“Mark?” I couldn’t be more shocked if he asked me why I didn’t bring a bright pink dancing flamingo with me.

My face heats. What does Alex know about Mark? What has he heard? Did Mark say something to him? I’m mortified at all the possibilities. The things Mark might have said. The things Alex might now believe.

Apprehension threatens to blast through my skin and paint us all in tension. I can’t let my anxiety tell me what it thinks. I need to find the truth, not my mind’s own terrible version of a false reality. Maybe a false reality. Please be a false reality.

Focus on the conversation, Jane.

“Oh. Him. Yeah. No. I didn’t bring him and he doesn’t know. He’s not—we’re not—we’re not together. We’re not even friends, really.”

His mouth pops open, brows lifting in surprise. “What?”

“Did he tell you something about me?” I don’t want to know but I have to know. Maybe the truth will be better than my imagination. I hold my breath, waiting for his response.

He shrugs. “Not really. He—” He considers me for a second, and I might run away now, before he can tell me something awful, but then he comes to some sort of internal decision. “I may have asked him about you, one night when the office went for drinks at Tunnel Top. He made it seem like there was something going on. Something between you two.”

Surprise pierces through the thick layer of fear cloaking me. “Wait. You were asking about me? Why?”

My mind can’t quite grasp it. Before Alex can answer and I can work it out, we’re interrupted.

“Alex!” His bandmate is there, slapping him on the back and grinning at me. “Introduce me to your friend.”

“Leon, this is Jane. Jane, Leon.”

Leon’s bright smile grows impossibly wider. “Oh, this is Jane? I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“You have?” I shake his hand and lift my brows at Alex. He’s talked about me?

Alex flushes slightly and looks away and my heart flips in my chest. What does this mean? What has he said? Did he tell him about the closet? Was he like, I had to invite this sad woman Jane to our show tonight because she’s lonely and pathetic and I’m the type to bring lost puppies home?

The music starts, the next act taking the stage, and conversation is forced to a halt.

“Let’s dance!” Leon yells. Without waiting for any kind of response, he struts out to the extremely tiny space for dancing and jumps around to the music, all by himself. It’s pretty awe-inspiring. And he’s actually quite good even though . . . is that the sprinkler?

“Can we talk, outside?” Alex leans into me, speaking into my ear.