Under the Lights: A thrilling, second-chance romance duet. (Bright Lights Book 1) Read online

  “I guess I’ll find out… But a girl can hope, right?”

  I manage a smile as I slide down into the bed. I know some girls like to watch gay guys having sex. Looks like my friend Evie is one of them. “Then I guess this is a good thing?”

  “Damn straight,” she laughs. “They’re rich, gay, and paying me to hang out with them. I win!”

  Is this a win? I can’t help wondering for how long, and why? Why doesn’t she just go back to Podunk, Tennessee, and start over…

  Okay, I know.

  I understand the drive to be in this city, the hope that a break might come. Even when all around us is darkness and night, it’s the tiniest flicker of a promise, the smallest hope that it might happen.

  The dream might come true.

  Pulling the blanket over my shoulder, I close my eyes. “I hope it works out for you.”

  I really do.

  She picks up the book again and takes her seat at my bedside. As my eyes close, the danger of life in this place presses on my mind. The days are counting down until I return to the spotlight, the freshest face in the Pussycat Angels lineup, and once I’m there, it’ll be my turn to see what happens. Will Gavin keep his promise? Will he give me a pass from the sex trade in return for the increase in revenue from my performances? Will the demands of the bidders grow too loud? Will their offer of money exceed my earnings?

  A long time passes before I drift into an anxious sleep, and when I open my eyes again much later Evie is gone. Molly is curled up beside me. Her head is beside mine on the pillow, and I curl with my arms around her. She whispers words in her sleep, and my eyes go to the enormous bouquet of red roses on my dresser.

  I made the bargain to be here. I have no money, no family, nowhere to go. My fall might have bought me more time, but it’s only borrowed time.

  I can’t escape why I’m here. I can only find an insurance policy in case I fail.

  6

  “Where there’s authenticity, there’s escape.”

  Lara

  My fall dominates the morning chatter. I walk slowly to the coffee, trying not to make eye contact with anyone. I don’t feel like talking.

  “She’s alive!” Roland calls as he crosses the stage to where I stand. I don’t meet his eyes. “Feeling better?”

  I nod, focusing on my cup.

  “This came for you last night. Mr. Lovel, I presume.” He hands me a small box with a card, and I take it quickly. “We can work on the new songs whenever you’re ready.”

  My eyes land on Mark standing nearby. The hero. I need to thank him, but Vanessa has him cornered. She’s wearing a low-cut jog bra, and her ample bosom presses against his arm as she describes some problem in her dressing room with dramatic sweeping gestures. He listens to her, but his eyes keep drifting to mine. Every time they meet, I feel a prickle of warmth under my skin, and even with last night’s residual anxiety, it makes me smile.

  “What do you have?” Molly’s face is annoyed as she watches Mark and Vanessa.

  I place the box on the table and open the card. “A gift from Freddie.”

  Molly sweeps it out of my hand and jumps up. “Dear Lara,” she reads with a loud, fake-French accent as she saunters around the table. Everyone, including Mark, looks her way, and I’m trying to figure out what the fuck she’s doing with my card. “I wish I could tell you how miserable I am to be so far away while you’re in pain.”

  “Molly,” I say through clenched teeth.

  “Seeing you fall crushed me, and leaving before I could speak to you was possibly the hardest thing I’ve ever done.”

  “Do you mind?” I say louder.

  My eyes are fixed on her, so I don’t notice Mark walking up behind her until he slips my note out of her hand.

  He holds it at his shoulder, which is out of her reach. She squeals, but I can tell her stunt is going better than she expected.

  She jumps and tries to grab the paper, throwing her body against his. He towers over her with his broad shoulders, and his blue eyes sparkle. He’s more handsome than I remember.

  “Is this keep away?” He blocks her with his hand, and comes to where I’m sitting. “This belongs to you.”

  I can’t miss the bandages wrapped around his shredded palms, and gratitude tightens my throat. I place my hand on the back of his. “I need to thank you—”

  “Don’t.” He cuts me off. “There’s no way I would’ve let you fall.”

