No Time for Promises (The No Brides Club Book 3)

by Lindsay Detwiler

  But as he stared at the blue sky, the sounds of the city around him, he felt… empty. Alone. Disappointed.

  He knew he couldn’t compare what he had to Ian. They’d chased different dreams, different lives. He wouldn’t want his brother’s life. Still, Ian was making memories and living life to the fullest. He was chasing adventure and variety and fun.

  As Zander peeled himself off the bench and jogged home, ready to dive into the shower and a dozen hot wings from the local food cart, he knew he couldn’t say the same thing. In fact, as he looked around his apartment, empty except for Jon Snow and a television show that could barely keep his attention, he started to wonder if, in fact, there was a whole lot missing after all and he just hadn’t been willing to admit it.

  Chapter 7

  Rachel

  “K nock, knock,” a voice beckoned from the entrance of Rachel’s apartment. She smiled, realizing immediately who it was.

  “We’re back!” Gigi yelled out, and Rachel smiled to see Beatrice right behind her, wearing her signature red hat and sunglasses. Gigi was wearing what looked like Mardi Gras beads round her neck, and both were rocking killer tans. They sashayed into the living room where Rachel sat, beaming at her.

  Frank Sinatra barked from Gigi’s purse as she crossed the floor, handing Rachel a gift bag.

  “How was Vegas?” Rachel asked as Beatrice leaned in to kiss both of Rachel’s cheeks, probably leaving some of her signature red lipstick on her. Rachel didn’t care. It was so good to have her neighbors back in town. She’d missed them these past couple of weeks as they were out and about.

  “Fabulous, but we’re so sorry we weren’t here when you needed us. Look at you, poor thing, stuck on those clunky crutches. You must be going crazy,” Gigi said, sitting down on the sofa beside Rachel, letting Frank out of her purse. The dog jumped right up on Rachel, tail wagging. Rachel often babysat Frank when he couldn’t go along with Gigi and Beatrice, so they had excellent rapport.

  “We’ve told you to be careful on those balconies. You know in our glory days, Gigi did the same thing. She broke a toe though. Was laid up for a month. You’re lucky it’s just a sprain.”

  Rachel smiled. “How do you know what happened?” She hadn’t talked to the two of them since her accident. However, she wasn’t really surprised they knew more about her accident than she probably even did. Gigi and Beatrice were the pure definition of gossip queens. They knew everything about everyone before it even occurred. It was part of their charm—unless you were the one trying to keep a secret. Rachel slept peacefully at night knowing without a doubt no serial killers or people of ill repute lived nearby—because certainly Gigi and Beatrice would have tipped her off if they did.

  “We saw Mr. Jenson downstairs when we were coming home. He told us he had seen you hobbling on crutches earlier in the week. And so I called Tula—you know Tula, right? From the stage crew?—to get the scoop. Apparently, Miss, you’re the talk of the show. Everyone feels so badly that this happened, and doing a volunteer workshop, to boot. If this is Karma, well, then there’s something wrong with it, huh?”

  “Great,” Rachel replied, sighing at the thought that even the stage crew knew all the lovely details about her klutzy accident. Just what she needed—the entire cast and crew knowing she was a moron. “It’s worse than I thought.”

  “Now, darling, don’t we always tell you it’s better to be talked about than not? No shame in falling from a balcony, especially if it gets your name out there,” Gigi reassured, patting Rachel’s knee.

  “It’ll get my name out there for being a klutz.”

  “And there are plenty of roles out there for klutzes. Played a few myself,” Beatrice answered. “In fact, those were some of the most fun roles.”

  “Oh, I do miss the stage. I’d throw myself from a balcony if it got me back there,” Gigi replied, sighing as she settled back into the couch even more.

  “You could always go back,” Rachel said, smiling.

  “Don’t tempt her. She would in a heartbeat. I, on the other hand, can accept when I’m all dried up and too wrinkly to look good in the spotlight,” Beatrice replied.

  “Well, you are older than me,” Gigi answered.

