Amanda
Brielle's eyes catch on something sitting beside the sink.
She freezes.
Slowly.
Very slowly.
She lowers her hand.
Turns toward me.
“Amanda.”
“What?”
“Why is there a giant military knife in your dish rack?”
I follow her gaze.
Oh.
Right.
Less' knife.
The one he'd washed earlier after unpacking approximately half his life into my condo.
“Um…”
Brielle blinks.
Nick blinks.
Less doesn't even look up from dividing soy sauce packets and arranging takeout containers with military precision.
“Don't touch that,” he says calmly.
“Why?” Brielle asks.
“Because it's sharp.”
Everyone turns and stares at him.
Then at me.
Then back at Less.
Then back at me.
“Girl,” Brielle says slowly, “that is one big knife.”
Then she snorts.
I start laughing so hard I nearly cry.
Because somehow—somehow—this big, protective, slightly insane man has become my normal.
And honestly?
I wouldn't have it any other way.
It's ridiculous how naturally he fits into my life.
Three years ago I would've given anything for this.
Now he's sitting at my kitchen table in gray sweatpants and a black T-shirt, unpacking dinner and making sure everyone has enough napkins like he's lived here forever.
And maybe that's what gets me.
Not the muscles.
Not the tattoos.
Not even the fact that he's devastatingly handsome.
It's the little things.
The way he automatically puts a pile of my favorite—crab rangoon—on my plate.
The way he keeps checking to make sure I actually eat.
The way he absentmindedly reaches for me every few minutes.
Like touching me is as necessary as breathing.
The danger is still there.
I haven't forgotten.
Not really.
Somewhere in the back of my mind sits the knowledge that somebody tried to kill me.
But when Less is around?
I feel safe.
And maybe that's foolish.
Maybe it's dangerous.
But I trust him.
Completely.
Brielle is halfway through her food when she suddenly points her chopsticks at me.
“Wait. Is that rumor true?”
I blink.
“Is what rumor true?”
Her eyes go wide.
“Oh my God, you don't even know what I'm talking about?”
“Clearly not.”
“Everyone on set is talking about a certain leading lady and how she got her reputation working as a chorus girl in Big Trouble in Little Business.”
I nearly choke on my noodles.
Across from me, Less pauses with his beer halfway to his mouth.
“What reputation?” he asks curiously.
Brielle gasps dramatically.
“Don't tell me you've never heard this story!”
“I have not heard this story,” Less says. “She never told me.”
Which somehow makes me blush.
Because there's still so much we missed.
So many stories.
So many memories.
So many years we should've spent together.
“So?” Brielle asks excitedly. “From my understanding, little Miss Starlet here tore the place apart with her no-nonsense Jersey girl attitude. Spill, Amanda.”
“Spill what?” I ask, fighting a smile because I'd almost forgotten that awful little show.
“Did you really have a huge fight with Marion Chesterfield when you were first starting out?”
I groan.
“Oh, no.”
“That's a yes!” she squeals.
Less grins.
“Now I definitely want to hear this.”
I hide my face in my hands.
“I can't believe people still talk about that.”
“People?” Brielle laughs. “Amanda, this story is theater folklore.”
“Oh, God.”
Less' arm slides around my shoulders.
“Come on, Rusty. Out with it.”
I sigh dramatically.
“Fine.”
I set down my fork because me and chopsticks have never gotten along.
“Marion Chesterfield was the head of costumes for Big Trouble in Little Business.”
“The world's worst show title,” Nick mutters.
“Agreed.”
“Anyway, it was this tiny, terrible off-off-off Broadway show, and Marion was a monster.”
“Monster, how?” Less asks.
“He screamed at everyone. Treated people horribly. Made interns cry.”
“Dick,” Less mutters.
“Exactly.”
I point at him.
“See? He gets it.”
“And he was particularly nasty to me and to this one wardrobe kid…”
I frown.
“I can't remember his name.”
Nick's fork clatters onto his plate.
He's not smiling anymore.
His eyes are fixed on me.
“That was me.”
The room goes silent.
My mouth falls open.
“What?”
He sits straighter.
“I was nineteen.”
“Oh my God.”
“First job. First show. First time away from home.”
He gives a small shrug.
“Marion thought he was God.”
Nobody laughs.
Not even Brielle.
Nick keeps talking.
“One day I picked up lunch for him and the deli screwed up his sandwich.”
His expression hardens.
“They put mayo on it instead of mustard.”
Brielle blinks.
“Seriously?”
“He opened it and threw it in my face.”
My stomach turns.
“He was screaming,” Nick says quietly. “And I froze.”
I vaguely remember a terrified kid.
Blond hair.
Too-thin shoulders.
Big eyes.
“Then Amanda shoved him.”
Less looks at me.
“She shoved him?”
Nick nods.
“Oh, yeah.”
