Ripped (13 page)

“I know, Jaz, and it’s okay.”

“I just want you to know, you know, ’cause I’m really sorry.” Tears stung my eyes. “You’re my man, Bax, my man, and I let you down. I’m a terrible girlfriend.” Tears ran down my cheeks and I let them fall. “I don’t know why you forgive me. I wouldn’t forgive me. But I’m sorry. Do you forgive me?”

Tiffany chuckled to herself as she sat beside me. “I think he knows you’re really sorry, Jaz.” She wrapped an arm around my shoulder. “You’re funny when you’re drunk.”

“I’m not drunk,” I replied indignantly.

“Have you been drinking, Jaz?” I could hear the laughter in his voice as muted cheers and wolf whistles erupted wherever Bax was.

“I’ve had a couple, but I’m okay. I may have vomited slightly before, and it may have gone on Pierre’s shirt and then his expensive shoes. But now I’m sitting down and my bottom is numb.”

Bax laughed, the deep richness warming me to my core. “Where are you?”

“I’m on the step with Tiff. Tiff is my friend. I have friends now, Bax. Isn’t that wonderful?” I looked down. “Oh, shoot.”

“What’s wrong?”

“There’s vomit on my favorite sweat pants.” I half-heartedly brushed it off with my hand, then studied my palm. “Now it’s on my hand.” I wiped it back on my pants.

“Okay, so you’re with your friend Tiff on a step.”

“Yep, I sure am.” I nodded, confirming that I was indeed on a step with Tiff.

“And where is that step, Jaz?”

“At the front of the bar. Oh, Bax, you should see this place.” I sighed, remembering the pointe shoes from
Swan Lake
on the wall. “They have shoes from famous feet on the wall.”

A soft laugh echoed over the phone. “Any other clues you’d like to give me? Like a name maybe?”

“They have ruby slippers, too.” I dropped my voice to a whisper. “Only they’re not real rubies. Shh, don’t tell anyone.”

Tiffany took the phone from my hand. “Hi, this is Tiffany. We’re at Pointe; do you know it?” She paused, looked at her watch, then looked at me. “Oh, okay. I’ll call you back if there’s any trouble.”

My phone was handed back to me. “Where are you, Bax?” I asked, realizing he was supposed to be at work, not in a nightclub.

“I’m at the bar; it’s a noisy crowd tonight. Hey, listen, I need to stay until my shift finishes in about an hour, but Tiffany is going to get you home safe and sound.” I nodded, resting my head on Tiff’s shoulder. “You’ll miss curfew with the oldies but I’m sure you’re allowed to mess up occasionally. You have a key to let yourself in, so you’ll be fine.”

I was so tired. I needed to lie down and sleep. My head was spinning again, and the clammy, hot feeling rose from the pit of my stomach. “I need to get home, Bax.”

His voice was so sweet. “I know, Jaz. I’ll check on you tomorrow. I love you.”

“Love you, too.”

Sure, I had a key, but there was a second deadlock on the door that you could bolt from the inside. As I jiggled my key for the umpteenth time in the lock, I had to admit defeat. They had locked me out because it was after midnight.

“You have got to be shitting me,” Tiffany exclaimed. “What are you supposed to do?” She had asked the cab driver to wait while she saw me inside, but I wasn’t getting inside.

“It’ll work.” I huffed, thinking that if I did it really quickly, then really slowly it would somehow magically open the door.

Tiffany sat on the top step, then pulled me down to sit beside her. “You’ll have to call Baxter. He said you had a curfew but this is ridiculous.”

The cab driver gave a little ‘hurry up’ toot, and Tiffany waved her hand at him.

“It’s fine, you can go. I’ll call Bax and wait for him to come rescue me.”

It was half an hour before Bax came jogging up to my front door and found me huddled in my vomit-stained clothes, trying to keep warm. “I look like a homeless person,” I mumbled through a sleepy haze.

“You smell like a homeless person.” Bax helped me up and supported me the nine blocks to his apartment.

I should have showered but was so damned tired I could hardly lift my arms to assist Bax in getting my clothes off. My head touched the pillow and sleep began to engulf me.

“Would now be a good time to reconsider moving in together, Jaz?” Bax whispered. “No more curfew—no getting locked out.”

“Hmm, sounds wonderful.” I could barely move my lips to speak.

“Yeah?” His face nearly split in two his smile was so wide. “Seriously? You want to do it?”

I nodded. His enthusiasm was contagious, and my smile matched his.

“We could sleep like this every night.” He lay beside me and I snuggled into his side. Soft lips brushed my hair as his hand lazily stroked my arm.

“Except for the vomit.”

His chuckle jiggled my head. “Except for the vomit.”

I
MAY
have been sitting in the theater while Jaz rehearsed but I wasn’t really paying attention. The routine was simple, basic in parts, and it baffled me how the male lead, Mikhail, was still having trouble picking up the steps. It was one routine, for goodness sake—one that went for ten minutes in a show that would typically last nearly two hours. How the hell was he going to remember half a dozen pieces when he was already struggling?

He wasn’t the right guy for the job. Jaz knew that; it was written all over her face every time he stuffed up and she had to compensate for his inadequacy. I knew it. I could have danced that part with my eyes closed and one arm behind my back days ago. But what concerned me more was that Pierre should have known it, and he either wasn’t paying attention and hadn’t caught on to what everyone else already knew, or he didn’t care.

Cringing, I closed my eyes and dropped my head into my hand. It was like watching a train wreck; the guy had no clue. “Stop him,” I muttered under my breath. “Grab the fucker and relegate him to chorus—he’s gonna fuck up the entire show.”

Shaking my head, I caught Jaz’s gaze and her eyes widened at me. She knew what I was thinking; it was Boston all over again. Give the lead to the favorite who was typically not the best dancer. Jaz had been the best but when we’d met she was still two years from graduation, so was lucky to make chorus. Chantelle had been the class pet although to this day I was not sure why. I suspected she made up for her flawed dancing with some top-shelf blow jobs.

This had shades of that same bullshit all over it, and I would have settled on that being the reason for Mikhail not being replaced, if not for the fact that Pierre was all over Jaz and therefore not gay. So why then would he allow a jackass with two left feet to be the male lead in his production?

I couldn’t watch any longer so instead I flicked through the newspaper to the property-for-lease section. Now this was more interesting because this was my life with Jaz, our future that was taking leaps and bounds forward. Although I was furious that the Baileys had locked Jaz out of the house for missing her curfew, it had been a blessing in disguise. She had spent the night in my little apartment and it had helped her make up her mind to spend every night with me, whether it was above the pizzeria or eventually in our own home.

There were pages of rentals from one-bedroom to studio apartments, to luxury. New York had it all, but what I was also surprised to see was how expensive they were. I’d been living above the pizzeria for close on eight years and compared to these prices that were slapping me in the face, I was sitting on a gold mine. Sure, I had to help out in the restaurant washing dishes until the skin on my hands pruned, but it was easy work to subsidize my rent.

How many nights had I trotted downstairs when they were close to closing and scrubbed pots and pans, the rich tomato sauce stuck to the bottom like glue? I’d quietly complained under my breath about the work when I should have been grateful. The Giancolis had been doing me a huge favor. I would never have been able to pay the rent without them letting me work some of it off.