dampen his shirt collar. Once drained, he grabs two more.
Standing in front of me, he hands me a flute. “Brought you something. Who’s your friend?”
I take it. I’ll need a drink or ten to get through this. “This is Kendal, the assistant director.” I trade a glance with her, the universalthanks for staying, but let me handle this piece of shit mansentiment flowing between us.
“Who is leaving,” she says, then points to a table in the corner. “And will be right over there.”
Thank you,I mouth before giving my attention to Wesley. “Last time I checked, you weren’t on the guest list.”
His brows shoot up. “Oh, that’s why I had to sneak into the building with an old lady staying on the tenth floor? I just thought you forgot to add my name, but I do appreciate the effort you must have made to exclude me from this…well, I would call it a party, but that would be an insult to parties. Networking event? That sounds about right.”
“Exploiting old ladies? That’s a new low. Even for you.”
“You drove me to it,” he says. “I had to see what all the fuss was about.”
“Well, enjoy the party. Go talk to someone who doesn’t get nauseous when they stand next to you.”
“Ave—” Wes starts to give what no doubt would be some sorry excuse, but he’s cut off by a man in a burgundy suit who yanks him into one of those half hug half handshake dude-bro hugs.
“I didn’t know you’d be here. You have to crash another one of my sets. The girls go crazy when I DJ that throwback shit. Miami was wild.”
“Yeah, Miami was great.” Wes’s voice is distant as he replies, still staring at me.
The man starts speaking again, but I don’t stick around to listen. I slip away out to a vacant balcony. Below, the city is alive. Buildings look like misprinted chess boards with half their windows alight. Cars dart through the streets in a steady rush. A shriek of unrestrained laughter floats up to where I stand just as the doors open behind me, but I don’t look.
“I was just explaining the trouble I went through to see you, and then you leave me?” Wes says.
“Why are you here?” I bite out.
“I heard you had doubts about the tour.”
I whirl so my back presses against the thick concrete parapet. “Doubts? I don’t have doubts, Wes. I can’t just drop everything because you want to make a game out of this.”
“Okay, I know it’s a lot to ask. Forty cities, no sleep, endless memories. Just like the first one we did. Though the venues might be a bit bigger.” He rests his elbow next to me and leans his fist against his cheek, which only exaggerates his crooked smile.
