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“His stupid ribbon-cutting made me late.”
“Actually, if you’d leave ten minutes earlier to counteract any catastrophic Beauville traffic, then you wouldn’t have this problem.”
“I know, I know.” I took another bite before adding, “I was already running late before the grocery store debacle,” I admitted sullenly. “And then I was pulled over for a speeding ticket.”
“Shit.”
“But the officer let me off with a warning.”
“Nice.”
“You would’ve liked him. Tall, dark, and broody.” I winked.
“Sounds like you had a fantastic morning. I don’t know what you’re complaining about. And you still made it before the tardy bell.” He read my expression while I chewed and rolled my eyes. “What is it exactly that bothers you so much about Bennett Broussard again? Besides the fact that he’s rich and gorgeous and totally fuckworthy?”
“Have you forgotten the glitter bomb catastrophe?”
“No one will ever forget that.”
“Don’t remind me.”
“Kidding. That was so long ago, Bea. You were a child.”
“Fifteen.”
“Still, you can’t hold a grudge that long.”
Finn had no idea. I still held a grudge against my piece-of-trash father, and he’d walked out on us eighteen years ago.
But back to Bennett.
“He’s arrogant and conceited and he just…bothers me.”
Then I frowned at my own statement because he hadn’t seemed conceited as he waved to the crowd in front of his grocery store. He appeared…grateful. I could also admit—only to myself—that him having a life so easy just reminded me of how I’d had to fight tooth and nail for everything I ever had. I’d be paying off student loans till I was probably in my coffin.
My phone buzzed on the cushion next to my leg. I checked the screen to see that it was from Peter.
“Omigod.” I clicked it open and read the message. “Holy shit, Finn.”
“What? Did something happen?”
It was my turn to grin like the Cheshire Cat. “I’ve got a call-back.”
“For thelead?”
Laughing, I said, “Of course! It’s not like I could play fifty-year-old Ethel Banks.” Then I frowned. “Well, I guess I could. But yes, for Corie Bratter. The lead!” I texted the director back in a rush and agreed to be at the theater at five this afternoon. “I can’t believe it.”
“I can. You’re phenomenal on stage.”
I couldn’t wipe the smile off my face, realizing I had a good chance at the lead of Neil Simon’sBarefoot in the Park. It had always been one of my favorite plays. While I was growing up, Mom and I watched the movie dozens of times together. The witty banter and tempestuous chemistry between Robert Redford and Jane Fonda on film always made me smile.
Then suddenly, my stomach plummeted.
“What now?” Finn’s expression morphed to concern.
I licked my suddenly dry lips, finding there wasn’t a speck of saliva left in my mouth. My voice rose to screechy fear levels as I said, “You know who’s going to get the male lead in the play, don’t you?”
Finn let out a bark of laughter. Then he shook his head at me, merriment in those traitorous eyes. “Bennett fuckworthy Broussard.”
