Noelle August: Boomerang

“Celebrating?” he’d asked, and his eyes held a lively interest that made me straighten and turn to fully face him.

“A little work and a little play,” I said.

“Same here,” Ethan said, and we clinked glasses. “To work and to play, in almost equal measure.”

Now, though, I have to put the play behind me and get to work.

“Okay, listen,” I tell Skyler, as we turn onto Santa Monica Boulevard. “Can either you or Beth get to Century City in the next . . .” I check the phone for time. “Shoot. Like eighteen minutes? Is that even possible?”

“Your lucky day. Beth’s got an audition at Fox. She’s probably been there since six, stalking the director.”

“Call her for me, see if she’s got anything with her that I can change into. Even just a jacket.”

“Okay, but no jacket. You can’t cover those boobs.”

“Skyler!”

“I second that,” Ethan murmurs.

I turn to him, surprised. That smile again—sexy, a little shy. And those blue, blue eyes, so deep they’re almost black.

“They’re, uh . . . a great asset,” he says. I get caught in his expression, direct and teasing, and I don’t know if it’s a memory or a fantasy, but I can feel his hands on me, his fingers smoothing away the strap of my dress . . .

“The man speaks the truth,” Sky says. “Jackets make you look boxy.”

I get a mental grip on myself. “Whatever. Just please and thanks.” Seriously, anything’s bound to be an improvement over my current ensemble.

“Stop talking to me so I can take care of this. I’ll text to confirm.”

“Thanks, doll.” I really do have the best friends on earth.

“No worries,” says Skyler, who then treats me to a big, toothy grin. “Tell Ethan he’s a hot piece of ass.”

He laughs beside me, and I shake my head in mortification.

“I’m pretty sure he already knows.”

Ethan

Q: Do you plan dates, or do you like to be surprised?

The cab moves down Wilshire at a crawl. I can’t stop my leg from jittering, even when it’s clear Mia notices. I want to swing the door open, throw off my jacket, and sprint to Century City. I know I could get there faster. I smile, thinking of my dad’s favorite comment when he comes to visit. Why is everyone in such a damn hurry here? But if you want to get somewhere, you accept it. Successful people live their lives in a damn hurry.

“Do you work for ESPN or something?”

Mia’s question surprises me. Then I remember she must have seen my weights and soccer gear.

“No, I wish.” Earning a living from sports would be great. I came close to making that happen. Set a few records at UCLA. But a knee injury junior year ruled out pro soccer for me. After ACL surgery, it was never quite the same.

“I’m starting a new job today,” I tell Mia, focusing on the future. “Marketing for an online business.” I can’t bring myself to say “internship.” I have a degree from a top university. You’d think I could find a way to get paid to work, but that’ll change soon enough. “What about you? Swimsuit model?”

I don’t know why I’m flirting with her. I won’t ever see her again, and we’ve already hooked up. Not that I remember it. But she’s hot, and there’s something intriguing about her. She’s a little mystery, wrapped in my favorite dress shirt.

“Well, of course.” She smiles and pats her hip. “With all this to work with, what else would I be?”

She’s so comfortable with her body. Amazing after two years with Alison, who still wanted the lights off when we slept together. I don’t think Mia and I even started in bed. We ended up there though.

“What else?” I say. “I don’t know. Vegas showgirl?”

“Wow, thanks. That’s so progressive of you.”

“Just my imagination speaking. So, what’s it really? What do you do?”

Mia crosses her legs, and I manage to keep eye contact. “Well, actually, I’m still in school.”

“School . . . great.” Please be eighteen. She has to be. “What year and where?”

“I’m a sophomore at LA High.”

I almost choke on my tongue. “You’re what ?”

She bursts into laughter. “Sorry. I couldn’t resist. Actually, I’m a senior at Occidental. Studying filmmaking. But I took on this position for my last semester to get some real-world experience.”

“You’re a filmmaker? That’s cool. I love this one art house film. Star Wars ? Maybe you haven’t heard of it. It’s an obscure title.”

That’s all I can come up with to cover my lack of film knowledge. I don’t watch movies; I play soccer. When I’m not playing soccer, I read books about history, or biographies—subjects a girl like Mia would probably hate.

She narrows her eyes like she’s deep in thought. “ Star Wars , you say? It doesn’t ring a bell, but you know us film majors. If it’s not some grainy black-and-white transfer, dubbed into Slovak and then back into English, it’s so not worth the time.”

She stretches her legs into my personal space. I can’t tell if she’s flirting or just at ease. Either way, I like it.

“What about you?” she asks. “What excites you, other than toaster panties?”

I laugh. “Hey. That wasn’t my doing.” Though, who knows? It actually might have been. I have a quick debate with myself about whether to tell her about my soccer career and decide against it. “I just graduated from UCLA in June. So, you know, marching bravely into my adult life and all that. First day on the job for me today.”

“And we’re both starting out with hangovers. Sweet.”

“But at least we’re both wearing underwear.”

“At least there’s that.” Mia leans her head back against the seat and smiles. There’s nothing flirty about it. Nothing forced or fake. It’s just a really great smile.

Suddenly we’re trapped in a staring contest. Her gaze is so direct and her green eyes are like prisms. They hold so much light inside them. There are questions and jokes and stories in her eyes. I know right then I want this again. To be looked at by her again.

“Look, Mia, I know this isn’t how—”

The cab jerks to a stop.

“Eighteen dollars,” the cabby says.

Mia reaches in her purse. “I’m paying for his fare, too. Can you add it?”

“Sure thing, lady. Still eighteen dollars.”

Mia and I lock eyes. I can’t believe this. We’ve come to the same place ? There’s no way.

Someone lays on the horn behind us.

The cabby curses and pulls closer to the curb. “Twenty-one hundred Avenue of the Stars. That’s what you wanted, right?”

“Right,” we blurt at the same time.

“Okay. Wow,” Mia says. She shoves some bills at him, and we get out of the cab.

The office building rises up in front of us, a smooth wall of smoke-tinted glass that jets to the sky. It blew me away when I came here for my interview. I remember thinking this was the place that would start my future, but I’m not thinking that right now. I’m trying to figure out the present.

Mia and I walk through the doors and join a cluster of people waiting at the bank of elevators.

We haven’t said a word to each other since we left the cab.

We haven’t looked at each other.

I don’t even know if we’re standing together, or just in the same vicinity.

I shift my shoulders, telling myself that it’s the suit that feels strange and constricting.

The elevator arrives and the doors part. I hold the door, letting a dozen people flood past me. Then I step inside and reach for the button for the seventeenth floor, but it’s already lit.

Mia stands lost behind a wall of dark suits. The urge to shove toward her comes over me. That seems desperate, though it also feels awkward not to stand with her. But then it’s too late. The doors slide closed and I’m trapped in the front, staring at the seam between the steel panels.