Reel (Hollywood Renaissance #1) - Kennedy Ryan Page 0,14

and even thaws some with Janie, who is, no two ways about it, trying too hard.

Once the plates are cleared, I reach for my bag so I can pay my portion, despite John’s offer.

“Don’t bother,” Wright says, placing his hand over mine. “Canon already got the bill.”

“Oh.”

I look at Canon, whose wide mouth curls at the corners, head inclined toward Janie’s as she tells him something I can’t hear. He doesn’t quite smile, but at least he’s not scowling.

We file outside and cluster on the sidewalk. By nature I’m a people watcher, and I find myself observing the pods of conversation going on around me. Takira’s embroiled in a passionate discussion about Dreamgirls, for some reason. John is laughing with some of the crew over a missed cue from tonight’s show. Wright chats with one of the cast members who’s working on a new album. I catch snippets of their exchange. Coltrane. Miles Davis. Genius. The cast member is a jazz enthusiast, so I can see how they’d click. Janie is still working her angle with Canon, and his expression says his longsuffering may be on its last legs. How can Janie even bring herself to keep talking with him looking at her that way? It’s actually pretty comical, and before I catch myself, I’m chuckling under my breath.

“What’s funny?”

I look up by centimeters, certain he can’t be talking to me because he hasn’t all night, but he’s looking right at me. Head turned away from Janie, who has wandered over to join Takira’s small circle.

“What?” I manage, stalling.

“You laughed. What’s funny?”

“No, I—”

“So you didn’t just laugh, standing here by yourself?” he asks, no smile in sight.

“Not laugh exactly.” I bite my lip and shove my hands deeper into my jacket pockets.

His brows raise knowingly.

“Okay, so I chuckled. Maybe snorted. I snuckled.”

He tilts his head, and low and behold, those full lips twitch at the corners the slightest bit. “So what made you snuckle?”

I shake my head and hope he’ll let it go.

He doesn’t.

“Tell me,” he says, crossing his arms over his wide chest.

Incidentally, that blazer and hoodie really is a very good look for him.

“Oh, good grief,” I huff. “It was the look on your face.”

“When I was talking to . . .” He tips his head in Janie’s direction and I nod. “What was the look?”

“It wasn’t impatience exactly.”

“Are you sure?”

“And not irritation.”

“It may have been.”

“It was more this kind of . . . forced tolerance.”

His almost-smile deepens a little. “That does sound accurate.”

We stare at one another for a few seconds, the plumes of our breath mingling in the cold night air. And then we grin together. It’s the first full-fledged smile I’ve seen from him. It’s dazzling, sketching grooves into his lean cheeks, and I feel such a sense of accomplishment, winning that smile. I retract everything I thought about him not really being handsome.

Because when he smiles, he is. He so is.

“Dude, you ready?” Wright asks, walking up beside us.

“Yeah.” Canon breaks our stare, his smile disappearing as quickly as it came. “I’m whipped. Let’s go.”

“Neevah, so good to see you again.” Wright pulls me into a side hug and squeezes. “Congratulations.”

I look up at him, offering a smile. “Thank you again for coming.”

“Wouldn’t have missed it. You were great. If you’re ever in LA, don’t hesitate to hit me up.”

“Will do.” I studiously train my eyes on Wright’s face, and do my best to ignore his taciturn friend.

The two men turn and take the few steps that lead them away from me and this extraordinary night. I’m about to join my friends and head toward the subway when I feel a light touch on my arm. I look up and shock rolls through me. Shock and a thrill. It’s Canon.

“Did you forget something?” I ask, my breath refusing to push in and out as per normal respiratory patterns.

“You were exceptional on that stage,” he says softly. “The best in the show.”

Vines sprout from the sidewalk and wrap around my ankles, trapping me where I stand. Immobile. I should say something, not just stand here like I’m starstruck, though there is a part of me that is.

“What you said tonight about making people feel when you perform,” he says, his eyes never straying from my face. “Keep that.”

And then he turns and walks away.

5

Canon

“You were especially pleasant tonight,” Monk says when we climb into the Uber that met us at the corner.

“I was, wasn’t I?” I settle back into the seat and close my eyes.