29. THE ONE WITH HAMILTON SPOILERS
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
THE ONE WITH HAMILTON SPOILERS
WestParkerComedy: NYC, you kinda scare this small town dude, but I’m learning to love spooky things lately. Who’s coming to see me this weekend?
Comment: What if we just stop watching and interacting? Then they can’t ignore us
Comment reply: YOU can do that… I’ll be here happy with the little crumbs they give us.
I don’t know why everyone’s laughing.
I don’t know who bumps into the back of me when I stop dead in my tracks.
I don’t know anything.
I’m standing in the middle of the lobby after running upstairs to change for the night.
Konrad and the Blazers have a game here tomorrow morning, and there’s a small comedy show in Brooklyn tonight who invited me to come by if I was free.
I’ve always liked going to different clubs in the same city I’m performing in, but haven’t had much time to make it work lately.
None of that matters right now, though… Not when Joey looks the way she does. Every fiber of my being is focused on her and nothing else.
Joey, who added another exclamation point to the to-do list I don’t think she meant to include me on. The notification for our shared organizational app pinged a few minutes after I texted her something stupid in hopes I’d get her to laugh before she spent the night with Frankie.
3. Do not fall for West fucking Isakson!!
Two exclamation points.
I hadn’t noticed the first notification when she’d started the list, but I immediately notice the use of my last name…
My eyes start at the floor where the sole of her boots meet the tile. I enjoy the ride, taking my time to get to the top. Her boots end at her knee, leaving a few inches of skin exposed before the hem of her dress starts mid-thigh.
Fuck, I’d like to trace the outline of her tattoos with my tongue.
Her hip’s popped, giving her ass a lift it doesn’t need. I can no longer say I’ve never wished to be a sweater dress before because I would commit crimes to touch every inch of the skin it covers.
I’ve never seen her hair this curly or with this much volume before… Of course I spend a few seconds imagining what it would look like with my hand wrapped in it, hearing her moan my name as she comes again and again.
She’s got her coat draped over one arm, a sparkly clutch with what looks like red rhinestones to mimic dripping blood down the edges resting on the table.
Her exposed shoulders sparkle under the bar’s light, and I know she’s wearing that glitter body oil that smells like coconuts and the beach on a summer day—that mixed with her dark perfume is what I’d like to wake up smelling on my sheets every morning for the rest of my life.
I don’t know when or how I start moving, but before I know it, I’m coming up beside Joey, and it takes everything inside me not to reach out and touch her. “Hi, Joey baby,” I croon, leaning against the cocktail table.
No one else exists to me yet.
Joey’s boots give her quite a few more inches than normal, but she still has to flick her eyes up to meet mine. I immediately notice the excited gleam in hers.
Finally, I acknowledge the rest of the table.
All but one has the same happy crease around their eyes from laughing.
I don’t know the guy who looks like he might not have liked whatever joke had been told.
He might be a teammate of Konrad’s, but there’s also a chance he’s friends with one of Konrad’s teammates.
I didn't pay that close attention to his introduction—dude’s kind of a dick.
“Hi, Hotshot,” Joey purrs for show. “Larry and I were just giving each other nicknames. Wanna tell him what you called me?” She turns to sarcastically bat her long lashes at him.
That’s right! Larry! I remember thinking maybe he should go by his middle name… He turns red but keeps his mouth shut.
I’m coming out of my Joey daze and finally catch the tension around the table. “What did you call her?” I hear myself ask without realizing I’d even begun to talk until it was already out.
Enzo shifts, shooting me a look. Relax, he says without speaking.
“Nothing to say now, I see. Too bad.” Jutting her bottom lip out, Joey turns back to me, running a hand across my forearm delicately as she passes by. “Anyway, I’m running late. Have fun tonight. Be safe!” She points at me when she says it. “I’ll see you both tomorrow.”
I watch Joey walk away, her hips swaying, and the tattoos on the back of her legs reminding me what the view from behind is like. I look around, expecting to see her red headed best friend somewhere waiting to join her.
Enzo doesn’t need me to ask the question on the tip of my tongue. “She had to go home last minute.”
Well, that changes my plans for the night.
Before I chase after Joey, I lean across the small cocktail table, gripping both sides as I come eye level with Larry.
“I don’t know what you said to Joey,” I pause to raise my middle finger.
“But fuck you.” He turns the brightest shade of red, someone putting a hand on his shoulder like he needs to be held back.
I step back casually, not at all intimidated. I’ve got three fake teeth. One from a puck to the mouth, and two from a stick to the face after I called Ohio State’s goalie’s mom a ho.
