Carly had been off her game. The performance she was capable of delivering had slipped through her fingers earlier that night, and she hated herself for it. As she lay in bed at her theater-supplied apartment, sleep mocked her. Instead, her brain took over, reliving each and every moment of her second live performance in gory and embarrassing detail. She’d flubbed lines, bumped into furniture, and was late for an exit because, like tonight, she couldn’t stop thinking. She knew exactly what had gone wrong. The reviews had gotten into her head. She heard the word serviceable before each and every scene, and then, because she was truly masochistic, began to insert words of her own. Hack. Fraud. Nothing but a pretty face. All of them believable. None of them helpful.

“Coming over?” Lauren had asked after the show. She rested her cheek against the frame of the door. Her eyes were bright. Too bright for the end of a long day, but that was Lauren, always put together, and ready to take on the world. She envied her.

“I think I’m going to take a rain check and get some of that sleep we so desperately have been skipping over.”

Lauren laughed quietly. “Oh yes, that old concept. I keep forgetting—sleep and I used to be buddies.”

“But don’t think you’re getting rid of me that easily. Don’t enter into a torrid affair with rest. I’d be so jealous.”

Lauren came farther into the dressing room and took Carly’s face in her hands. “Never.” She kissed her sweetly. “Good night, Carly. I’ll see you tomorrow when we get to do this all over again.”

“Remarkable how that happens.”

Lauren laughed. “Right?”