“Precisely.”
She let go of her skirt and met his eyes. “I don’t even know you. You could be a crazy psycho for all I know.”
“I’m Justin. I told you that earlier. I work here.” He pointed over his shoulder. “And I am the only one here with a British accent, so I’m pretty bloody easy to describe if I do something horrific to you. Don’t forget. The eyes are blue.”
“Oh yeah?” She put her hands on her hips, but ruined the effect by laughing. “And what if you’re a serial killer? I won’t be able to point you out from the dead—though I’d certainly try.”
“A serial killer who invites you to dinner before offing you? If I wanted to kill you,” he motioned around the ever-darkening alley, “this would be a better location than a crowded pub, don’t you think?”
Her lips curved upward into a hesitant smile. “You have a point. But still … ”
“Please? I feel awful about knocking you down. But maybe fate threw us together to help us through tonight.” He rubbed the back of his neck, shooting her the most charming smile he could manage. “We’re here to help one another get blasted and forget.”
She tilted her head to the side and put her hands on her hips. “You believe in fate?”
“Absolutely. Don’t you?”
She shook her head, her lips pressed tightly together. “No. I believe in timing and coincidence. Not fate.”
“Well, then,” he smiled at her. She made it almost too easy. “Timing threw us together quite coincidentally. Have dinner with me, please. Come on, you do eat, don’t you? Or is that against girl code, too?”
She rolled her eyes, but smiled. “And if it is?”
“Well, then,” he leaned in close, bending until his lips were level with her right ear. He kept his voice low and rumbly. “I’d say the time has come for you to be a rebel.”
She shivered. “What makes you think I’m not one already?”
“Hmm.” He toyed with her hair and backed up a step so he could look into her eyes. They were wide, and her breath came out a little bit fast. If she were a rebel, then he would wear a blooming skirt to work every day for a fortnight. “Gut instinct?”
Something that looked a lot like defiance blazed in her eyes. She grabbed a hold of his shirt and didn’t let go. She didn’t pull him closer or push him away. Just held him still. “Careful how much you go with your gut. It might lead you down the wrong path.”
“I think it’s leading me on the right one tonight.” He eyed her, and cradled her cheek with his hand. “Go out with me, luv?”
She smiled, and still didn’t drop her hold on him. “You’re making it hard to say no. Especially with your accent.”
“Then say ‘yes.’” He rubbed his thumb over her lower lip. She took a shaky breath, and tightened her grip on his shirt. He’d bet his left nut this attraction wasn’t one-sided. She might not know who he really was, but why should he tell her he wasn’t stage crew? He kind of wanted to be a normal guy for once and relished the anonymity for a change. Back home, people recognized him as the rising star everyone wanted to know about.
But here?
He was nobody. And he didn’t want her to look at him like all the other girls did. He wanted her to look at him like he was a man. Just a man. “Blimey! You know what? I don’t know even know your name.”
“Blimey?” She smiled, and her eyes sparkled up at him. “I like the way you talk. I could listen to it all night.”
“Great. It’s settled.” He grabbed her hand. “Name?”
She didn’t pull away, and that smile struck again. She could disarm the entire Royal Navy with a simple smile if she set her mind to it. “I’m Alexis, but you can call me Lexi.”
“Pleased to meet you. Now that names are out of the way … care to go to dinner with me, Lexi?”
“I’m not interested in a relationship right now,” she said flatly. “At all.”
He dropped her hand and backed away from her. “Whoa, whoa, whoa. Slow down a second. I didn’t say anything about relationships. I only mentioned dinner and getting shitfaced. Don’t take advantage of me just yet.”
“I-I didn’t mean to … I mean I … ” She turned bright red and covered her cheeks with her hands. “Oh God. This is horrible.”
He wagged a finger at her. “And before you go and propose marriage to me—no, I don’t need a green card. I’m well and dandy in that aspect.”
She blinked up at him then burst into laughter. “You’re messing with me, aren’t you?”
