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“You want to come with me tomorrow? Since you’re unemployed and all.”
“I’m only half unemployed,” I corrected. “I still have my bartending job at night.”
“So you don’t want to come?”
“Hell yeah I want to come,” I quickly said. “I need the money. I’m behind on two months of rent on my other apartment.”
“Such is the life of an aspiring actor,” Dorian said wistfully.
“How do you like your old place?” Braden asked. He bit into an egg roll, which made his dark hair fall across his face. “The one you’re moving from.”
“I don’t,” I said. “It’s too small for too much. And my roommates suck.”
“I hear that,” Braden said. Dorian kicked him in the leg, which made the handsome man yelp.
“Whenever you want to move your stuff over, let me know,” Braden went on. “My schedule is pretty clear outside of rehearsal, so whatever is convenient for you.”
At first I was touched by that sentiment. Then I said, “You don’t have any other job to go to?”
It was an uncomfortable thing to ask, and I knew it immediately. Braden focused intently on his egg roll, and Dorian pursed his lips and looked at me.
“His grandma left him the apartment, along with a small nest egg to live off,” Dorian explained. “At least for a few years.”
“Dude, there’s nothing embarrassing about that,” I said, putting a reassuring hand on Braden’s arm. “I’d be thrilled if I were you.”
He smiled gratefully at me. “Thanks. Grandma was always the most supportive of my career choice—unlike my parents. She would be happy to know I’m following my dream.”
“Now all we need is for The Proposition to be a smash hit and you’ll be well on your way!” I said.
We all laughed at that. We would be content with the show not being a total disaster. That’s where the bar was right now.
“Seriously though,” I said. “What’s with Tatiana?”
Dorian smirked, and opened his mouth to say something. Braden beat him to it.
“I don’t think we should be gossiping about the other cast,” he said in a lecturing tone. “Director Atkins was right. It’s not professional.”
“No, yeah, right,” I said, waving off the question and hoping they couldn’t tell how embarrassed I was. “You’re right. We should be more professional.”
Dorian shared a momentary look with me. He had opinions, and would tell me later.
We made idle chit-chat long after our dinner was finished, telling stories about where we grew up and how we’d all arrived in New York. Braden grew up in Long Island, but Dorian was from Portland, Oregon. He’d been in traveling productions of Mamma Mia and Annie Oakley before eventually deciding he wanted to be on Broadway.
It was late when Braden said he wanted to get to sleep, and I found myself yawning too. We all said goodnight and wandered upstairs to our individual bedrooms. I always carried a clean pair of panties and a toothbrush in case I went home with someone from the bar, so I was good to sleep here tonight until I got my stuff from my apartment. I washed my face and crawled into bed, which Dorian had put fresh sheets on when he moved his stuff out. The luxury of going to bed at a reasonable time was nice. And even when I had a shift at the bar, taking the subway up here would give me almost an hour of extra free time per day compared to going out to Queens.
I stared at the popcorn ceiling and couldn’t get to sleep. Something didn’t feel right. After a few minutes, I realized why.
I was sleeping only in my panties, so I put my yoga pants and shirt back on and left my room. I went down to the third floor and approached one of the master bedrooms. After a moment’s hesitation, I knocked.
“Dude, I don’t care if you have my leftovers,” Braden said as he opened the door. He paused when he saw it was me.
I gawked right back at him.
He stood in the doorway wearing only a pair of boxer-briefs. All the muscles of his chest and arms seemed more defined in the dim light of the hallway, like a three-dimensional chiaroscuro painting. He cocked his head in a way that was somehow both cute and incredibly sexy. The sight of him was like an Abercrombie & Fitch model. There wasn’t an ounce of fat on him.
“Oh, uh, hey,” he said when he realized it was me. He scratched the back of his neck, which coincidentally made his entire left arm flex. “I…”
“I can have your leftovers?” I said hopefully. “I’m not a huge egg roll girl, but free food is free food…”