  “A freaking year. Just accept it, honey. You’re older than dirt. Nothing wrong with that. Besides, we’re having fun exploring the world, aren’t we? You can’t do that performing all those shows a week,” Beatrice argued.

  Rachel smiled, listening to the two continue to bicker about age and who had more wrinkles.

  When she’d moved into this apartment and the landlord had told her she’d be living next to two retired Broadway stars, she’d been excited at the news. When she met Gigi and Beatrice, she’d been elated to find they were not only willing to mentor her through the processes of Broadway but were hilarious to be around. Over the past few years, she’d spent plenty of Fridays with Gigi and Beatrice drinking wine and getting filled in on all the gossip from their apartment complex and the stage. Even though they were retired, they still had their connections and still had plenty of juicy gossip. They’d also been amazing networking connections for Rachel, actually introducing her to Michael and getting her the first audition. They’d been her cheerleaders through this entire process. More than that, though, they’d been her friends, two faces in the city she was always happy to see.

  She could only imagine the life they brought to the stage in their glory days because they brought so much life to everything now. They were her spirit animals, she always said. She hoped she could be that much fun later in life.

  “So anyway, enough about us. Tell us about you. How did Michael take the news? Because if he so much as said anything negative to you, I will go down there and take care of it,” Gigi said, slamming her fist in her hand to demonstrate.

  “He was fine with it. But I can’t help but worry what this will do to my career. It’s not like I have an important role, but I need to be there if I’m going to build a name for myself.”

  “Darling, first of all, stop downing yourself. A chorus role is just as important as a leading role. You know we know that’s true. And second, it will be fine. It’s never a bad thing to take a couple of weeks off. You have decades ahead of you to be on stage and to work. Some time off never hurt anyone. Take care of yourself, drink some wine, and kick back. You’ll be back on stage before you know it.”

  “And besides, being off might not be such a bad thing when you’ve got a handsome hunk to take care of you,” Gigi added, winking.

  Frank Sinatra jumped up on Rachel, licking her face as if agreeing. Rachel shook her head. “What are you talking about?”

  “Oh, you know we know about the sexy man who was here with roses. We have eyes all over this building. You can’t sneak some hot one-night stand in without us knowing. Good job, sweetheart. Snagging a hottie while you’re laid up. Nice,” Beatrice replied, giving a little shoulder shimmy to demonstrate her approval.

  Rachel shook her head. “It’s not like that. Geez, you two are like mini stalkers.”

  “Nothing mini about us,” Gigi replied. “But what’s it like then? Because when a man brings roses, his intentions aren’t pure. That’s all I know.”

  “And what would you know about men and their intentions these days?” Beatrice asked, raising an eyebrow.

  “I know enough from the movies.”

  “Because that’s realistic,” Beatrice argued, shaking her head.

  “Back to the point at hand. Our dear Rachel, here, has a gentleman caller of apparently what most women would consider a sexy body type. That’s what we’re discussing.”

  “He is not my caller. He just took me to the hospital and was checking up on me. He was being nice. That’s all there is to it. There was no sexiness or one-night stand business or anything of the sort. Maybe you two need better spies if that’s the information you got.” Rachel dismissed their queries with the waving of a hand.

  “That’s what they all say,” Beatrice argued. “And
I notice you didn’t deny he was sexy. Just sexiness. Come on, admit it. I can tell by the look in your eyes that you were attracted to him. Nothing wrong with that, no matter what the blasted club of yours says.”

  Gigi and Beatrice knew all about the No Brides Club. They loved the women in the club and loved the idea of women focusing on themselves and their careers. They were both, however, hopeless romantics, too, and didn’t think Rachel should box herself into a life without commitment. They’d had quite a few conversations about it.

  Rachel felt her cheeks warming. “It’s a moot point whether I think he’s sexy or not. You know my focus is on my career.”

  “To be honest,” Gigi started, “you know I’m not a fan of men or marriage or any of that kind of stuff. Obviously. Never been worth much, in my opinion. But love, well, I think it’s good for some people.” She turned to Beatrice, her expression softening. “Beatrice and I both chose our careers over love, and it’s been okay. We’ve had each other to enjoy life with. But Rachel, I worry about you. Building your career is important, darling, but it isn’t everything. I just don’t want you to wake up one day with a successful career but no one to share it with. Life is long, and careers come and go. But love, well, it’s kind of what makes it all worth it.”

