Ripping Pages (3 page)

“Ok. I don’t have time for this. I have to go get ready for my audition.”

“OMG, Tin! I totally forgot! I'm so excited for you. Are you ready?”

“I think so. I've been rehearsing my butt off, and after I get ready, I'm going to rehearse some more.”

“Yay, well, I have to leave in about an hour for a fitting, so good luck, babe and call me ASAP!” I smiled and gave her a hug. I poured my coffee and my hazelnut liquid creamer that I was so addicted to into my mug. I picked it up and headed for the shower as I wondered if I was ever going to be able to get over James enough to trust another man and eventually, move on.

I felt great after my audition. I had done better this time than when I had rehearsed, so I was feeling pretty confident about it. It was a beautiful early fall day outside, so I decided to catch a cab, grab a treat, and walk around Central Park. I wanted to breathe in the New York air and take in my surroundings. I stopped by a little bakery off Columbus Avenue and ordered a red velvet cupcake with cream cheese icing—my guilty pleasure—and a hot chocolate. I entered the park, found a bench to sit down and enjoy my treats, and to enjoy my other guilty pleasure—people watching.

I loved this city. It was unlike anything I could have ever imagined. The crowds and the traffic, everything about it excited me. I was from the outskirts of Houston, and our downtown was nothing like this spectacular place.

I finished my goodies, closed my eyes, and listened to the sounds around me. Birds chirping. People talking. Soon, the faint sound of a guitar filled my ears followed by a low, sexy, almost tortured voice singing lyrics that I couldn’t quite make out. Being my nosy self, I wanted to know who was behind that sound. I headed toward, Bow Bridge, I think it was called, and the music grew louder, as did the sexy voice.

I spotted a young guy sitting against a tree by the water near the bridge. His right leg was bent in front of him while his left leg was straight out on the ground. He had a guitar resting in his lap and he was smoking a cigarette, which normally, I would find repulsing, but on him, it made him even sexier for some reason. He wore faded jeans that were frayed a bit at the cuff, and a plain black t-shirt that, from what I could see, hugged his well-defined body just right. His arms were covered in tattoos, though I couldn’t make out the intricate designs from where I stood. He had messy dark brown hair that hung in his eyes, which held long, thick eyelashes that would make any woman jealous. His face was chiseled showing a hint of scruff and he had full lush lips, but his bottom lip was just a little fuller than the top. He was seriously breathtaking. He looked vaguely familiar, but I couldn’t place him.

I never really was attracted to guys like this one. I was usually drawn to the clean cut, all American type guys. Guys like James. James was gorgeous but he had nothing on this man. This guy had the bad boy look down pat. They surely didn't make them like that back home.

He was singing and strumming the guitar, and writing something down in a notebook near his right hip that I assumed were lyrics. I couldn’t stop staring at him. His voice made me feel warm and cozy for some strange reason. It, too, was familiar, and oddly comforting. It was deep, rough, and provocative, and made me want to hear more of it. This guy could sing me the telephone book, for all I cared, as long as he kept singing.

It was beautiful with just enough edge to it. Just looking at him my heart started to race, which was a rarity for me, especially after James. I watched his big, strong hands holding the instrument and watched his long fingers work the strings of the guitar, and I instantly felt my heart start beating more rapidly. My entire body flushed with desire, and I wanted to know what those fingers would feel like all over me. I suddenly realized I hadn’t even looked at a guy like this since before James. I instantly felt a wave of guilt, coupled with a mixture of lust for the stranger I was staring at—
Man, maybe Tatum was right.
Maybe
I just needed to get laid. Maybe that would help these odd mixed up emotions in me.
Here I was lusting after a total stranger. And a seemingly bad boy at that. A hot, steamy one, yes—but a stranger, nonetheless. As I was ogling this unsuspecting hottie, he took a drag from his cigarette and let out the smoke in one long breath, and then his eyes locked on mine. A slow, seductive grin spread across his face, and I couldn’t move.

Just then, my cell phone rang and knocked me out of my lusty stalking session. I answered it and Seth Brown, the casting coordinator at the theater, was on the other end. My erratic breathing from before suddenly halted. “Tinley Michaels, please.”

“Umm. Yes. This is she,” I answered unsurely.

“Yes, Tinley, we would like to offer you a spot in our company of actors. Since you don’t have a lot of experience, we will probably start you off as an understudy. We will let you know all the details once rehearsals start. I will be sending over all the information to you via email. Welcome to the family.”

“I-I can’t thank you enough. I look forward to it.” I managed to sound professional when inside was I screaming and jumping up and down like a seven year old who just heard the music from the ice cream truck and it was getting closer and closer. I hung up the phone, and then I actually
did
jump up and down, and high-five myself, while screaming. Then I realized I was in Central Park. And
then I realized
that a freaking beautiful man was sitting there, and was probably watching me spaz out from fifty feet away. Blushing, I turned in his direction, and sure enough, he was stubbing his cigarette out and grinning at me with a very amused look on his face. Oh My God. I forced a humiliated smile, before turning and running right out of that damn park as fast as I could.

As mortified as I was, I was even more elated. After only three months in New York City, my dreams were already coming to life. I picked up the phone, and I called Tatum immediately.

