I collapse in my dressing room and text Luke the address of the bar. Meet me there, okay? He'd prefer to come here. Hell, he'd probably talk me into giving this couch a proper good-bye.
But I need to soak all this in on my own.
I linger in the room, taking in its quaint charm. Two of the bulbs on the vanity are burnt out and I never bothered to replace them. The once-beige carpet is stained in half a dozen places. There's a hole in the red velvet couch. Hell, it's practically ripped to shreds.
It's banged up and uncared for, but it's still perfect.
It was still mine.
I catch my reflection in the mirror. Half my makeup is still on my face. I'm only halfway back to Alyssa, halfway back to my life.
Whatever that means.
I wet a towel with warm water and wash up. When I pull the towel away, it's smeared with some strange mix of black, beige, brown, purple even.
There's no more Blanche, no more pretexts, nothing left except me.
There are about three months between now and shooting the next season of Model Citizen. Three months with nothing to fill my time. Three months where my life will be waiting for Luke.
I shrug my shoulders in a futile attempt to ease my tight muscles. Three months will be great. I need a break. To stop fighting so damn much.
I lay on the couch. This is the last time I'll sink into its soft cushions, the last time I'll stare at the peeling paint on the ceiling.
My hands start shaking. After this, the only thing in my life that matters is Luke.
Unless he's already tired of me.
I press my eyes closed, willing the thoughts away. This is my last night in N
ew York and I'm not going to spend it moping.
There's a knock on the door. Ellen, I'm sure. No doubt desperate to drink herself stupid, to go home with the cute bartender (though Nicholas would work in a pinch).
I push off the couch and open the door, but it's not Ellen.
It's Ryan.
I must be dreaming.
But that's him--his hazel eyes, his short brown hair, his pale lips.
"I hope this isn't an imposition," he says.
He sounds the same.
I shake my head. It is Ryan. He's here, in my dressing room. Well, outside it. And I'm half-dressed. Fuck. I pull my robe tighter, cinching its sash.
"I haven't seen you in... In almost a year," I say.
"Not since that incident at the office."
The incident where he and Luke got into a fistfight.
He brings his gaze to mine with the sincerest of expressions. "Do you mind if I come in?"
"I'm not sure that's a good idea." A shiver rushes through me. Nothing good can come of this. And if someone sees him standing in the hallway... "Okay. Close the door behind you."
I step back and he enters the room. Somehow, he looks taller, larger, more sure of himself.