  Rachel smiled, studying the two women. Maybe they were right. After all, they would know. They were rarely wrong. .

  But Beatrice and Gigi were different than Rachel. They’d established careers, had achieved success.. Rachel felt like she still had a lot to accomplish.

  “Okay, enough sappy crap for one day. Here, open your gift. We thought this stuff might cheer you,” Beatrice announced.

  Rachel dug into the pink gift bag, pulling out items. There were two bottles of wine, a shot glass from Las Vegas, some magazines that made Rachel blush, and a chocolate bar big enough to keep Rachel sustained for months. Other than the magazines, Gigi and Beatrice knew exactly what she needed.

  “Gigi picked the magazines, but the rest was me. Hope this helps cheer you. And you know we’re right next door if you need anything.”

  “Thanks, guys,” Rachel replied, smiling.

  “The woman in the gift shop said those magazines were sexy. Now, we didn’t realize at the time you had your own sexy man swinging by, so these might not be as needed. Or, heck, what am I talking about, maybe they will. Alone, bored in the apartment—I’d imagine you could use something to spice it up. Honestly, if you ask me, the cover guy’s you know what doesn’t look very impressive, even in that snug little speedo, not that it would impress me anyway. But still, you’d think—”

  “Thank you,” Rachel interrupted, not wanting this conversation to go anywhere else. Gigi wasn’t afraid to be frank. Too frank sometimes. And she loved Gigi and Beatrice, she did, but talking about the scandalous cover model’s you know what just wasn’t something she’d planned discussing today with two eighty-somethings.

  “Love you both,” she said, squeezing them both in for a hug. And she meant it. Despite the fact she couldn’t dare keep a secret from either of them, she loved them. Along with her friends, they were what kept her going, kept her chasing her dreams, and kept her feeling connected in the big, sometimes lonely city.

  Rachel hobbled up on her crutches to see them out as they packed Frank back into the purse to head home, just a few steps away.

  “If the hunky guy comes back, you better believe we’re interrogating him,” Beatrice added before leaving. “We have to make sure he’s worthy of you.”

  “There’s no need, Beatrice. I’m not interested in anything,” Rachel assured again. She still had no doubt the two of them would be watching like hawks for Zander to return.

  “That’s what they all say,” Gigi replied, shaking her head.

  Rachel shut her door, smiling at the two neighbor ladies who just livened up the place. She headed back to the sofa, digging out the chocolate and the bottle of wine, leaving the magazines at the bottom of the bag, not really wanting to ponder over Gigi’s words or anything else in it, for that matter.

  Some things were better left unexplored, she knew. Magazines, love, and other things of the sort.

  Chapter 8

  Zander

  “Come on, Zander. It’s Friday. Please don’t tell me you’ve got to get home to Jon Snow or that you’re really busy this weekend or whatever other lame excuse you try to use. Stop being so boring,” Brad argued once they were finished with work on Friday. Zander was cleaning up his classroom after all the kids had left. He turned to face Brad, who was leaning on the threshold to Zander’s classroom.

  “You really make me sound lame.”

  “Well, if the shoe fits, Zander,” Brad teased, walking into the room and taking a seat on one of the beanbag chairs in the corner.

  Brad had been working at the Highline Private School for the Developmentally Disabled for three years with Zander, and in that time, they’d bonded over their love for hockey and video games. Brad, though, was a bit more social than Zander, preferring to spend Friday nights out at local haunts looking for love.

  Zander, of course, had been there, done that years ago. He’d preferred in recent years to spend his time at home on the couch with a bottle of beer in his hand, Jon Snow nearby, and some mindless television. If it was a really rocking night, he might stay up to eleven.

  Yeah, maybe Brad was just a little bit right about Zander being lame.

  Still, the bar scene had never been his thing. It was either too pretentious or too fake or too everything. Women and men trying too hard to find someone for the night or with the false hope of finding someone for forever in an alcohol-infused stupor. Not really his definition of fun.