Later that night, Tatum and I decided to meet a few of her friends at a club to celebrate my new gig. Since I had moved here, her career had really picked up. She had been busy with shoots, while I had been rehearsing and working at the cafe'. We always missed each other as we were coming and going, so this was the first time I had been able to meet her friends. She had to do a few reshoots for the photographer from earlier that day, and then I was to meet her at the club. It was a few miles from the apartment and hearing my mother's overly paranoid voice in my head, I opted for a cab instead of walking. Plus, I was wearing heels, so that was probably a smart choice for the feet, as well. I shoved my emergency ballet flats into the small blue clutch purse that matched my shoes and jewelry, and that complimented my little black dress so well. I was not a heel kinda girl, but they made my short legs look longer, so whenever I got all dolled up I tried to be brave and wear them. I usually wimped out and changed into my flats an hour or two later, though.

I stumbled down the three flights of stairs and out onto Charles Street. Whenever I had taken a cab before, they were always lined up and you just had to choose one, but this time the street was strangely quiet, and I had to wave one down. I channeled my inner
Carrie
and held up my hand and,
boom
, a taxi came to a stop a few feet in front of me. Holy crap! It worked!

I tried to sit my behind demurely in the backseat, but it was no easy feat in my short dress. Once I was situated, the annoyed looking cabbie asked me where to.

“Um,” I looked down at the text from Tatum. “230 Fifth Avenue, please.”

“Sure thing, miss.”

Looking up at the streets, I saw that was starting to rain. Heavily. Great. I never watched the news or checked the weather, so I had no idea it was going to start pouring.

I, of course, didn’t have an umbrella.

This driver was a seasoned cabbie. He weaved us in and out of traffic, and a few times, I was sure this cab ride would be my demise with the slick roads, but soon we were in front of the club. It was a quarter after nine, and I was supposed to meet Tatum at nine. Knowing her, she was usually a half hour late, so I would still be waiting on her.

I sent her a quick text to let her know I had arrived.

My phone pinged almost immediately with a reply from her.

Sorry, sweetie. I am running late too. See you in ten. I reserved a table under my name. XO

I paid the cabbie and again, tried to situate myself and exit the car without pulling a
Britney
or a
Lindsey.

I was contemplating exactly how I would get from the cab to under the pavilion where I would have some semblance of shelter without getting totally drenched. I decided that I would just make a run for it in my heels. Just as I opened the door and reached for the handle, I felt a warm hand gently cradle mine. I looked up and almost lost my elegant balance getting out. Those intense gray eyes from the park earlier that day met mine. He stood there in the same clothes from before holding a black umbrella. His tattooed, muscular arms, shining as the rain fell on him. His hair a tousled mess. The drops slid down his face as he held the small umbrella over my head. Recognition crossed his features at the same time a sexy grin played on his lips. “Careful there, Sweetness.”

Oh Lord, help me. His speaking voice was deeper and even more sensual than his singing voice.

“Oh—I—uh— thank you.” I blushed and gave him a small smile.

His eyes were blazing as he took in my attire from head to toe. Very slowly.

When he brought his gaze back to mine, he smiled that dazzling sensual smile from earlier that day. “You're welcome, beautiful,” He leaned in and whispered in my ear as he let go of my hand.

“Umm, thank you,” I mumbled, breathless.

I started to walk away and those damn heels got the better of me.
Yeah, I'm going to blame it on the heels and not the gorgeous hunk of man who whispered in my ear and made my knees turn to jello.
I started to fall, but his strong arms enveloped me, and he held me steady as I righted myself.

For the second time in one day, I had embarrassed the hell out of myself in front of this guy.

I muttered another, “Thank you.”
(God, were those the only words I was capable of forming?)
Then I retreated as fast as I could, away from the stranger that could so easily solicit weak knees and heart palpitations from me.
What the hell was wrong with me?

I couldn’t resist the urge to turn around to see if he was still there. He was. He was leaning on the open backdoor of the cab halfway in, staring at my backside with that consuming gaze. When he noticed I had turned back around and had caught him staring at my ass, his face broke out into a grin and then he ducked into the cab and took off.

I stood there bewildered for a moment before Tatum came bounding up to me looking gorgeous in her off the shoulder designer dress. Next to all these wealthy people, my Forever 21 outfit stood out like a sore thumb. I had never been one to try to keep up with the Joneses, but I did feel a little intimidated when Tatum's three girlfriends showed up all wearing their designer garb. I knew mean girls first hand from my days as a geek in high school, so I wasn’t too thrilled to meet a gaggle of girls, much less New York City girls. I had seen all the seasons of Gossip Girl. I knew how the Upper East Siders rolled.

My worries, however, dissipated immediately when the introductions started. I met a lovely girl with dark skin the color of coffee
(I have been surrounded by lattes and cappuccinos lately so forgive my comparisons)
named Cynthia, and a tiny brunette with big, kind blue eyes named Jessa, who were both models and had met Tatum at a fashion show soon after she had moved to the city. The last girl was a beautiful tall blonde named Sloan, who happened to be a ballerina in the New York City ballet.
Wow, a real ballerina, who knew?
She and Tatum had met by chance at a party. The four of them had all become a tight knit group over the last year or so. I felt honored that they would allow me to be part of that. It turned out that Sloan was the only native New Yorker of the five of us. Cynthia was from Alabama, and Jessa hailed from Pennsylvania. We all hit it off, and by the end of the night, they were all inviting me to their weekly Sunday gab sessions at Serendipity.