Leaps & Lies

Chapter Twenty

V ivian should’ve known better than to leave Julian unsupervised in her apartment. It’s not that he hasn’t been in it before. And it’s not that she’s left anything too embarrassing for him to find. The issue is that there isn’t all too much for him to find.

When he’d visited before, he’d clearly thought her place was small and rundown. Fortunately, she’d failed to give him a tour, and he didn’t realize to what extent her studio is . . . lacking.

Vivian finds him scowling down at the ugly green futon with a dish towel in hand when she exits the bathroom.

“I know it’s not pretty, but what did my futon ever do to you?”

But when Julian finally drags his hazel gaze up to meet hers, there’s something admonishing and indescribable boring into her. “Where’s your bedroom, Sugar Plum?”

Vivian drops her eyes, fidgeting with the drawstring on her clean sweatpants. “You’re looking at the bedroom. And the kitchen, living room, dining room, and foyer. Not the closet though, that’s over there,” she says, gesturing at the door that he must have previously assumed led to the bedroom. “Never seen a studio before?”

His hat’s back in its rightful place, a touch crooked and backward atop his mussed hair. Vivian wants to pull it back off and see how much messier she can make his curls.

He claps his hands, and it’s a little too reminiscent of their countless shared rehearsals. “Pack a bag. We’re not spending the night on your wet couch.”

“I know you’ve probably never seen a futon in real life before, but there’s no reason to insult it. It’s a true innovation of furniture if you think about it. Something that can serve as a couch or a bed or a chair. Sometimes a table too, if you’re careful.”

Julian stares at the pea-green futon with disgust. “I’d rather burn that thing than sleep on it.”

“Well then, it’s awfully presumptive of you to assume I’d share it with you. Who invited you to spend the night anyway?” Vivian throws the words at him defensively, insecure about his obvious disdain for her sleeping arrangements.

She’s not particularly enthusiastic about her studio apartment either, but she signed her lease before getting cast by Ellapond, and it’s only been a few weeks since regular paychecks have started rolling in after the “bank issue.” Between rehabbing her shoulder, extra rehearsals with Julian to work on lifts and partnering, and her normal extra full schedule of rehearsals, she’s lacked the time and effort to worry about upgrading her furniture, much less researching other apartments. It’s a sore spot.

“Quit glaring at me and pack a bag already,” Julian says, waiting impatiently.

“Uhh, where exactly do you think I’m going? And I’m tired anyway. Can we argue about this some other time?”

“Yeah, Viv, we can argue later. At my place. In an actual bed.”

She’s stuffing a change of clothes and some toiletries into a well-loved backpack, even as she rolls her eyes at him. Sleeping alone is overrated. “A real bed? And where will you be sleeping then?”

“Hopefully, right under you if I have my way.”

If he’d led with the promise of more sex, she would’ve gotten on board much faster. When she tells him as much, he only lets out another of those heartbreaking laughs that make her wonder if she can squeeze in round two before they leave.