Directing You

by Katana Collins

  Reid lifted a brow at me but didn’t argue with me on that point. Sure, he had further to fall, but he had a much larger cushion at the bottom. I was free-falling straight toward concrete. He opened the door to the theater, holding it for me, his eyes flicking to the coffee cup in my hand. “That better not have dairy in it.” His gaze lifted to mine, those green irises brighter than I’d ever seen them. “Bad for the voice, you know?”

  My brow lifted into an arc. “I know. It’s black coffee.”

  “Black coffee. A woman after my own heart.”

  We stood there staring at each other for a fraction of a second, the molecules between us buzzing to life. As I walked past him into the theater, my shoulder brushed against his broad chest, and his rich pine scent filled my nose. The memory of his lips on mine, his finger sliding deep inside me, permeated my thoughts, filling me like smoke in my lungs and nearly as suffocating. I couldn’t get that night out of my brain, out of my fantasies, and for a week, every night when I crawled into bed, I remembered his thick muscles beneath me on the couch in the Champagne Room.

  I blinked up at him and with the quick, fleeting glance, a thought crossed my mind. Did he think of me at night as well?

  Nope. Don’t go there, Hazel.

  “You ready for this?” he asked, his voice booming in the empty theater.

  I swallowed. I hadn’t had an audition in months. I had skipped the fall play this year, opting instead to be the stage manager. “I would truly rather assistant direct or do the costuming if you’re looking for behind-the-scenes people,” I answered honestly.

  His face revealed nothing, but he stared at me an extra second longer than felt comfortable. “Do you have a passion for directing?”

  I nodded, even though it wasn’t entirely true. I mean, I didn’t not have a passion for it. Based on the way his eyes narrowed, crinkling at the corners briefly, I don’t think he believed me. “What is it about directing that interests you?”

  The paper cup in my hand was growing hot against my palm and I shifted it to my other hand, licking my lips nervously. “The control.”

  His mouth twitched. “The control,” he repeated.

  I jerked my head into a nod that I hoped looked more confident than I felt. “That’s right. I want more control in the projects I take.”

  “I should have guessed based on your performance last week that you craved control.” He paused, his eyes passing down my body so briefly that I wouldn’t have noticed it if I hadn’t been focusing so much on him. I wouldn’t have noticed the slight hitch in his chest as he inhaled deeply or the way his nostrils flared as his gaze landed briefly on my breasts pushing against the simple black cotton shirt I wore.

  Some women dressed up for auditions. But not me. Not when I didn’t want the damn part.

  “But I also would have guessed based on your performance that you crave the spotlight, too.” His smile twitched. “So maybe I’m not so good at guessing.”

  The tips of my breasts tightened as I shrugged, my body betraying the nonchalance of the movement. “There was a time I wanted the spotlight.”

  “But not anymore?”

  “For the right part, perhaps.”

  He gave a thoughtful hmm and took a step into me. Only inches separated our bodies, and a shiver tumbled down my arms and spine. It took everything in me not to physically jolt with the shiver, not to step back from him. Not to step away. I couldn’t show weakness. Standing up to Reid was like looking a tiger in the eyes. “What’s your dream role, Ms. Stone? The part that you’ve dreamed of your whole life.”

  “Hedda Gabler,” I answered quickly.

  His brows jumped at my admission. “Ibsen. Not what I would have expected, especially from a musical theater student.”

  Again, I shrugged. “I still love musical theater and dancing, but that role is so rich, and I think I could bring a lot of vulnerability to it in a fresh way.” I grew quiet for a moment before adding, “Besides, I might be getting a little burned out on musical theater…particularly dancing.”

  “You looked far from burned out last week.” His voice dropped low and rough, and I swallowed as my body responded to his quiet but commanding tone. His tongue darted out between two pink lips and swiped across them as that hungry gaze latched on to mine. “Or maybe you’re just a phenomenal performer,” he added. “Since I thought you were as into it as I was. Until you turned me down.” He tilted his head. “Why did you turn me down that night?”