I know, I know! I shouldn’t have brought his mother into it—cheap shot! I’m sure she’s a nice lady, but the point is, I’m not afraid to get hit or throw a punch.
“See ya later, boys!” Waving over my shoulder, I weave through the busy lobby, shuffling between bodies until slowing to match Joey’s stride when I come up beside her.
Her look of surprise as she buttons up her coat makes me smile. “What are you doing?” she asks.
“Isn’t it obvious?” The windy night meets us with a strong gust when I open the door for her. “I’m going to meet the Founding Fathers with you.”
Her brows crease in the middle. “No, you’re not…”
“I heard you have an extra ticket. You’d let it go to waste instead of letting me have it?” I place my hand over my heart, pretending to pull a knife out.
Joey stops, stepping to the side to allow people to pass by. “West, thank you, but it’s fine. Don’t change your plans for me.”
I’m willing to change my entire life for her. Hell, I basically already have.
I hold both my hands up like a scale. “Go hang out with a bunch of dudes, one who’s been trying to impress me all night like I’m some kinda comedy god.” I wiggle my right hand, then my left. “Go see my first Broadway show with you… looking like this.” I raise my left hand as high as it’ll go.
I pause, suddenly very aware that she might not want me to go for other reasons… “I mean, unless you’re trying to—”
“Oh my god, no. No,” she ensures, and I lose the knot in my stomach immediately. Letting out a deep sigh, Joey grabs me by the hand and pulls me after her. “Come on. We gotta hustle or we won’t be able to get in.”
The house lights come on during intermission, stage lights dimming, and I think my jaw is on the fucking floor.
I dramatically grip the armrests of my chair and turn to Joey. “Yo, what the fuck?”
She’s smiling so wide, my insides tingle. “Right?”
I’m shocked into silence… Which never happens.
People get up from their seats, heading to the bathroom or bar. The room fills with happy chatter.
“Her sister?” I finally close my mouth, relaxing my grip.
Joey nods. “Fucked up, right? And you haven’t even seen the worst of it.”
“No,” I gasp. To be totally honest, I don’t think I actually knew anything about Alexander Hamilton before this show—only that he’s the Founding Father on the ten-dollar bill.
I hated history, okay?
I sink down into the chair, feeling like I melt into it like that girl from the D.A.R.E commercial they played to keep kids from smoking weed. A couple approaches, trying to get by. “Sorry. First time.” I sit up, allowing them to shimmy past.
The lady looks at Joey and smiles. “I remember taking him to his first show too. Cats.” She nods to me. “Hamilton is a much better introduction.”
The man shrugs, laughing along with his wife. “The things we do for love.” He grabs his wife’s hand as they walk up the aisle together.
I sneak a peek at Joey, catching the slight pink of her cheeks before she lets her hair fall in front of her face, hiding the blush from me.
“So,” I start.
Joey holds a finger up, scowling with a lot less gloom as she once did. “Don’t even.”
She knows I’m about to keep going, but somehow, Joey’s saved by a girl in all black with a lanyard and badge around her neck.
“Hi, sorry to interrupt, but are you Jo Daniels?” she asks.
Joey gives a soft and friendly smile, the attitude she had with me seconds ago gone. “Yes, that’s me.”
“I’m Izzy, a stagehand. Jules asked me to come see if you two would be interested in a backstage tour after the show? The cast would love to meet you both.”
My jaw drops again. I feel like a kid who’s just been told he gets to meet his favorite superhero. “Absolutely.” I don’t mean to answer for her. I’m just embarrassingly excited.
Unlike most people in the comedy community, I didn’t start in theater or performing of any kind. All of this is new to me, something I stumbled upon by accident, which makes a lot of my peers think I don’t belong or that I haven’t earned my success.
Joey smiles, her hand falling to my thigh. She discreetly squeezes above my right knee. I fucking hate I’m wearing pants and can’t feel her fingers on my skin. “Sounds like we’re in.” She removes her hand after only a single breath.
God. Fucking. Damnit.
I’m never going to be able to stick to the terms of our contract. Especially when leaning into a more physical relationship isn’t just what I want, but apparently what our fans are itching for too. They’re begging for more banter. More pictures. More videos of just us—which we’ve yet to do.
And especially not if Joey keeps adding exclamation points to her daily reminder.
“Great! Go to the ticket counter at the end of the show and tell them to take you to Jules. I’ll stop by and let them know before I head back.” She waves goodbye, and we turn to stare at each other.