Chapter 40 Gagged
A chunk of bread goes flying down my windpipe.
“Rikki, so nice to meet you. I’m Will!”
“Hi Rikki! I’m Britt.”
“Rikki, are you okay?” Velma Kelly asks.
My eyes bulge. Shit. I can’t cough. Or breathe. I’m choking.
I grasp at my throat.
“Oh fuck.” Reed jumps up. He slaps my upper back, and I watch as a piece of bread catapults from my esophagus into the red Jersey Boys–themed, rose-filled centerpiece.
“Holy god,” Will yelps.
Girlfriend?
Reed’s back in his seat with his fingers wrapped around my left forearm. His other hand is rubbing the slapped space between my shoulder blades as I wheeze for fifteen seconds straight.
Reed turns to his friends as I continue to sputter and cough. “She needs water, can someone go grab one from the bar?”
The Asian woman with the mermaid hair bolts for the bar. There’s no water at the table, but there’s white wine. I grab the glass in front of me.
“Oh dear, I wouldn’t—” Will starts.
I choke down half the contents. “Don’t worry, I’m tot-lly fine,” I croak before I throw back the rest. “Bread tried to murder me. Happens all the time. I’m a famous bread assassin, and it senses danger when I’m near, you know.”
His friends stare silently back at me.
I turn to Reed, who’s trying very hard not to smile.
“Shut up,” I mutter.
“I didn’t say anything.”
I turn back to his two friends. “So sorry.” I clear my throat. “It’s great to meet you both.”
Velma Kelly appears at my side and hands me a glass of water. “Here!”
“Thank you so much! What was your name again?”
“Eliza!” She smiles. “No problem, are you okay?”
I throw back some water. “I’m excellent, so nice to meet you!” I smile wearily as she returns to her seat.
“The bread tried to murder her because she’s a bread assassin,” Roxie repeats somberly back to Eliza.
Reed pushes a chunk of my hair back. He leans in close, his lips brushing over my ear. “You sure you’re okay?”
I nod as a river of chills spills down my spine. “Yes, I’m good.” Also confused. My insides are burning. And not in the sexy way.
Am I his girlfriend? Is that what we agreed to? Reed’s friends start to chat, and he slips easily into their conversation as my brain whirs.
If he wanted to throw around the word girlfriend, why didn’t he discuss the word girlfriend? Was that the implication?
We said something real.
I rip off more of the bread and stuff it down my throat, careful not to die this time.
“I didn’t know you had a girlfriend,” Eliza says, smiling at me. “What do you do, Rikki?”
“Oh, I, uh.” I glance quickly at Reed. Do I tell people here what I actually do? Reed nods encouragingly. Fuck it. It’s not like I’m trying to date them. “I’m the Love Today columnist at The New York Minute.”
“That’s so cool! I’ve heard of that column,” Eliza says.
Reed smiles. “And she’s an LMFT, she runs the Love Today podcast, and she has an Etsy shop where she makes greeting cards to help people tell their significant others they love them in the perfect way for any special occasion.”
“Wait, what? You’re Rose Thyme?” Roxie Hart says slowly. “I listen to Love Today every Monday during my workout. I’m a huge fan!”
I grin at her.
“I didn’t know greeting cards were still in circulation! That’s fascinating,” Will adds.
Reed nods. “The greeting card is a lost art. Rikki has this gift, to write something both incredibly heartwarming and funny at the same time. My heart grew three sizes scrolling through the samples and reading the reviews on her page.”
What? He never told me that. I blink at him, adoration oozing out of me. Probably because my insides are melting from the fire. When did he read through my Etsy shop?
Am I drunk?
“If you ever need a specialty card for someone you have inside jokes with or something, she’s your gal.”
I only had two drinks. Albeit very quickly. With nothing in my stomach.
“Sounds like you’re a woman of many talents, Rikki,” Will comments.
“What’s your Etsy shop called?” asks Eliza.
“Greetings, Love, Rikki,” Reed answers.
I glance back over at Roxie Hart, realizing I didn’t respond to her podcast comment. “Thank you so much for listening to the pod,” I tell her, raising my water.
“Of course!” Roxie says. “So Rose Thyme? You work under a pseudonym just like Reed.” She smiles at him. “I have to start calling you Rome so I don’t fuck that up on the press tour.”
Rome? I share a quick look with Reed. He meets my eyes bashfully before smiling down at the table. Third name unearthed. Filed for later examination.
“So you work for The New York Minute. Are you remote?” Will asks.
“No, I work in New York City.”
“Oh wow,” Roxie says. “How does that work with Reed in LA?”
“Well—”
“Wait, you’re based in New York? You have to tell us how you two met!” Eliza urges.
“Are you two long distance?” Will asks.
My eyes dart between the three of them, unsure what to tackle first. Unsure I want to answer these things before talking to Reed in private about girlfriend-ship.
