Joel takes it all in. His long legs stretch out in front of him and he props his head on one large palm. I should have just written a story about Joel Moreno. He’d look hella good on stage with a spotlight on his ridiculously chiseled face.
I hear Brody and Tabitha, but it’s Joel I watch as they embrace and recite the words I’ve written. It’s surreal to have written something in the silence of your apartment and then poof! watch two people make it come alive.
When the scene ends, I leave him to chat with Brody. The expression he wears tells me he’s not quite feeling it yet and I want to make sure I capture any insights he has.
“Do you think the scene needs more dialogue?” I ask when I approach him.
“Nah, I don’t think that’s it. It’s missing something. The connection isn’t there. Why is Imelda so drawn to me? And vice versa? I’m not saying we necessarily need to tell the audience the backstory, but I want to know, so I feel it in my bones. Ya know?”
Nodding, I swallow a lump in my throat. I let my shoulders slump feeling inadequate and like a total fraud. Why did I think I could do this? I don’t know anything about all-consuming love.
Brody walks off, the rest of the cast and crew already packing up, and I return to Joel.
“It’s a killer story,” he says.
I check his expression but only find sincerity. “Thank you. Brody wants me to help him understand the connection between Hector and Imelda. That first scene is critical.”
It’s the only intimate scene with both Imelda and Hector in the entire play. We breeze past the happy courtship and then the entire second act is told through a split stage. Imelda living her life taking care of Coco while missing Hector and then Hector touring the world writing songs. It’s a unique way to show their life together and powerful, I hope too, but it means this scene where they meet has to be amazing.
“Hey.” He leans down to catch my line of vision. “You’ll figure it out.”
“It needs more angst and passion. It sets the tone for the entire play. If the audience doesn’t buy it here, they won’t feel the pain and anguish later.”
“Pain and anguish, huh?” His lips twitch. “I thought this was a love story.”
“It is… but uhh… it doesn’t have a happy ending.”
“Don’t love stories typically require a feel-good ending?”
“No, not in every case. Phantom of the Opera, The Fault in Our Stars, Me Before You, and basically everything Nicholas Sparks has ever written.”
The stage clears off leaving Joel and me alone. We walk to the front and I rest a hand on it. A tactile reminder of what is at stake. My words, my vision will be brought to life. It’s a once in a lifetime opportunity.
“Close your eyes,” he says, linking our fingers on one hand and reaching for my other on the stage.
“Why?”
“No questions. Just do.”
I snort. “Okay.”
“You asked for my help. This is me helping.”
I let my eyelids flutter shut. Sensations overwhelm me – he overwhelms me.
My skin pricks and I feel his warm breath on my cheek before he speaks.
“Tell me how you see it. Don’t try and make the words pretty just tell me everything. What do you see?”
It takes a moment for me to focus on the scene and not the way it feels to be this close to Joel. What do I see?
“They’re standing away from the crowd, the festival is in the background – lights, laughter, music – but they’re oblivious to all of it.”
“What does Hector see?”
I shift my focus, imagine myself staring down at Imelda from Hector’s point of view. “He sees a young woman that is fiery and determined. He’s drawn to her beauty and spirit, wants to write music about her and the way she makes him feel.”
“And how does she make him feel?”
“Alive,” I whisper. “Like life never really mattered until now.”
“And Imelda?”
My mouth pulls into a smile as I picture the lovable Hector. “That’s easy. Imelda is drawn to his charm. He makes her lighter and reminds her to stop and smell the roses.”
I open my eyes, feeling the magic of the extraordinary world I’ve created colliding with real life. Joel’s smile is exactly how I picture Hector’s in this first scene and if my insides match the outside, then I’m looking at him just like Imelda looked at her man.
The lights on the stage dim breaking the magic. “Looks like they’re closing up for the night.”
He drops my hands and steps back. “It’s gonna be great, Kitty.”
We gather our things and he leads me through the theater and outside.
“Thank your mom for me. The questions she answered were really helpful.”
He waves me off. “She was happy to do it.”
We’re quiet for a moment as I struggle to stop thinking about the play. I want it to be perfect. Something that I did all on my own and against all odds.
“I know you said you got the idea from your son, but what was it that inspired you to write a tragic love story? Aren’t chicks into happily ever after?”
I smile. “The scene in Coco where Imelda sings. Their story is tragic, but it’s also so beautiful to think that love can conquer anything. Even death.”
“That’s beautiful.”
I shrug. “Well it’s just a story, but it’s nice to dream about.”
“You don’t believe love can conquer anything?”
“Let’s say I’m skeptical. What about you?”
“Love conquering death? No.” He shakes his head. “But I try and live my life in a way that makes conquering death unnecessary.”
Such a Joel answer. Yolo. Except that expression only works when you’re brave and cocky enough to go after everything you want.
“Is Christian excited about the play?”
“He doesn’t totally understand, but he’s excited that I’ve allowed him to watch Coco a handful more times this month while I was trying to get the script just right.”
Talking about Christian, even in passing, feels so strange. I can’t remember the last time a guy my age made any effort to ask about him. And I never bring him up because that scares guys off faster than I can get his name out.
