“I know, I know,” he said, raising his hands in surrender. “We hate him. For... reasons. But I can’t deny my eyeballs the pleasure.”
I craned my neck to see the panel more clearly. To my horror, John caught me staring. I ducked away as fast as I could.?
“Shit, did he see me lurking?” I asked, my voice muffled through the palms I hid my face behind.?
“Not sure,” Otis said, peeking over a life-sized Spock cutout. “But he is definitely laughing now.”
“At the manuscript?”
Otis gave me a pitying look. “No, he put it down. I think he’s leaving.”
I rose onto my tiptoes. Just as the panel came into view, John’s shadow disappeared behind a door. My heart sank as I saw my manuscript still sitting on the table—discarded. I groaned. Of course. What did I expect? Why wouldMr. I-Am-Too-Amazingcare? Maybe I could send it straight to his manager. Maybe I could make up some emergency. Dead puppy it is.
“It was a long shot, hon,” Otis said, throwing an arm around my shoulder. “Let me buy you a frozen margarita. Jessie’s on bar duty tonight.”
“Make that two. We gotta celebrate your breakthrough theater career.” I forced a smile.
“Maybe a little premature. I haven’t even auditioned yet,” Otis said but added a little extra strut to his step.
“We both know Tim Curry’s got nothing on you.” I leaned my head on his shoulder.
Otis put a finger to his lips. “Shhh. Pretty sure saying that will get you banned from musical theatre for life.” He pulled me closer. “But let’s say I’m a very close second.”
I sighed, trying to blow away the disappointment clawing at my gut. At least the idea of being at Garland’s, watching Otis flirt with the entire gay population of Middleton, might delay my existential crisis for another hour or two.
We passed rows of booths filled with action figures and graphic novels. I paused to scan the covers of books with half-naked heroines slaying dragons and musclebound guys flying spaceships. There was a gap between Sanderson and Tanner. Just enough space forNora Rose Skye.
As we pushed through the exit and the crisp autumn air greeted us, my pocket buzzed.
Otis unlocked the car. I pulled out my phone, grateful he’d topped up my data before we left work. The preview of the email notification read:
Confirmation
One moment later, I almost lost my breakfast.
The subject line:Confirmation of Admission.
Underneath:Congratulations, your manuscript has been officially entered. We will announce the writers who made it to the next round in ten working days. A representative of Haller & Mark will contact you?—
I barely noticed Otis poking my arm.
“Nora? Did you just have a stroke?”
I reread the message. Then again.
My email had gone through. I’d done it. Who needed John Kater? Not me.
I looked at Otis, the grin spreading on my face impossible to hide. “Make that three margaritas—and a bottle of champagne.”
Chapter Three
A German accent is hard to lose.
Woman + Trench coat = 100% hot.
Any thought about John Kater is a thought wasted.
I groaned as I stepped over the pile of mail stacked by my front door. From my slightly wonky angle, the red letters spellingurgentpractically screamed at me. Bills for baking classes Mom never showed up to, a letter from my internet provider, and a box I knew held a T-shirt plastered with Otis’s face and the wordsFuture Tony-Award Winner And Hottest Best Friend. I planned to wear it to his audition next week. I kicked the pile into my studio and under the sofa bed, then closed the front door with my butt.?