I vaguely register “City of Stars” starting to play.
Oh, I love this song.
“You know what?” Reed takes my hand and urges me to stand. “Rain check on those q’s, we love to dance, and we can’t miss this song.”
I glance at Reed. How does he know I love this song?
“You just said it, Rick,” he murmurs as he leads me to the dance circle.
What? How much of this have I said out loud?
A few guests are swaying out here on the dance floor alongside us as Reed pulls me into hold, slowly guiding me in a classic waltz.
His eyes rove across my face. “I feel like you’re not okay.”
“I’m . . . I’m confused.”
“Are you panicking?”
“All right, thespians!”
We jolt as a voice booms over the speakers. King George swaggers onto the stage, wearing a Britney Spears headset and clutching a remote. He taps it, and “City of Stars” comes to an abrupt stop.
“That guy is on a power trip,” I mumble.
Reed chuckles.
“We’re gonna get thy party started with our first royal event, All American Bandstand! Peasants, it’s time for some healthy competition. Get ready to dance! Grease style!”
Reed and I exchange a look as chatter rises among the guests. A wave of participants migrates over to join us on the floor as four camerapeople roll big old-fashioned-looking rigs on tripods in through the brown doors.
“Oh wow,” I breathe.
“Prepare to rock thy roll,” King George says stiffly. “Myself, our bride, and the groom will be watching and judging from our central perch. Here thee, here thee, be thy rules.” He pulls a scroll from his pocket. It comically flops open, unraveling downward all the way off the stage.
“Rule one: Thy must be partnered up!” He looks around pompously. “Sorry, singles, you must mingle if you wish to participate.
“Two: You and your partner must be thy touching somewhere at all times. If you lose physical contact for more than two seconds, you will be eliminated.
“Rule three: If you stop moving for more than two seconds, you will be eliminated.
“Four: If you are not participating in this event, you must stay off the dance floor ring until thy competition concludes.
“And five: If you’re on the floor participating, and you’re tapped on the shoulder, you have indeed been eliminated. Evacuate the dance floor immediately.
“Winners, you’re playing for glory! You’re playing for these best-dancer sashes!” He holds up two Miss America–looking sashes. “And you’re playing for two! Fifty dollar! AMEX! Gift cards! Let the movin’ and groovin’ commence!”
“Rock and Roll Is Here to Stay” blasts out from the speakers.
Reed spurs us back into movement, skipping to the beat, and I follow his lead. “All right, let’s rewind. Are you okay?” he asks again.
I purse my lips.
He smiles gently, twirls me, and pulls us back into a loose hold. “You’re freaking out.”
“Sound of Music couple over there, already too long not touching. You’re out!” George stomps his scepter on the stage.
“We need to clarify some things,” I say as Reed and I fall into an easy rhythmic shuffle.
He nods. “Okay.”
“So you’re my boyfriend now?”
The corner of his lips flip into a grin. “I’ve submitted myself for the position. Waiting on approval.”
I blow out an amused huff. “I thought we agreed to something real?”
“What exactly does something real mean to you?”
“Something. With . . . realness.”
Laughter rumbles through Reed.
“Boyfriend-girlfriend comes with expectations,” I continue. “How is that going to work when I go back to the East Coast? What are the rules? We haven’t drafted any stipulations.”
“Elphaba and Glinda, you stopped moving, out!”
Reed spins me once. Twice. He catches me by the hip—and quirks a knowing brow. “So this is another control freak panic?”
“And you’ve seen my Etsy shop?” I blurt accusingly.
His pout shifts into a smirk. “Did you think I wasn’t going to google you?”
“Velma Kelly and Billy from Chicago, you’re gonzo!” yells King George.
Reed lets go of one of my hands to execute some fifties’ twist-like dance moves across from me, and I mirror him.
“The Book of Mormon over there, yes you! You’re too stagnant, out!” George yells.
I frown, struggling to take stock of what’s going on with my own emotions.
“Rikki. Talk to me. What’s wrong?”
“I don’t know?” I squeeze my eyes shut, forehead furrowing as he guides us back into hold. The song shifts, moving to something slower. “Those Magic Changes.”
Reed adjusts our rhythm, rocking us smoothly from side to side. I inhale his ocean-forest scent, staring over his shoulder as I soul search. Why am I so panicked about the word girlfriend?
“Rikki, come on, you know,” he says into my cheek.
“I don’t know,” I repeat.
Reed dips me over his arm and leans forward toward my lips. My heart skips a beat as he stills, a centimeter away from my mouth.
“I don’t believe you.”
“Fuck you,” I breathe, as he whips me back up.
“Are you drunk?” He chuckles. “Already?”
“Maybe. I was so hungry.”
He frowns. “I’m sorry, we should have grabbed another snack on the way here.”
“It’s fine. We didn’t have time.”
“Do you want to go eat some more?”