He held his thumb and pointer finger up, holding them close together “Perhaps a wee bit.” He grinned. “Now, about our non-committal, non-relationship-forming dinner … ?”
She pointed at him, one hand on her hip. “It’s not a date.”
“Of course not.” He offered his arm. “It’s a distraction.”
She eyed his arm as if he offered her a lift into a pit full of snakes instead of a meal. She took a deep breath, slid her hand into his arm, and led him out of the alley. “This is me being spontaneous and accepting a dinner invite from the strange man who knocked me on my ass in an alley on July 4th. Let it be marked in the official court records, in case you kill me tonight.”
“Consider it duly recorded.” He fought back a triumphant grin. “So, I know this nice little Italian place in SoHo—”
She snorted. “In America, we don’t do Italian food on the fourth of July. We do burgers, beer, and fireworks. If you’re going out with a Yank on this night of all nights, then you’ll be one, too.”
He shuddered. “Perish the thought.”
Chuckling, she tugged him closer and led him out onto the packed sidewalks. “By the end of the night, I’ll have you singing the national anthem as the fireworks explode over the Statue of Liberty.”
He raised a brow. Not likely. After all, he needed to save his voice for tomorrow. If anything, he should back out of dinner and go home. Rest. “We’ll see about that.”
Gary had told him to go out and have fun … and he was nothing if not cooperative.
Chapter Two
Lexi stole a peek at Justin, hoping she hadn’t just agreed to go out with a crazy, ax-wielding madman. She didn’t pick up random men off of the street and go out with them. She was sensible. Smart. Organized.
Not impulsive and daring.
But then again … he was right. She really needed a distraction. And people went on blind dates all the time. She at least knew what Justin looked like, if nothing else. Should she snap a picture of him and text it to her sister in case he was a murderer? Pulling her Blackberry out, she switched it onto silent and snapped a picture as best as she could while walking down a crowded NYC street and trying not to be so obvious about it.
She got his shoulder.
Oh well. She’d just be murdered and he would escape without being caught. No biggie. She stole another glance at him and he smiled. Looking away quickly, she ducked her head to hide the blush of her cheeks. He didn’t look like a murderer. If he was, at least he was a hot one.
While they hadn’t exactly met under the best of circumstances, he’d made her laugh a few times despite it. Already, he’d proved to be a diversion. She couldn’t remember the last time a man had made her laugh. Made her want to flirt and have fun and be free. This was a hard time of year for her and she’d chosen to spend it alone, mourning with a bottle of wine, sometimes two.
Alone. Missing her fiancé. Her dead fiancé. It still hurt to think about him. To miss him. And tonight? She’d been missing him a lot. Right up until she fell in that puddle. After that, she’d been too distracted by Justin to feel sorry for herself. For the first time in the past year, she felt like doing something other than missing him. She felt like being with someone other than herself.
She was freaking sick of herself.
A taxi zoomed by and the driver shouted at someone to “move out of the fucking road,” and she snapped out of her thoughts. “So, why are you here in America? Why come all the way out h
ere to work on the stage if you can do it back home?”
“Are you mad?” He looked at her as if she’d sprouted two heads. “It’s bloody Broadway. Every actor—,” he broke off and looked over his shoulder at the theater, “—and c-crewman would kill for the opportunity to work here. To soak in the lights and the applause. To be in this city. The better question is, ‘why wouldn’t I choose New York?’ Everything about this city screams culture and the arts.”
When he spoke, his voice carried a lilting quality usually reserved for singers. As if he were singing. Perfect breath spans and pauses. And his accent? She could listen to him drone on about the freaking weather and be perfectly content just sitting there for hours. Perhaps he was an aspiring actor, or a singer. Besides, isn’t every waitress here an aspiring actress? It was the city of dreams, after all.
Or so they said.
He pulled her against his side, moving her out of the way of a woman barreling toward them with a double stroller. The contact sent a jolt of desire pinging through her, and she pulled away stiffly. She shouldn’t be feeling that for another man … should she?