“And Christian’s father, is he the reason you kept turning me down?”
A laugh filters out into the night as we reach our cars, parked side by side in the lot. Mine reliable and practical and Joel’s Tesla flash and arrogance. Tonight I get to ditch practicality and pretend I belong in his world.
“No.” I tilt my head up and watch the way his face reacts to the news. Is it delight or surprise that I see? “We aren’t together. Never really were.”
“I see.” He runs his tongue over the front of his teeth and looks out over the deserted parking lot.
“Well—”
“So why then?”
I know exactly what he’s asking, but I play dumb. “Why what?”
“Why did you turn me down thirteen times?”
My insides warm. I don’t know if his tally is accurate, but the idea he’s tracked the number of times he asked me out makes me giddy.
“Because you’re Joel Moreno.”
He smirks. “That’s usually a point in the pro column.”
“Don’t act like you tried all that hard to convince me to change my mind.”
His mouth drops open. “Hell if I didn’t. I asked you out every week for nearly five months. I’ve combed through more pickup lines than a fourteen-year-old boy. I had to resort to helping you with your play, which I’m enjoying, don’t get me wrong, but just know I’m doing it to get in your pants.”
“Oh my God.” My outrage is unconvincing as I laugh at his earnest statement.
He shrugs one shoulder. “Just being honest. This is going to end with us naked.”
I want to jump him. Tell him I’ve wanted to sleep with him since the first moment he flashed me the Joel Moreno smile, but I chicken out.
“So, what’s next?”
He leads me to the passenger side of his car and opens the door. “Next, I feed you.”
When we pull up to Araceli’s, the parking lot is packed and there’s a line out the door.
“I really don’t mind if we go somewhere else,” I insist as he opens my door and takes my hand.
“Nonsense. This place is the best.”
He holds my hand loosely and I follow behind as he walks to the hostess stand.
“Joel Moreno,” he tells the girl behind the podium. His hold tightens on my hand. “I have a standing Thursday reservation.”
Her voice quivers. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Moreno but we gave your table away.” She shifts uncomfortably. “A gentleman came in and said you wouldn’t be needing it tonight and that you’d given him your okay.”
“I see. We’ll wait at the bar for a table,” he says, not waiting for the hostess to respond, he walks past the podium toward the bar.
The girl looks nervous or maybe embarrassed as Joel tugs me past her. I give her an apologetic smile, hoping to ease some of her nerves. I’m also still reeling in the information I’ve just gained. Joel has a standing reservation every Thursday?
It shouldn’t upset me. I know that this is what he does – takes girls out, lots of girls, but I guess I’d hoped I was different in some way. Or that at least he’d take me somewhere else. But of course he wouldn’t – it’s his play for a reason.
Instead of stopping at the bar, he pulls me outside and wraps an arm around my waist. I hear him chuckle softly as we walk toward a table in the back corner.
“Coach Daniels, I thought that was you.”
I wouldn’t have recognized the Valley basketball head coach apart from the team, but as we approach the table, Coach Daniels stands, and he and Joel face off awkwardly.
“Joel, I’m surprised to see you here.”
Joel smirks. “Coach this is Katrina, we were just stopping in for dinner, spotted you, and I wanted to say hi.” Joel’s gaze turns to the woman sitting at the table and mine follows. She’s young, overly done up, and looks more excited about my date than hers. Her eyes dart between all of us trying to grasp the situation.
“Ah, Mindy this is one of my players Joel.”
“Nice to meet you.”
I offer her a smile which she doesn’t return. Instead, she stands. “I need to go to the ladies’ room. Please excuse me.” Her gaze rakes over Joel one more time as she tosses her hair over her shoulder and walks away.
Coach Daniel’s face softens as we all watch her walk away from the table. When she disappears from sight, he looks to Joel, a guilty expression on his face. “Thank you for that. We’re almost done if you’d like your table.”
Joel shakes his head. “Nonsense. Enjoy. We’ll wait for another table.”
Coach nods and his gaze slides to me and he smiles before looking back to Joel. “Finally needed that standing reservation, I see.”
Joel pulls me to him, and I lean against his hard side all too happily. “See ya tomorrow morning, Coach.”
“What was that about?” I ask as he leads me to the bar. There’s only one seat and he ushers me into it and then slips one leg between mine as he crowds between the high top bar chairs.
“What was what about?” he asks, not quite looking me in the eye.
“That.” I point toward where we just left his coach and date. “Does the team have a table or something?”
“Uhh, no.” He looks embarrassed and I can’t wait to hear this. Ought to be good. “My—”
“Joel Dax Moreno,” a woman’s voice interrupts and I turn to find a stunning brunette approach from behind the bar with a smirk that can only be described as the Joel Moreno effect. “You nearly had my hostess in tears.”
She leans over the bar and they meet cheek to cheek and exchange a peck. When she pulls back her eyes meet mine and Joel follows her eyes to me. Yeah, buddy, I’m still here. I’m annoyed and annoyed that I’m annoyed. He hasn’t done anything, and I already knew he’d slept his way through Valley so it’s not like I can hold that against him.