  “Zander, come on. Help a guy out. You might be okay with being a lonely bachelor, but I’ve got needs, man. I’m not opposed to finding a gorgeous woman to be mine, and I really could use a buddy to go with so I don’t come off as creepy or a playboy.”

  Zander stopped organizing the markers to turn and look at Brad. “Wow, how could I turn down an invitation like that?”

  “Well, and who knows. Maybe you’ll find someone to break your rut. If you ask me, you could use someone in your life besides your dang cat and work.”

  “I really wasn’t asking you,” Zander quipped, and Brad shook his head.

  “Come on. I know there’s a partier deep down. And I know there’s a man desperate to hold a sexy woman deep down, too. You can’t lie to me.”

  Zander sighed, looking up at the ceiling. “Fine, Brad. I’ll go. But only because I could use a beer. Not because I’m looking for a woman.”

  “Yes,” Brad cheered, leaping up. “I knew I could convince you. Now let’s get out of here.”

  Zander grabbed his keys, took one last look around the classroom, and followed Brad out to the hallway, closing the door behind him.

  “And you don’t have to tell me you’re not looking for a woman because you tell me every time we go out. Look, I don’t know this Sheila chick who burned you, but she must be something. How many years has it been?”

  “A while,” Zander said, embarrassed to admit how long he’d let her stunt affect him. In fairness, she had pulled quite the number on him, had shattered his heart and his life into a million pieces. When he finally pulled it together and got it all on track, he knew he’d learned a very important lesson.

  Love wasn’t worth it.

  But as they hailed a cab and Brad babbled on about some young blonde he’d met at the bar around the corner last weekend, Zander couldn’t help but notice his thoughts wandering to a certain black-haired beauty who just wouldn’t let him go.

  * * *

  They settled into a corner booth at O’Finnigan’s, the edgy bar Brad loved because it was a good single’s scene, or so Brad assured Zander. They ordered their usual drinks, and Brad began scoping the area, his gaze landing on a woman in the corner.

  “Oh, look at that chick. What do you think? The redhead?”

  Zander glanced at the corner by the ju
kebox, studying the woman in a short black dress with flowing red hair.

  “She’s good,” Zander said, shrugging noncommittally.

  “Perfect, go talk to her,” Brad urged before taking a swig of his beer.

  “What? Me? I thought you meant for you,” Zander replied, shaking his head.

  “Come on. She looks too nerdy for my type. She’d be perfect for you.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Brad raised an eyebrow. “Don’t tell me you haven’t yet realized you’re a nerd.”

  Zander grinned. “Whatever I am, it’s not the guy who is here to find a woman. This is your gig, not mine. I’m just here for some cheap beer. And to make sure you don’t do anything you regret.”

  “Life’s no fun without regrets.”

  “Well, I have plenty of them to last a lifetime,” Zander quipped, taking a deep breath.

  And it was true. Regret wasn’t a novel concept to Zander. He’d spent the latter half of his twenties swimming in the concept, thinking about how things could’ve been different.

  Brad asked if Zander would be okay for a bit as he wandered over to a tall, lanky blonde in the corner sitting with a group of friends. Zander assured him he could entertain himself and didn’t think he was at risk of being kidnapped. Once he had walked away, Zander pulled out his phone to look busy and not like some lame, lonely guy sitting in the corner of a bar on a Friday night.

  He mindlessly scrolled through social media and news websites, not taking in a single word or image. His mind was in a different place, a different time, when at seventeen he was unknowingly ready to step onto a path that would change everything about his life. He hated how his mind was going there, but sometimes it just couldn’t be helped.

  * * *

  He’d been working in the pizza shop down the street from his house when life changed forever. He was seventeen that summer, a week away from starting his senior year. He’d been saving money working full-time at Joe’s Pizza all summer so he would have a decent savings account for next year. He’d need it when he headed to the city the following year to start his acting career—as long as he was accepted. If all went well, in exactly a year, he’d be getting ready to start his journey to his dream, to Broadway.