Flushing, she hurried for something to say. What had they been talking about again? The weather? His hot accent? Her inappropriate reaction to his touch? “Uh … I see your point. I guess I just didn’t realize the same held true for the crew members. But then again, you’re not just a crewman, are you?”
His eyes widened and he stopped walking. “I beg your pardon?”
Someone crashed into him, making Justin stumble forward. She grabbed his arm to help him right himself, but ended up being dragged with him. He managed to catch both himself and her without either of them hitting the ground, but she ended up in his arms. Again.
“Move the hell out of the sidewalk, dumbass,” the man snarled, shoving past them. The rest of the crowd surrounding them followed his path. New Yorkers were good at avoiding obstruction, but they were also excellent at running over obstructions—so they better move.
Justin swung her out of the way of a homeless guy pushing his cart. He held her close to his chest, his arms holding her close. She clung to him, unable to believe how vicious people were being tonight. “We better move before the Americans take down yet another Brit on the fourth.”
Justin set her down on her feet, his hands on her hips. Hers rested on his shoulders. His hard, muscular shoulders. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to bring you down with me.”
“First the puddle. Now this.” She let go of his shoulders and grabbed his hand. “I better keep you close to me before you kill us both. Come on.”
“Lead the way.” He grinned and tightened his fingers on hers. “But back on topic … how did you know I’m a singer?”
“I have a bit of experience with musicians.” Lexi grabbed his arm and made him walk before they got trampled to death. “You hope to be on stage one day, don’t you?”
“Experience, eh?” He didn’t answer at first. Instead, he eyed her and moved her out of the way of a huge guy barreling toward them. “It’s a guy, isn’t it? Tell me about him.”
“There’s nothing to tell.” She avoided his eyes. “I dated a guy in a band once. He was a jerk to the nth degree, and I never want to see him again … but he talked like you. Perfect breath spans. Perfect rhythm.”
She stopped at the intersection to wait for their turn. A man came up in front of them and yelled something about designer purses for ten bucks, and she shook her head at him.
“You’re very observant.”
“Not really. I just recognize it. It’s almost like you can’t shut it off or something. My ex was the same way—may he rot in hell.”
Something made his eyes sparkle. “I’m beginning to think your disinterest in professional actors and musicians runs a bit deeper. Maybe more along the lines of hatred.”
“Maybe.” She blew out a breath. “Fine. Yes. I’m sure there are nice ones out there, but I tend to be a little skeptical until proven wrong. But you didn’t answer my question. Do you hope to make it on stage one day?”
He hesitated, giving her a look that was hard to read. He didn’t seem to know what to say in response. Odd. A woman held her hand out and begged him for spare change. He pulled out a five and placed it in her hand. “It’s always been my dream to be on stage. Ever since I was a young boy, fresh out of nappies.”
Nappies. God, she loved his odd little phrases and sayings—even if it made him harder to understand. The light switched, and the massive crowd crossed the street. She pulled him alongside her, not letting go. She didn’t trust him not to be killed on the sidewalk. “Are you any good?”
“I’d hope so,” he answered dryly. He ran his thumb over her knuckles. It did weird things to her insides, that simple touch. “What do you do?”
She smiled and looked down at the sidewalk. Her favorite Sabrett’s vendor waved at her, and she waved back. “I’m a stock broker. Pretty tedious, I know. But that’s me. Predictable and boring.”
“I don’t think you’re boring.” He nudged her with his elbow, shooting her a grin. God, he was hot. Did he realize what that grin did to her insides? Of course he did. He was probably a player. And she’d better remember it. “As a matter of fact, I find you quite interesting.”
“You don’t know me very well, then.” She grinned. “Or you’re just desperate for a friend.”
“Perhaps a little of both?”
She chuckled. “Maybe.”
He did that thing where he ran his thumb over her skin again. “Does your family live here in the city?”
“My sister lives in Jersey.”
“Jersey?” He shuddered and twisted his face up. “And you still speak to her? Preposterous.”
She laughed. “Are you sure you’re not a New Yorker?”