  “But your hands—”

  “Will be fine in a few days.” He takes a knee beside my chair, and my breath stutters.

  When he’s this close I can’t ignore his blue eyes or the memory of how they darkened when he saw me in my costume. His eyes traced every inch of my body, but it wasn’t crude or creepy. It was wonder and awe. My skin tingled as if his gaze were the lightest touch. My nipples hardened…

  In that quiet space high above the stage, we shared something so intimate, and remembering it now sends smoldering heat between my thighs.

  Then he saved my life.

  I clear my throat, hoping my face isn’t red. “It was pretty brave.”

  His voice is gentle. “I’m just glad to see you moving around.”

  “I need to move around. I only have a few days off to recover.”

  “What will you do?”

  With a shrug, I realize I’ve never really had time off before. I’m always helping Rosa or rehearsing or taking care of Molly or running stupid errands. “I’ll probably just go to the library.”

  “What?” He surprises me with a laugh. “You’re in New Orleans, and you want to go to the library?”

  “They have computers there.” I can look for another job… which sitting here with this gorgeous man smiling at me makes me feel sort of miserable.

  “Go out with me. We can walk around the square, go to the French Market, eat fresh beignets…”

  “I don’t know.” Going out with Mark feels like asking for trouble.

  “We’ll take it slow.” His eyes flicker to the letter in my hand. “If you start to feel bad, we can sit and watch the tourists.”

  He rises and takes a few steps back, studying my face. I blink up at him, and the light in his eyes makes me smile in spite of it all. It’s just the encouragement he needs.

  “I’ll be finished after lunch. Meet me in front of the cathedral.”

  “Okay,” I say softly, and he smiles, straight white teeth and a dimple in his cheek. Where did you come from, Mark Fitzhugh?

  He disappears in the wings, off to do whatever he does for Darby. I look down at Freddie’s letter, finishing his words. I hope this small token will lift your spirits. Until I see you again. Yours devotedly, Frederick Lovel.

  Standing gingerly, I walk toward the piano. Roland is scribbling on the stack of sheet music, a cigarette dangling from his lips. Dust floats in the sunlight streaming in from above us, and I’m amazed by how quickly things can change…

  Small feet scamper up behind me across the rosin-covered stage. Molly is at my side again, and she moves in close as Roland sits and begins playing his newest composition.

  “I thought you didn’t approve of Mark.” Her voice is worried.

  “He’s in the set crew, which means he’s about as bad off as we are.” I allow the ache in my waist to sharpen my tone. The reminder is more for me than her.

  “You’re not being very nice. He saved your life,” she scolds, immediately turning swoony. “I think he’s gorgeous.”

  “What?”

  “He’s so… big, and his eyes are so blue.”

  I don’t want to think about Mark’s eyes. I don’t want to think about his broad shoulders and strong hands reaching out and grabbing a speeding rope to save my life. I can’t think of him as my hero, no matter what the girls call him, and I can’t swoon about the way he said he wouldn’t ever let me fall.

  The last thing I need is to think of him as anything more than a stage hand, a drifter. A guy who happened to do the right thing for whatever reason
. Nothing more.

  “Would you say his eyes are cornflower blue?” Molly continues.

  I look down at the box Freddie sent me. “They’re like irises.”

  “Hmm,” Molly thinks about it. “You’re right. They’re so attractive.”

  “What’s so attractive?” Mark is back, right behind my shoulder, and I spin around. Did he hear me?

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.” He goes to where Roland is sitting. “Darby needs the timing for the control box. You said it was off last night.”

  “Right.” Roland stands and walks away, leaving the three of us facing each other.

  “You like irises?” A sly grin curls Mark’s lips.

  “No… I mean, I don’t know.”

  “I think they’re beautiful,” Molly jumps in, clutching his arm. He only pats her hand.

  “I’ll keep that in mind. See you in an hour.” Those blue eyes hold mine, only now they’re more like little blue flames.

