Page 63 of Irresistibly Us
She clears her throat, shifting in her seat and glancing around the club. It’s getting more packed with people as we get closer to showtime. The space is intentionally unfinished, black pipes and exposed ductwork lining the ceiling. With brick walls, a concrete floor, and low lighting that illuminates a temporary stage set up on the far side, it gives warehouse vibes but in an oddly cozy kind of way.
“So, what, exactly, are we doing here?” she asks. “You’re beingweirdly mysterious about it all and you suck at keeping secrets, so spill, Ty. Why are we out on a Friday night instead of watching a movie on your couch the way we’ve done for the last four years’ worth of Fridays?”
With my eyes on hers, I reach across the table and glide a finger over the back of her hand, lighting up when her pupils dilate and she sucks in a quiet breath. “Thought this would be fun. Movie nights will always be our thing, but it’s cool to switch it up every now and then, don’t you think?”
Swallowing hard, she tugs her hand away and takes a long sip of her drink. “I can’t be the judge of that yet, because I have no idea what we’re doing at a packed South Side club at seven o’clock at night. I didn’t even know clubs were open at seven o’clock. Is this the early bird special or something? Why are there so many people here?”
Chuckling, I lean in, propping an elbow on the table. “Nah, this is a special event, and if you can manage to be patient for fifteen more minutes, all will be revealed.”
Sophie rolls her eyes and pushes her curls behind her shoulders. “You should know me better than that. I don’t even have thirty seconds worth of patience. What makes you think I can wait fifteen minutes?”
“I don’t know,” I say thoughtfully. “I have faith in you. Besides, sometimes the best things are worth waiting for.” I link my ankle around hers under the table and grin when she fumbles her drink, margarita sloshing perilously close to the rim. “Don’t you think?”
“Okay, what the fuck is going on with you?” she demands.
I hold up both my hands. “I have no idea what you mean.”
She wrinkles her nose, and it’s so fucking cute I can’t even. “You’re acting…different.”
I raise an eyebrow at her. “I think you’re going to need to be a little more specific than that. Different how?”
She blows out a frustrated breath, and I can practically seeher brain working, trying to decide if she should detail to me all the ways this night feels different to her. Feels like more.
Do it, Sophie baby. Tell me what you feel.
“No one has recognized you,” she says finally. “That’s different.”
Okay, not exactly what I was going for, but I’ll roll with it. “I don’t think this is the kind of place people expect to see me, and if they don’t expect me, they assume I’m not me.”
Sophie laughs, her whole body relaxing for the first time since we walked in the door. “I think we’ve been friends for too long because that absolute butchering of proper sentence structure made perfect sense to me.”
“I think we’ve been friends for exactly the right amount of time.” I say with a grin. “And if it makes you feel better, the bartender recognized me and wouldn’t let me pay for these drinks.”
Sophie leans back in her chair and studies me. “Let me guess. You protested, and when he still wouldn’t let you pay, you left a ridiculously extravagant tip.”
I shrug, sucking an ice cube out of my drink and crunching down on it. “It’s fucking weird that the more famous you are and the more money you have, the more free shit you get. He should be giving free drinks to someone else. I can pay for mine.”
This time it’s Sophie who taps my foot with hers. “Tyler Hansley, you are too good for this world.”
I grin and open my mouth to respond, but I’m interrupted when the lights flash and then lower, a host of spotlights illuminating and a booming voice reverberating through the club.
“Welcome, welcome, welcome my beautiful Broadway babies, to THE GREATEST SHOW.”
He screams the last three words, and the room erupts in riotous cheers as orange-tinted laser lights shoot across the ceiling and “The Greatest Show” fromThe Greatest Showmanblares from the speakers. Every single person in the club starts singing at the top of their lungs, a group of people practicallysurging up to the makeshift stage to dance and sing for the crowd.
“Come on!” I say to Sophie, jumping up off my stool and grabbing her hand, tugging her up and into my side, leading her straight into the middle of the raucous crowd.
“What is this magic?” she asks breathily, her entire body vibrating with a barely concealed energy as she looks, wide-eyed, around the room.
“Broadway rave,” I say directly into her ear so she can hear me over the music and the sound of a couple thousand screaming voices. It doesn’t hurt my feelings at all when she shivers, her body moving even closer to mine.
She barks out a gleeful laugh that makes my chest feel like it’s filled with air. “That’s a thing?”
“Sure is. For the next two hours, we’re channeling our inner theater kid and scream-singing all our faves.” With a hand on her shoulder, I turn her to face me, leaning in closer. “I know you miss the theater, so I thought I would try and give it back to you, at least for a night.” I wink at her. “Show me what you’ve got, Sal. I always loved watching you perform.”
She looks at me skeptically. “You remember my performances? High school was a long time ago.”
I scoff. “High school could have been a hundred years ago, and I would still remember freshman year when you were Elphaba inWickedand you brought the house down with your rendition of ‘Defying Gravity.’ Sophomore year you were Sandy inGrease,and when you sang the linefeel your way, I think every single guy in your school fell a little in love, and I almost punched this one guy for the way he was leering at you in that black skinsuit. Junior year it wasHamilton,and you were the smartest, sassiest Angelica Schuyler the stage has ever seen. And senior year was my favorite of all—your iconic turn as Velma Kelly, one of the six merry murderesses of theChicagoCook County Jail.”