“I’m a fast learner. Besides, even a Brit,” he made air quotes with his free hand, “has good sense in these matters.”
“I see that.” She tugged him closer, her mouth aching from the big smile on her face. When was the last time she’d laughed so freely? With Hugh. The thought sobered her, and guilt swept over her without pity. She shouldn’t be laughing with another guy. She shouldn’t forget his memory, and what he’d been to her, for even a second.
Especially today.
She wondered what Hugh would think of this. Of Justin. He’d told her that if something happened to him, she should forget about him and move on. But how was she supposed to do that? To just forget? To move on? She had never even considered it. Until just now. Until Justin.
It wasn’t right. She shouldn’t be feeling this way.
“All right?” Justin gave her an odd look, and his gaze fell to her no longer smiling mouth. “A penny for your thoughts.”
She forced a smile. “I only accept quarters. Sorry.”
“Hmm.” He rummaged in his pocket and pulled out a dollar bill. “I have a dollar. May I pay up in advance for the evening?”
“I’ll take the dollar.” She snatched the money out of his hand. “But you aren’t getting my thoughts out of the deal.”
“Bollocks.” He ran a hand over his jaw, hiding a grin behind his hand. “Americans are tougher than I thought.”
“You have no idea.” She chuckled. “How long have you been here?”
“A little over three months.”
She nudged him in the ribs with her elbow. “That’s long enough to know how we roll.”
He stared at her, as if he were trying to figure her out—and couldn’t quite fit the pieces together. Good. She didn’t want to be an open book. Not tonight. “So. Back to your sister. She’s in Jersey. Married?”
“Yeah.” Lexi checked the time. It was early enough that her favorite burger joint—which also had a bar—wouldn’t be too crowded. “And she conned me into going to see a musical tomorrow. Les Miserables.”
“Wait.” He tensed. “Y-You’re going to go see it? Why? You hate musicals and plays.”
She shot him a surprised look. Why did he look as if he was about to hu
rl all over the pavement? “Yeah, I do. My sister loves them, and she bought these tickets ages ago. But then she got pregnant and landed herself on bed rest.” She shrugged. “So I’m going for her, and I have to collect autographs afterwards—particularly from the guy who plays Marius. She’s in love with him.” She rolled her eyes. “Love. But that’s why I was in the alley tonight. I was scoping out where the actors leave. Don’t tell anyone. It’ll ruin my reputation.”
He rubbed the back of his neck and dropped her hand. “Ah … I see.”
“Maybe I’ll even see you there?” She flexed her fingers. They felt strangely empty without his. “Are you visible during the play?”
He gave a strangled laugh. “Uh, yeah. A little bit.”
Damn, even his laugh sounded melodic. She would lay down all her money on him being an amazing singer. It must kill him working on a show he could easily be a part of. “Good. I can’t wait.”
He stroked his jaw. “Even though you hate shows?”
“Yeah.” She grabbed his hand again. She didn’t care if it was stupid—she wanted to keep him close. “Because now I’ll get to see you in action.”
“I-I see,” he said.
“Okay, back to the interesting stuff.” She pulled him closer, and his arm brushed against the side of her breast. Oh, sweet mama. That felt way too good. “Is all of your family across the pond?”
His arm stiffened under her fingers. “It’s just me. It’s been only me for longer than I can remember.”
Sadness washed over her at the flat tone of his voice. She wouldn’t put him a day over twenty-five, which meant he more than likely went to foster care for most of his life. She didn’t know what it was like in the UK, but here in America a life like his would be sketchy at best.
“That couldn’t have been an easy life.” She squeezed his arm. “I’m sorry.”
He shrugged. “Nothing to be sorry about. It was a long time ago. Now I’m here, living the dream.”
Of being stage crew? She had a feeling that wasn’t his dream. “Maybe you should audition for a part off Broadway? Or an understudy role. Did you tell the producers you can sing?”
ONE NIGHT (Novella) (Superstars in Love Series) Page 2
