He laughs. “Like that one from the party,” he says, nudging me with his shoulder. “You could make some money with videos like that. I’d subscribe. ‘Big, beautiful women with big—’”

“I’ll send you an invite when I launch the site,” I interrupt, my voice sarcastic.

“All right,” he says, pleased, and I don’t hear the rest, taking a sharp turn down the sidewalk that leads to the theater. Relief when he doesn’t follow. I fumble for my phone with frozen fingers and start a text to Nevaeh, my fingers moving automatically.

Hey do you think you could delete that vi—

I stop.

That video. He’s such a dick. I was dancing. I was playacting. I felt beautiful, and he tried to make it sleazy. He can’t turn my sexiness into something he’s taking from me, because that’s backward, the opposite of burlesque entirely. Which is precisely why someone like him would never, ever get the privilege of being one of the people invited to come see our show. And, oh, it makes me smile to think of that. Sucks to be you, Christopher.

I click off my phone screen without finishing the message.

Before the door closes behind me in the foyer, I can hear Gavin. He’s got a velvety baritone that fills the entire theater, no mic necessary. It’s a love song I don’t recognize, but the song still feels familiar as he hits a long and longing note, and I realize I’ve stopped in the middle of unwrapping my scarf in the lobby to listen. When I push through the theater doors to see him onstage, his hair glints red in the spotlight as he sings. He’s graceful when he shrugs out of his suit jacket, swings it in one smooth move over his shoulder, and strolls across the stage.

He looks up, midnote, midstroll, and he sees me. His smile tilts up on one side. He cocks his head and steps to the edge of the stage, extending his hand to me as the music soars.

“So taunt me, and hurt me,” he sings at me. I sigh, amused and irritated. “Deceive me, desert me,” he murmurs in a voice that drops low.

I shake my head at him.

“I’m yours, till I die,” he continues, and he leaps into the air, off the stage, landing so lightly on his feet and way too close to me. He strolls those last few steps toward me.

“So in love, so in love,” he croons, reaching out a hand, and I let him take mine because I know a good dramatic moment when I see one. And then he lifts it to his lips, and I fold my lips in so I don’t start smiling at him.