  I blinked, taken aback by the candor of his question. It was both shocking and refreshing to hear him ask exactly what he was thinking. “It wasn’t because I didn’t want to go home with you,” I whispered and glanced around. Even though I knew we were alone in the theater, I was paranoid as hell. “I turned you down because it would have been a bad idea to go home with a client. I’ve never done it before, and I never plan to. I just got… I got carried away with you in the Champagne Room.” I put a finger up, nearly pointing in his face. “Which, despite what I know you think of me, has also never happened before.”

  “Same,” he said. “I got carried away that night too.” He lifted his hand and brushed one of my dark curls off my cheek and out of my face, and as he lowered it back to his side, the backs of his knuckles dragged down my bare arm and his palm landed on my hip, giving it a gentle squeeze. Goosebumps erupted across my flesh and my body ached to have his hands on more of me. “And I’m sorry for what I said that night. It’s probably a good thing at least one of us had some self-control.”

  My throat was dry—hot and burning. I was in desperate need of relief that no water could quench. Only Reid.

  He paused, tilting his head. “Then again, you probably wouldn’t have been late to class the next day if you had come home with me.”

  I looked down at his hand on me, the heat of his palm burning a path from my hip to my core. His eyes followed and he jerked his hand back to his side, grumbling beneath his breath. “Shit, sorry.” He took a step back just in time as the door to the theater swung open and three of my classmates entered, chatting and smiling.

  He turned away from me, facing the students coming through the door. “Please sit in the third row, and if you want to look at the audition sides, they are here on the table,” he announced.

  His gaze fell to me briefly, as he tapped one of the sides pointedly, holding my stare, then he walked to the other side of the stage and took a seat while the rest of us nervously rushed to look at the audition scripts.

  The script he had tapped… just for me… had only one word scribbled at the top in Sharpie with thick, bold handwriting. Nun.

  Chapter 7

  Reid

  Hazel was my nun. My Sister Mary Hartford. It was one of the best auditions I’d ever seen—and not just from a student. In my professional career, I’d never seen an actress pick up the choreography so fast, sing so beautifully, or nail a character’s intention in a reading without having read the entire script.

  Her audition was flawless. When I showed the audition tapes to Clay, the writer of the show, he completely agreed. Why in the hell had she wasted so much time dancing burlesque? I didn’t believe it was a shameful thing…it wasn’t. She didn’t seem to have any delusions of grandeur about it either. But she also didn’t seem to be fulfilled by it… If anything, she seemed defeated.

  I didn’t want to get ahead of myself. It wouldn’t be fair to her or me. But frankly? If this went well and Clay and our eventual producers agreed, we might have found our lead for the show. Not just for the workshop but when we hit the stage.

  My office chair creaked as I leaned back and stared at the cast list Clay and I had created from the student auditions. It had taken us almost a week, but I was really happy with it. And pretty damn proud of my students. Hazel wasn’t the only really talented person to audition. That little undergrad program had some pretty fantastic performers. Not all of them, no. But many of them. And the others? I had no doubt that they had amazing skills to be utilized elsewhere.


  The stack of mail and papers in the inbox on my desk caught my eye, and I reached for them, flipping through a bundle of envelopes. Most were flyers for events the university was hosting. But a bright red flyer caught my eye. A new bar around the corner had just opened and was offering faculty discounts on drinks.

  I sighed, my eyes drifting back to the cast list on my laptop. I could use a drink after the last two weeks. Auditions were always stressful…add onto that how badly I wanted Hazel? Twice…no, triple the stress. And it was Friday, after all. I didn’t need to be Professor Bradley again until Monday.

  I pulled up the classroom chat board, my fingers hovering over where I was supposed to post the cast list. God, I wished I could see Hazel’s face as she read this. I wished I could be there to see her expression when she realized she got the lead.

  I’d been warned by a couple of friends who taught, that as soon as the cast list went live, I should step away from my laptop and not answer any correspondence from students. They said I would receive all kinds of emails ranging from anger to bribes to gleeful thank-yous.

