When I lost my apartment, the last person I expected to come to my rescue was Jacob. We’re not exactly what you’d call friendly. He’s so introverted and uptight, and I’m… well, a loudmouth. Abrasive, as they say. I can’t imagine how it tortures him to have me in his space. But no matter what Jacob thinks of me, he’s always had Owen’s back, and I guess he didn’t want my brother to get stuck with cramming me into his studio apartment when Jacob had a spare room he wasn’t using anyway.
Kasumi looks him up and down. “What are you doing tonight? You could come along to the party to protect Sadie from the clowns.” She gives me an eyebrow raise, which I know she thinks is subtle, but it’s about as obvious as if she’d yanked down my neckline, hiked up my boobs, and shoved me in his direction.
A slow heat drifts across my cheeks, and not because I’m interested in Jacob. Because—Ew. He’s my little brother’s best friend. The kid with the too-large glasses and pimples who I once caught flipping through my Victoria’s Secret catalog. Who, along with my uber-nerd brother, never had a date to a high school dance because the two of them were glued to our basement computer writing bizarre ambient music and hacking the nuclear codes.
But Kasumi never knew Jacob as an awkward teenager, so her view of him is entirely different from mine. I mean, objectively, I can see the pimples did clear up, he shot up past six feet when I wasn’t paying attention, and his clear-rimmed glasses are trendy now, probably from one of those indie eyewear brands. Plus, he’s become so successful at composing his electronic music that he was able to afford to buy this bright, spacious apartment. But, still. He’s Jacob.
He hesitates, and I can feel the weight of his gaze on me. If he were anyone else, I’d say he’s considering coming to the party. But more likely, he’s judging me and the glittery outfit Kasumi picked out, because Jacob would never deign to attend a theme party.
I smile to myself, trying to imagine him dressed up in a black jacket and sparkly top hat, waving a magic wand. But as my gaze settles on him, my amusement fades. A suit would highlight his tall, lean frame, and with his glasses and that razor stubble on his jaw, I think he could actually pull off sexy-magician. I realize I’m staring as soon as our eyes meet, but for some mystifying reason, I don’t look away and neither does he. Even more inexplicably, my breath catches.
“So, are you coming or what?” Kasumi cuts in loudly.
Jacob breaks eye contact first, and my cheeks grow warmer. This is all Kasumi’s fault for planting the seed of Jacob as a smokeshow in my clearly addled mind. “I’m sure Jacob has better things to do tonight,” I stammer. “Some creepy sci-fi music to compose, or something?”
Jacob’s eye gives a little twitch, but then he nods. “Yeah. I’ve got a deadline. You should go, though.” He pulls his headphones back over his ears and turns back toward his bedroom. “I’ll probably get more done with a little peace and quiet.”
As he walks away, I haul myself up off the couch with a sudden urge to get out of here for a while. “Okay. Let’s go to the party.”
Kasumi jumps to her feet. “Yay!”
I grab the gold dress off the coffee table and head down the hall to get ready. As I pass Jacob’s bedroom, I can hear him moving around, probably tinkering with his sound mixer or electronic keyboard or whatever other equipment he’s got in there. I stop outside the door, recalling his hesitation at the party invitation and his dark eyes locked on mine. Will Jacob be here all by himself when the clock strikes midnight? Something about that leaves me as hollow as a cannoli without any filling. He always seems like such a loner, aside from his friendship with Owen. But could he actually be a little lonely? I picture sexy-magician Jacob, and my cheeks heat again. Maybe I should knock, apologize for my snarky comment, and see if he wants to come to the party after all.
As I hover there, debating, the door swings open, and Jacob is towering over me. He takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly, as if to summon what little patience he has left. “Did you need something, Sadie?” He stares over my shoulder as if he could not be more over this conversation.
“Uh. No. Nope. Not at all.” I back up a few steps. “I was just heading to my room. Just this way. Down the hall here.” I gesture toward my bedroom door, which is, of course, unnecessary. It’s his apartment; he knows where my room is. But he reduces me to this nervous babble. Every. Single. Time. “Okay, well. Have a good night.”
And with that, I turn and flee.
Chapter 2
In retrospect, I probably should have passed on the buttered popcorn martini, but it seemed like a good idea at the time. I’ve downed three carnival cocktails at this party in the hopes that the alcohol would help fun-Sadie rise from the ashes of my Very Bad Year, but so far, all I feel is nauseated. For the past half hour, Kasumi’s been dancing with a shirtless, tattooed sword-swallower, and there’s a dirty joke in there somewhere that I don’t even have the heart to make. I’m happy she’s having fun, though, and I don’t want to drag her away to deal with my attitude.
Kasumi’s friend Devon really outdid himself on this party, and for a social media famous event planner, that’s saying a lot. The steel beams of the warehouse ceiling are obscured by huge red-and-white–striped curtains that mimic a circus tent, and acrobats in sparkly leotards contort their bodies like rubber bands on long silks that hang above the dance floor. A DJ wearing a yellow cat-ear headband and furry gloves spins records from inside an old-fashioned lion’s cage on red-painted wheels while partygoers pulsate to the beat.
I should be out there shimmying up against the strong man in the red leather bodysuit, or at least checking out the array of circus-themed baked goods to see how they compare to my own recipes. But I can’t seem to move from my makeshift bench on the leg of a giant fiberglass elephant installation. This party feels like a metaphor for my life. Everyone is out there, living their best life, while I sit on the sidelines.
I know I ought to focus on the silver linings: I have a job at the café, even if it does pay a third of what I used to make at the restaurant, and I’m lucky that Jacob is letting me live rent-free in his spare bedroom. But none of it is what I imagined when I moved to New York with the dream of working my way up to executive pastry chef at a place like Xavier’s, opening my own bakery, and catering buzzy events like this one. Nothing about my current life is going to prove to my parents they were wrong when they said I was wasting my time on culinary school and should go to college like my brother.
As I sink deeper into my pot de crème of self-pity, a red-wigged clown pops out from behind the elephant’s trunk and cocks his head at me. It’s irrational, I know, but my heart whirs like electric beaters set to high speed, and my breath grows shallow. The clown tiptoes closer in his gigantic red shoes and I jump to my feet and slowly back away. He gives me an exaggerated frown, and then raises his gloved hands to his mouth, miming the motion of pulling his lips into a smile. And then, oh God, he reaches for my mouth as if he’s going to do the same to me.
I’ll smile at you over my dead body.
I lurch backward, ready to bolt, but my shoulder blades hit the hard surface of the elephant’s rump, and there’s nowhere to run. The clown creeps toward me, slowly wiggling his fingers at my face. I look around wildly for help, but I’m alone in a dark corner with this bozo and suddenly it seems possible that my dead body could actually factor into this story.