“And she told him if he spent half as much time doing his actual job as he spent abusing interns, maybe the costumes would fit.”
Brielle shrieks with laughter.
“No!”
“Oh, yes.”
Nick smiles faintly.
“Then she called him pathetic.”
“Sounds like Rusty,” Less says proudly.
“And then Marion fired her.”
Less sits up straighter.
“He fired you?”
“Yep.”
“Hated that show anyway.”
Nick studies me.
“The thing is…”
His voice softens.
“You stood up for me.”
I blink.
“You remember that?”
“Every word.”
He looks down at his plate.
“First person who ever did.”
Something in his expression catches me.
Something intense.
Something strange.
But then Brielle reaches over and steals food from his plate, and he smiles at her.
So I push the odd feeling aside.
He's with Brielle.
He's fine.
Everything's fine.
“Hey,” I say softly. “You were just a kid.”
Nick nods.
“But I'll never forget it.”
“Wow,” Brielle says. “You never told me you already knew Amanda.”
“Sorry,” Nick says quietly. “Didn't seem important.”
Less squeezes me closer.
“I’m proud of you, Sweetheart.”
Hearing him say that sets something off inside of me—gratitude, maybe. And I lean into him automatically.
Honestly, I don't even think about the past anymore.
Not now.
Not with him here.
His hand rubs lazy circles on my hip.
His warmth surrounds me.
And I feel so many things.
Content.
Happy.
Loved.
Also aware—like the kind you get before you are about to have a very good night.
And really, I enjoyed the company, but I can’t wait until we’re alone.
“You get enough to eat, Rusty?”
“Mm hm. You ordered enough food to feed a small army.”
“Good.”
“Yeah. Thank God these two showed up,” I tease, trying to remember we have guests.
Brielle laughs.
“Happy to help! Feel free to over-order anytime.”
“Are you guys close by?” I ask.
Nick almost chokes.
“What? Oh—we're not here together or anything.”
Brielle nearly drops her fork.
“Gee, thanks for the enthusiasm, pal.”
He flushes bright red.
“That's not what I meant.”
“Relax,” she teases.
Then she turns toward me.
“So, it’s uh getting late,” she says, and her eyes are sparkling with mischief, “I'm sure you don't feel like trying on costumes after all this. Want help cleaning up?”
“No, no. You're good. I got it,” I whisper, but I’m not looking at her or Nick anymore.
“Yeah,” Less murmurs. “Leave it.”
His dark eyes meet mine.
And suddenly I forget what we were talking about.
Good Lord.
How is it possible to want one person this much all the time?
Brielle smirks.
“Okay then. Message received.”
As we walk them to the door, Less asks casually, “So how'd the story end for you, Nick? With Marion, I mean?”
“Oh, actually, Amanda’s little rebellion got us both fired,” Nick answers.
“What?”
“Yep. But honestly?”
He looks at me then, his face solemn and serious.
“Best thing that ever happened to me.”
Less raises an eyebrow.
“Yeah?”
Nick nods.
“Made me go back to school, rethink what I wanted to do.”
“And now?”
“Costume design.”
“Nice.”
“Yeah. Not bad for the mayo kid,” Brielle says.
We all laugh.
And for one brief moment, I remember sitting on the subway after getting fired.
Crying.
Convinced my career was over.
“I’m sorry I got you fired, Nick. That wasn’t my intention. At the time, I was convinced nobody would hire me again.”
“An ass like that couldn't stop you,” Brielle says, opening her arms for a hug. “Not with talent like yours.”
“She is definitely too talented for that,” Less says proudly.
Nick frowns.
“Amanda is the most talented actress on Broadway.”
I blink.
“What?”
He immediately looks away.
“Thanks for dinner.”
“Nick—”
But he's already halfway down the hall.
Brielle sighs.
“Don't mind him. He gets weird when he's embarrassed.”
She hugs me again.
“I'll see you later this week.”
“Thanks, Bri.”
And then they're gone.
Less closes the door.
Locks it.
Turns.
And those dark eyes settle on me with so much heat my knees almost wobble.
“How is it possible,” I whisper, “to want someone this much?”
He smiles slowly.
“Easy.”
“Yeah?”
“Because you're mine.”
I laugh softly.
“Possessive much?”
“Hopelessly. What about you? You feel possessive of me?” Less asks, one eyebrow raised in that super sexy way only hot guys can pull off.
I bite my lower lip.
“Ah, I see. Gonna make me wait. Gonna make me beg,” he growls and backs me against the wall, his hands on my hips beneath the button down I put on earlier at his behest. “I see you, Rusty. You're a real tough guy, aren't you?”
His voice is teasing.
Affectionate.
Warm.
I smile up at him.
“Takes one to know one.”
Then I pull him down and kiss him right on the mouth.
Because he's here.
Because he's mine.
Because I can.