  Secretly, I’d wanted Hazel’s audition to be bad. I’d wanted her to be terrible at this so that maybe, just maybe, these intense feelings I had for her would subside. It would have been so much easier if she were talentless.

  But I should have known better. Of course she was going to be phenomenal.

  I inhaled a deep breath and hit the post button. Then, standing, I grabbed my wallet and keys and slid them into my pocket. I needed a drink. I needed to get out of this classroom.

  I closed the door behind me, glancing down at my phone and debating turning it off. I didn’t want to turn it off. If I was being honest, there was one person I was really hoping to hear from. The one person I shouldn’t want to hear from. The one person I couldn’t get out of my mind for the past two weeks. And the one person I should definitely stay far away from.

  Chapter 8

  Hazel

  Rosa and I sat on our stools at the corner of the new bar. She was flipping through the wine list and pointed to a bottle of red that I had never heard of. I looked over her shoulder, inhaling a sharp breath when I saw the price. Okay, maybe fifty-five dollars wasn’t expensive for some people, but for me? That was a lot of money. Even with the faculty discount the bar was offering.

  “Don’t worry,” she whispered. “Tonight’s on me.”

  I shook my head. “You don’t have to do that. I’m fine,” I said, hoping that in my tipsy state, I sounded somewhat believable. Even though Fridays and Saturdays at the burlesque club were some of our most profitable evenings, I had the weekend off. Every other month, I took one weekend to myself for my own mental health. And with the help of the last two weeks of dances, I was up to date on my rent and school payments this month.

  Even still, a fifty-five-dollar bottle of wine was pushing it.

  Rosa leveled me with a look. “Girl, who do you think you’re kidding? I saw all those empty containers of ramen and mac and cheese when I dragged you out of your apartment tonight.”

  I put my finger in the air. “Excuse me, even if I was a millionaire, I would still eat mac and cheese because it’s the most delicious food ever.” I moved that finger into her face. “Fight me.”

  She lifted a brow. “And the ramen?”

  I grinned, draining what was left in my wineglass from our first (much cheaper) bottle (that I had picked). “Yeah. I got nothing for the ramen. Except that I can’t wait until I can afford to go out and order fancy ramen.” My hand landed on my stomach as I smirked. Ramen was delicious too…just not the cup of noodle ramen I choked down several times a week.

  Rosa pushed the menu aside as the bartender brought over the bottle of Malbec, showing her the label before opening it and pouring a taste.

  Once she took a sip and gave her nod of approval, he poured us each a full glass and returned to attending to the other people waiting for their drinks.

  “Did I tell you how he touched my hip at the audition Monday?” I leaned into her as my words slurred a bit. I hadn’t intended to get drunk at all tonight. I just wanted a couple glasses of wine to take the edge off. It had been five days since our auditions. Almost a freaking week. He said it might take him a while because he had to consult with the playwright, but a week felt excessive. Or maybe I was just impatient. Hence, our couple glasses of wine had turned into a couple bottles. Oops.

  “Mmhmm,” Rosa said, swirling the glass of burgundy wine before taking a sip. Impressively, not even a drop sloshed out despite how dangerously close it came to the edge of her glass. She was much better at holding her alcohol than I was. Both literally and figuratively, I thought as I glanced down at the bit of wine that stained the edge of my shirt.

  “Damn. I’m repeating myself a lot, aren’t I?”

  “Mmhmm,” she repeated. “But only about him.”

  I didn’t want to repeat myself about him. I didn’t even want to think about him. But even without that intense moment before the audition, I was reeling. Now? I was free-falling. “It’s just…I’ve never had a connection with someone like I had with him that night at the club.” I gestured with my hand holding the wineglass, and as I did, a little bit of burgundy liquid sloshed over the side, landing on the marble bar top.

  Rosa smiled. “I heard some of the other professors talking about how sexy he is. His sex appeal is spreading throughout the school, even over to the psychology department.”

