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“Let’s not go that far,” I say.
Mac holds up his can of sparkling water. “To men who think they know better than women,” he says with a dumb smile.
I steal the sparkling water from his hand and set it next to me, too far for him to reach. He feigns shock and uses his long arms to steal back his drink.
“How about . . . to men who love well?” Jessie suggests, holding up her sparkling water.
“I’ll toast to that,” I say with a cheers of my Diet Coke.
I was not expectingthere to be a full rehearsal going forMidsummer Night’s Dream.
The show opens next week, so this is tech week. This is the week the actors are doing rehearsals with lights and mics and costumes and makeup. Tonight is lights and mics and tomorrow is costumes. I know this because I’m scheduled to come in and help.
But somehow all of this slipped my mind because I had a one-track mind for getting to Ian. For talking to Ian. For telling him I’m sorry and I . . . well, I’ll cross that bridge when I get there.
But the bridge I have to cross is a full rehearsal. Do I interrupt? Is Ian even here?
I loiter in the wings, watching the rehearsal, and try to stand at just the right angle to see up into the stage manager’s booth. The tinted glass does its job, though; I see multiple shapes, but I can’t tell who it is.
I’m not going to go up there if someone else is in the booth. The stage manager is unlikely to stop the show just so I can have a quick word with Ian.
I guess I could wait until a break . . .
“Jade?” A whispered voice from behind me says my name. Dallas.
“Heyyyyyy,” I say as casually as possible.
“I thought you were coming tomorrow?” They hug me and I wonder if they can feel my racing heart.
“I am. I’m actually . . . I’m not here for the rehearsal.”
Their eyebrows raise, their head tilting down as if to say, “You better spill that damn tea.”
“Do you happen to know if Ian is here?” I ask, sounding so shy I barely recognize myself.
A slow smile spreads over Dallas’s face. Their eyes flicker to the stage, probably half-listening for their cue to go on.
“I do think I saw him, but why not check with them?” They point to the assistant stage manager seated deep in the wings on headset with the rest of the crew. They would definitely know, as Ian would be in their ear.
“You’re a doll,” I say and blow Dallas a kiss. They catch it and stuff it into their pocket with a wink, giving their attention back to the stage.
The assistant stage manager sees me, giving me a friendly wave. I realize as I approach that it’s Madison.
Fates be praised.
“Hey Madison,” I whisper. She covers the mouth of her microphone and leans toward me. “Is Ian on there?”
“Ian?” she asks, and my heart sinks. I nod. She nods back and gives me a thumbs-up. “Why?”
“No reason,” I say, gesturing that she shouldn’t worry about it.
My heart hammers in my chest. Ian is definitely here. Ian is definitely in the booth. And that means I definitely need to ruin this rehearsal to get his attention. I drop my purse behind Madison’s chair and, before I can talk myself out of it, I stride right onto the stage.
I am not a shy person. I am bold as fuck, and I would say on a scale of one to one hundred that I give absolutely zero shits.
But I know the sanctity of rehearsal and I respect the hell out of it. I’m being an asshole right now and, for once, I care. I care because I would be annoyed if I was in rehearsal and some girl strode onto stage in the middle of it.
I am also acutely aware of what I’m about to say and do and there’s a layer of sweat along my hairline already.
