"But I lo—like who you are." I catch myself, stumbling over the word thatalmostcame out. A word I've never said to another human. A word I never intend to say.
Yet there it is, buzzing around my brain.
"And I like you too, Henderson. I wish—"
"H, are you coming in? Oh Tabitha, good. You're here. We're on the party scene."
Damn Grayson and his meddling attention to time.
I'm still staring at her. She's staring back at me. Neither of us say anything.
Grayson clears his throat before muttering something and turning away.
"I don't know that I've ever admitted that to someone before," she says finally.
I know what she means. "Same here. I … I feel myself opening up when I'm around you."
"I've been closed off for so long. It feels good. Better than sex."
I lift my eyebrow. Maybe I've been doing it wrong.
Tabitha bursts out laughing. "Okay, not better than sex, but …" she tilts her head. "Yes, maybe. There are very few people in this world who know me. Hell, I don't even know if I know me. But when I'm with you, I feel like I'm the closest to me that I get. It feels … right."
I know exactly what she means.
"I don't want this feeling to end between us." Her voice is almost pleading.
We've got three weeks while the show runs. Three weeks, and then it won't be like we're working together anymore. She won't be off limits.
Screw the limits.
"We've got to get in there, but I can't let this go. I want every single minute you have while you're here, and then when the show's done as well. This …" I motion between us, "is too special to let go."
Tabitha leans in, kissing me sweetly on the lips. "Better than sex," she whispers, her lips still moving over mine.
"H, man, come on!" Grayson bellows from somewhere in the theatre.
I take her hand, not wanting to break contact. Afraid that if I do, this will all disappear the moment I can no longer touch it. Yet as I step to the heavy doors of the theatre, I can't help but realize it's impossible to hold onto her while holding onto The Edison.
Chapter 37: Tabitha
Ishould be running on empty, yet somehow, energy courses through my veins.
It's not like I'm getting any sleep. There aren't enough hours in the day as it is, so sleep seems like a frivolous waste of my precious time. I'll sleep when this is all over.
Except I never want it to end.
I pretty much love every single minute here. I love being up on stage, singing my heart out. I can't wait for the audience tonight, to feed off their energy. I'm ravenous for it, like a hiker starving in the woods.
I love that I can rehearse and perform, yet go home to Paisley every night. There's no craziness of jumping on buses and planes, never sure what city—or time zone—I'm in. I go home to my rental house, which is starting to feel a bit like home, despite the decor. I slide into Paisley's room and watch her sleep. In the morning, she slips into bed with me, snuggling in. After breakfast, Maria drives me to The Edison. Sometimes Paisley stays with me for a while. Sometimes she and Maria go off on an adventure.
But Henderson is always there. If I'm not onstage, I'm sitting with him. When we're not running a rehearsal, we're in his office, working on one thing or another.
Okay, we're kissing.
Nothing more though. That pin is still in place.
We eat all our meals together. At night, I slide down under my covers and call him like a lovesick teenager.