“Maria, this is Katrina.”
Maria extends a hand. “Pleasure.”
I plaster on a smile and shake her hand. “Nice to meet you.”
She grabs a glass and begins filling it like she’s done it a million times. She’s comfortable behind the bar, but she’s not dressed for the job in a blouse and pencil skirt. “It’s been months. What have you been up to?”
“Practice, school,” he answers with a lift and fall of one shoulder. Interesting. I hadn’t noticed it before, but Joel doesn’t seem to like to talk about himself. As Maria and he catch up, I think back to all our conversations and realize this is true. For as cocky as he is, he’s perfectly content to keep the conversation off himself.
Maria slides the glass in front of Joel. He doesn’t question it which stabs me in the heart a little more. She knows his drink of choice.
“What can I get you, Katrina?”
I flush as they both look to me. A drink. Shit. I don’t have a drink of choice. I barely drink at all. I’m quiet too long and finally Joel speaks. “Let her try the Reisling.” He looks to me for confirmation.
I nod, and Maria grabs a wine bottle and glass and fills it before sliding it to me. I sip hesitantly, hell-bent on hating anything in this moment, but the cold and sweet wine dances on my tongue.
The sound of glass shattering somewhere in the restaurant makes Maria stand straight and take a step back. “It was good to see you. Don’t be such a stranger.” She turns her big brown eyes to me. “Good to meet you.”
Joel’s attention snaps back to me with a playful smile. “How’s the wine?”
His ability to turn the charm from one woman to the next irks me. I swivel in my chair, forcing him back. “I need to check on Christian. I’ll be right back.”
I don’t wait for an answer as I weave back out of the restaurant. The sun has set, but a hint of pink and orange still streaks through the sky as I walk to the side of the restaurant out of the traffic coming in and out. I wrap my arms around my waist and force myself to breathe. God this was a mistake. This whole thing was a mistake. I’d been right to want to keep Joel as fantasy. The reality hurts too much. Every time I turn around there will be someone he’s slept with and then we’ll be over before I can even enjoy it. I’d been wrong convincing myself that I could have fun Joel Moreno style. Pretending to be okay with it and expecting him to treat me differently because I made him work for it a little more is just laughable.
Pulling out my phone I see I’ve already got a text from Blair.
Blair: Christian ran circles around us. You’re my hero.
She’s attached a photo and I laugh as I see her and Wes looking exhausted and disheveled and a sweet, sleeping Christian passed out on the bed. I run my finger over the screen wanting that. I want to be with Christian and I want someone that will be by my side exhausted every night but able to laugh and love every second of it because it’s all worth it.
“Hey.” Joel’s voice grabs my attention. He walks hesitantly toward me, hands in his pockets. “Everything okay?”
I hold the phone out. “He’s asleep.”
He smiles down at the photo and then steps to me and rests a hand at my hip. His phone beeps and he pulls it out, not letting go of me. His grin gets bigger and he turns his phone toward me. I read the text exchange from Joel’s phone.
Joel: All good?
Wes: Yep.
So much more concise than the novel of questions I was about to shoot off to Blair. Everything is fine.
“You checked up on him?” I’m touched he thought to do it.
He shrugs it off. “I knew it was important that you know he’s okay.”
I let out a long breath and hopefully some of my anxiety. Christian is fine. I’m a mess, but that’s of my own doing.
“Want to tell me why you really ran out here?”
My eyes widen in surprise and he chuckles lightly.
“Come on, Kitty. I know you better than you think I do.”
Inhaling through my nose and letting out another deep, cleansing breath, I decide to go for honesty. “I think this was a mistake.”
His grip on my hip tightens possessively.
“I thought I could be okay with this and we could have fun and I could live in the moment and all that.” I sneak a glance up at him. “Yolo, like you said.” I chuckle softly. “But I can’t be one of those girls that you take out for dinner and drinks to make her feel special and wanted right before you move on to the next.”
“What girls?” His tone is hard.
I motion toward the restaurant behind us. “Like Maria.”
He steps closer until we’re chest to chest which is how I feel his shake before his laugh cuts through the silence.
I stiffen.
“Maria is my cousin Lucas’s wife. They own the restaurant and are very, very happily married.”
I feel like the wind has been knocked out of me. Well, sh– crap.
His fingers lift my chin and I meet his eyes with a sheepish grin. “I like this jealous side of you, though.”
“I’m not jealous,” I say, realizing I am and knowing the tone in my voice is proof of that.
He laughs again. “You totally are. Don’t worry, though, I like it. It’s the first time I’ve gotten a glimpse at how you’re really feeling. You do a good job of keeping everything locked up in here.” His hand moves to my chest and he taps it lightly.
“I hadn’t realized,” I say honestly.
“Look, I know what kind of woman you are. I dig it. I respect it.”
I hear the conviction in his words, but I can’t help but be disappointed he doesn’t try and defend himself either. At least he’s honest.
“You want to go back in?”
One last deep breath before I chuck the calming exercises and probably my sanity. You only live once.
“Yes.”