  “I need to learn the new song.” I go around and sit in front of the piano, leaning forward to study the notes on the page, ignoring Mark’s smile and how it makes my stomach flutter.

  Mark

  Terrence drags the box cutter down the seam of the last of the boxes. We’ve broken down all of them, and now they only have to be carried out to the dumpsters. We’re finished for the day.

  “I’m heading to the port after lunch. Fishing boats pull out on Sunday. We can go with them and spend the winter in the Caribbean.”

  My stomach sinks, and I stop what I’m doing. “What do you mean? You’re leaving the show?”

  “I’m not leaving the show. The show’s finished. At least as far as we’re concerned.”

  Scanning the backstage area, I notice it’s clean, the new machinery is installed and tested, and the sets for the revised production wait in the wings.

  “Done with us?” I repeat quietly. “For how long?”

  “Meh.” He shrugs, shoving the cutter in his back pocket. “They run the same production three to six months, depending on how it earns. We’ll check in after the new year, see if we want to stay or go out again.”

  “But what if something breaks in the meantime? Don’t they need a crew?”

  “Darby can handle anything that comes up. Him or one of the regular guys.”

  I sit on the side of a set piece. I told Lara I’d be up there every night. I can’t leave…

  My old idea of joining the police academy crosses my mind. I still haven’t given up on it, but I need money to pay for it. Gavin’s offer echoes in my ears. Steady work… not seasonal.

  “What will you do with the house while you’re gone?”

  Terrence leans forward, gathering the cardboard flats together. “I usually just lock it up.”

  “Ever considered letting someone stay over? Flush the toilets, keep the rats out?”

  “My aunt comes by and checks on the place.”

  I watch him continue stacking the boxes. “I could do it for you.”

  “And what else? Work as a bouncer? You’ll make more money with me on the boats.”

  “Gavin offered me a full-time job.”

  He straightens and frowns at me then. “Doing what?”

  I look down at my injured hands. He’s right to be suspicious. Hell, I’m suspicious. “I don’t know.”

  He walks over and puts a hand on top of my shoulder. “What happens if you don’t like the work?”

  “I appreciate your concern.” I pat the top of his hand. “But I’ve been taking care of myself a long time.”

  He pokes out his lips and thinks about it. “I liked you the first night I saw you. I’ll let you stay in the house while I’m gone, and I’ll see if my aunt knows anybody looking for a roommate.”

  “Thanks, man.” I grab the stack of boxes and start for the back.

  “Hey, Mark?” Stopping at the door, I look up. He’s holding out the rubber spiral with the key hanging off it. “Take care of yourself.”

  One fluid motion, and it arcs through the air in my direction. I reach up and grab it and drop it in my pocket.

  7

  “Love is too young to know what conscience is.” -Shakespeare

  Lara

  “The first hot non-creep, and of course he falls in love with you.” Molly is lying on our bed running her finger along the seam of our quilted coverlet.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I lift my shirt and examine the ugly purple bruise. It’s as wide as my hands and crosses my stomach like a belt. “No one’s falling in love.”

  She rolls her eyes. “I’m not stupid.”

  “Neither am I. If I fall in love, it needs to be with someone like Freddie.”

  “So you’re in love with Freddie?” She bounces up, and I glare at her reflection in the mirror. As if…

  “Give me a chance. I only met him once.”

  She groans loudly. “I knew it! You’re in love with Mark!” She slides off the bed and limps to the other side of our tiny room. She picks up the box from Freddie and holds it up. “Are you even going to open this?”

  Then she limps back to where I stand. I frown watching her. “Are you hurt?”

  “Because you stole Mark?”

  I clear my throat and go to the bed to sit, patting the mattress beside me. “Why are you limping?”

  “These shoes.” She slips one off and starts rubbing her toes.

  “Are they too small?”

  “I guess.”

  I can’t believe it. My old shoes have always worked for her. Now I’m afraid I might start crying. I drop to my knees and feel her other foot. Her toes are curled in the end of the shoe.

