Chapter 49
Sarah was doing her laps, making sure the crew was striking the theater, the production office, everything they would no longer need once the American Fantasy pulled back into Port Miami.
The wind had gone, but the night was cool, which meant the difference between the inside and the outside was mostly a matter of humidity.
Her phone beeped—what were regular working hours anyway? —and Sarah slid it out of her pocket.
Miss you, the text read, and then a photo of Mr. Whiskers popped up, stretched out on his pillow.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Sarah said.
She clicked out of the text and went straight to Instagram, to Lexie’s page.
She hadn’t looked in two days—a record. All in all, it had been a month since they’d broken up.
Almost long enough to get used to it. There weren’t any new pictures of Plum, but there were a few new posts.
There was a picture of Mr. Whiskers sitting in the sunshine with the caption Better days ahead.
There was a picture of Lexie’s shadow in Prospect Park.
One shadow—a shadow of one person. “Oh shit,” Sarah said out loud.
“They broke up.” She looked up from her phone and pumped her fist. “They broke up!”
The fastest way to get to the production office without walking through the herds of drunk Talkers was to cut through the door behind the arcade and walk down the inner, staff-only hall.
Sarah felt a little spring in her step, and she skipped into the arcade and turned the corner into the back of the room, where the door to the hall was.
Jonathan was leaning up against the door.
Before anything else, before she really took in what was going on, Sarah’s tour-manager brain said: Fire hazard.
But then she looked down and saw that Jonathan wasn’t alone.
Tyler was kneeling in front of him, providing Jonathan with a kind of pleasure Sarah hadn’t seen all weekend.
What was it with the arcade? Didn’t anyone have sex in their own rooms anymore?
“Oh, come on,” she said, covering her eyes with her hand. She heard a zip and the rustle of Tyler’s enormous jeans as he made his way back up to standing.
“Apologies,” Jonathan said. He hooked his finger into Tyler’s waistband and pulled him out of the room, past Sarah. “Do call me,” he said to her as he walked by.
“Oh, come on!” Sarah said again. “I am his boss! This is so beyond fucked.” She pushed open the door to the hall, her boots clomping quickly through the doorway lest there be any bodily fluids nearby.
She was going to do what she had to do, and then she was going to bed, because no one on this ship deserved her.