  Instead of bothering to grab a napkin to mop up my spill, I ran my sleeve over the drop of wine, mopping it up with my ratty long-sleeved T-shirt. I’d already spilled wine on this shirt, anyway, right? Oh, drunken logic. The things we thought were good ideas when tipsy.

  “More importantly,” Rosa said, “how do you think the audition went?”

  I shrugged, but my lips tipped into a smile. “I think it went well. He had me read for the nun a couple times and once for a prostitute.” In actuality, I felt like I’d nailed the audition. My song had gone flawlessly, and I felt like I had a really strong hold of Sister Mary’s character in the reading, bringing a unique take on her that the other students didn’t. But I didn’t want to get my hopes up. I’d had countless auditions in my life that I’d thought I had nailed, only to end up disappointed when the petite blonde (i.e. Jenna) got the part instead of me.

  “Any ideas when the cast list will post?”

  I shook my head and swiped my thumb across the pink stain my lipstick left on the edge of the glass. “In class today, he said he would try to have it up by tomorrow at the latest. Hell, for all I know, he’s already posted it.”

  Rosa’s eyes went wide. “Then let’s check!” she squealed.

  I shook my head. “No way. I’ve been glued to that chat room every night this week, waiting to see the list. Backstage at the burlesque club. At work with Professor Dercy. Even while sitting in my other classes. I’m done. Tonight is a good night and I don’t want to ruin it.” I held my wineglass up, waiting for her to clink the edge of her glass to mine. Rosa lifted her glass, but didn’t tap it against mine.

  “Or,” Rosa said, tugging her glass back into her chest, “it’ll be great news and we can continue celebrating.” She wiggled her brows. Ever the voice of reason, she was.

  I snorted. “My luck isn’t that good.” But it was nice of her to believe in me. At least one of us did.

  “Okay,” she said, reaching into my purse, pulling out my phone, and setting it between us. “But if you change your mind, I’ll leave this right here.”

  I groaned as I sipped my wine, the glass amplifying the sound like I was in an echo chamber. “Not likely to happen. But thank you for being you.”

  She smiled and repeated our mantra back to me. “Thank you for being you.” We’d said this to each other at least once a week since we became best friends when we both moved here five years ago. I thanked God daily for the Craigslist ad that had allowed us to become roommates for two years. Her eyes drifted over my shoulder, landing bri
efly behind me. If I had to guess, she was flirting. Rosa was very good at flirting. Unlike me…I mean, I brought my A-game to the professional flirting I did on stage four times a week, but back in real life I was burned out.

  “You know what you need?” she said, smiling.

  I grinned back at her wicked expression. “I don’t know, but I’m guessing you’re going to tell me.”

  “You need to meet a man who will take your mind off the professor. What do you call him?”

  “Ah. Professor Cockhead. He’s even in my phone as that.” I flipped my phone over on the counter and pulled it up to show her.

  She snorted a laugh. “Well, don’t look now, but there’s a guy who entered a few minutes ago and he’s been staring at you nonstop.”

  I lifted a brow at her. Normally, on a night like this, flirting would be the furthest thing from my mind. But now? Maybe Rosa was right. Every night since I met Reid, I’d been falling asleep to thoughts of him. Touching myself, remembering the feel of his fingers on me, his lips, his tongue. I shivered, clenching my thighs together as my core squeezed with the memory. Maybe I needed the feel of another person’s touch to wash my slate clean. Rinse him from these visceral fantasies.

  “Where is he?” I whispered.

  She cleared her throat, covering her mouth with her wineglass as she whispered, “He’s over your shoulder at my one o’clock.”

  “Whose one o’clock?” I whispered back.

  She rolled her eyes. “Jesus. Your one o’clock.”

  I thought for a moment, biting my lip. “But wouldn’t that mean he’d be in front of me—

  “Oh, my god, Hazel. You are twelve o’clock. He is over your shoulder at one.”

  “Okay,” I hissed. “But you know, this is why the whole ‘o’clock’ thing is stupid and never works.”

  Her jaw twitched. “Would you quit stalling and sneak a peek?”