“News?” I try to say the word lightly.
“Yeah. My manager called a little while ago. I was on my way home from visiting Les Anderson.”
“That’s great you saw Les. How is he?” Better to focus on the innocuous part of her story first.
“He’s good. Really good. He and I worked all afternoon on the musical I’m writing. He was so incredibly helpful and supportive. And I was so excited when I left his studio, and that’s when Pat called me. I tried to tell him about what I was working on, but he said none of that mattered because he had just snagged an audition slot for the role of a lifetime for me.”
My breath catches in my throat. “Summerset Nights.”
A long beat of silence follows.
“Yes,” she finally says, her voice completely neutral and giving me no fucking clue what she’s feeling. “Summerset Nights.”
I force a smile onto my face even though she’s not here to see it. “That’s good news. Right?”
“I don’t know. I mean, yes, it should be. And six months ago, I would have killed for this opportunity. But…” Her voice sounds so sad when she adds, “My mama was the one who took me to see Summerset Nights when I was a little girl. It was her dream for me, and somewhere along the way, it became my dream, too. But now I don’t know what I want.”
“When would you need to audition?”
“That’s the thing. Pat arranged it so that I can do the audition from here. New Orleans. I can tape it and send it in.”
I don’t like the feeling that sweeps through me at this news. It’s relief that she’s not leaving yet. Which is fucking selfish of me. Because if Winter’s dream is to play this role, then she deserves to.
I mentally punch myself in the nuts for my selfishness, and then I say to her, “I know that if you want this, you’ll make a kick-ass audition tape. And don’t let that asshole stop you from trying, either.”
She releases what feels like a pent-up breath. “Thank you, Hunt. I knew you’d make me feel better. I think…I think I should go for it.”
“Good,” I say. “I think that’s awesome. I’ll be home tomorrow night after the game. I can help you prepare if you need me to.”
“I don’t think I can wait until then. Do you have a few minutes now to hear what I’m thinking?”
I settle back against the hotel pillows. “Of course. Lay it on me.”
For the next half hour, Winter reads the script to me. At first, she’s tentative while she finds her own voice inside that of the character. But by the time we go to sleep, she’s nailing it.
“You’ve got this,” I tell her. “You’re ready.”
CHAPTERTWENTY-THREE
Winter
The next day, I videotape my audition for the lead role in Summerset Nights and send it in to Pat. He tells me it could be days before we know anything.
So, I put it out of my mind. And when Hunter walks in the door at two in the morning, I greet him like we’ve been apart for months instead of a week.
He picks me up and carries me straight to his bedroom where we proceed to make up for the days of abstinence that we missed. He tells me how much he missed me while he’s inside me, on top of me, and beneath me. After that, we curl up together and talk before drifting off to sleep.
It feels like the kind of reunion real couples have.
When we wake up the next morning, Hunter tells me he’s taking me out.
I smile as I get dressed, realizing I look forward to hanging out with Hunter clothed just as much as Hunter naked.
Because the truth is that Hunter and I haven’t just been having sex since I’ve been back in the bayou. We’ve also gotten closer in other ways, ways that are seriously testing the rules of ourfriends-who-fuckagreement. We talk a lot. And we explore New Orleans together, treating this time I’m in town almost like I’m a tourist who needs to see everything before leaving. Acting like Hunter’s helping me to sightsee is a way to pretend that we’re not going on dates apparently.
We don’t say that, of course.
It’s nice. More than nice. It’s romantic and real at the same time. I feel like I’m getting to know Hunter all over again as an adult, and I didn’t realize how much I missed having him in my life until he was back. The idea of leaving him—well, it floors me when I think too hard about it. So, I try not to. But turning in that audition tape was a reality check for both of us.