  “Shit! How is it possible for you to be smaller than me and have bigger feet?”

  “Maybe I’m going to be tall?”

  Rubbing my forehead, I groan. “We’ll have to get you a new pair of shoes.”

  Her pouting is completely forgotten. “New shoes!” she squeals, bouncing on the bed. “I’ve never had anything new!”

  “Yeah, well, there’s a reason.”

  I rip open the box from Freddie, and we both gasp. Inside is a large barrette in the shape of a peacock. The card inside says it’s covered in Swarovski crystals, and when I tilt it side to side, it glitters like diamonds.

  “It’s gorgeous!” Molly’s hands are clasped under her chin. “You have to wear it in the show!”

  “No doubt that’s what he wants.” I imagine how much I could get if I pawned it.

  Returning it to the box, I cross to my dressing table and bend down to the basket hidden behind the curtain. Pulling out pieces of ribbon and a spool of thread, I take out a shiny brass and cloisonné pen. It had been my mother’s.

  “He’s really handsome.” Molly is lying on her back now, caressing a small satin pillow.

  “Who?” I hold the pen as if I’m writing a letter, turning it side to side so it catches the light.

  “Freddie!” she cries as if I’m an idiot.

  “Oh, right.” With a sigh, I slide the pen into the pocket of my jeans. “I was actually trying to remember what he looked like last night.”

  She narrows her blue eyes. “He’s tall and slim. He has smooth black hair and his teeth are so white and straight. And he has a line in his chin. I love that.”

  “How did you manage to get such a good look at him?”

  “And he’s very polite.” She nods. “Like Guy.”

  “Who?” I’ve never heard that name before.

  She’s still playing with the small pillow. “Guy. I met him after the show Wednesday. After you fell. He was in the front, and he kept watching me from the audience.”

  I pull the small pillow down so our eyes met. “Watching you?”

  “Mmmhmm. I caught his eye, and he smiled. Then I smiled…”

  “Who is he?”

  “Friend of Gavin’s?”

  My mind races. I don’t know all of Gavin’s friends, but I know they’re not all nice.


  “He’s very sophisticated,” she continues. “And he wears a pinky ring.”

  I don’t like the sound of that. “Can I meet him?”

  “Not anymore. He went back to Savannah or Charleston… maybe it was Atlanta. But he said he’d be back, and he wants to see me again.”

  “He wants to see you?”

  She nods. “He said I amuse him.”

  I catch her chin. “He sounds old.”

  “So?” She jerks her face away. “We were just talking. He likes the way I laugh.” She kicks off the other shoe and picks up one of my lipsticks. “Anyway, I was still in love with Mark on Wednesday, so it didn’t matter.”

  “And now you’re not?”

  “Mark doesn’t look at me the way Guy does.” She slides the wine-colored lipstick over her full lips, looking sixteen in the process.

  Fear tightens in the center of my chest. “How does he look at you?”

  Her eyes drift to the ceiling, searching for the answer. “Like I’m interesting. Like he wants to know more about me.”

  I silently vow to keep a better eye on her in the future. I haven’t lived in New Orleans this long not to know the kind of men who lurk around strip clubs. Pedophiles.

  “I told you never to talk to strangers.”

  “He’s Gavin’s friend!”

  “But you don’t know that for sure, do you?” Glancing at the clock, I see an hour has passed. It’s not what Mark had in mind, but we don’t have a choice. “Come on. If you can limp your way to the Quarter, we’ll get you those new shoes.”

  Outside, the sky is bright blue, and there isn’t a single cloud in sight. The air is crisp and cool, something that rarely happens in New Orleans, but underneath the fresh fall scent is the metallic smell of moldering beer and urine. Odors that only grow stronger as the sun travels higher and the temperature rises.

  We make our way up the short alley to the cathedral and across the flagstone courtyard to Jackson Square. My sights are focused on a jewelry store in the northeast corner that I hope will give me a good price for the item in my pocket.

  “Wait here, and don’t talk to anyone,” I say once we’re there.