Puck Performance: BTU Alumni Series Book #4

by Ciz, Alley

  BROADWAY BABY: THAT remains to be seen. You know…since I have no idea what you look like since you won’t tell me WHO you are.

  THE BIG HAMMER: All in good time.

  BROADWAY BABY: Grrrr. For real?

  THE BIG HAMMER: Ooo I like it when you growl at me, baby.

  BROADWAY BABY: I’m hanging up now.

  THE BIG HAMMER: We’re texting. You can’t “hang up.”

  BROADWAY BABY: Semantics. Now, for real, why won’t you tell me who you are?

  THE BIG HAMMER: I will. All in good time. Patience, grasshopper.

  BROADWAY BABY: I don’t understand what you are waiting for.

  THE BIG HAMMER: Can I be serious for a moment?

  BROADWAY BABY: Why do I find it hard to believe that is something you are actually capable of?

  THE BIG HAMMER: You know me so well already, baby.

  BROADWAY BABY: **rolls eyes**

  THE BIG HAMMER: I don’t want to tell you who I am yet because I’m afraid it will hurt my chances.

  BROADWAY BABY: Chances of what?

  THE BIG HAMMER: Getting you to fall in love with me.

  I stare at my phone, waiting for the screen to light up with another text, but it never comes. When I answered the first ping, I was annoyed. However, the longer our conversation continues—though there was a better chance of Mimi not going out tonight than me admitting it—the more highly entertained I am.

  No matter how much I rack my brain, I can’t figure out who my mystery texter is. I should probably call my brother and see if it’s one of his friends messing with me. It wouldn’t be the first time.

  Time to put it out of my mind and head to the theater for the first of my two performances of the day.

  I’m slinging my messenger bag over my head when it hits me. The number didn’t come up as a number or even UNKNOWN like most new ones would. No, this person’s info was saved in my phone. And seriously, who the hell calls themselves ‘The Big Hammer’? What is he, fifteen? Then again, that’s probably the mentality of most of Teddy’s friends.

  Still…I didn’t save it, so…

  Stepping out of my room, I look down the hall at my roommates’ open doors—my wouldn’t-know-how-to-mind-their-own-business-if-their-lives-depended-on-it roommates/best friends.

  I scrunch my nose and press my lips together, making a face, having a pretty good idea who Mr. The Big Hammer is.

  Nice try, buddy.

  When my phone buzzes again, I almost don’t check it, already resolved not to engage in more texting with him. I may be an actress, but I don’t need that kind of drama in my life.

  I risk a glance at the screen when it buzzes a second time and smile when I see it’s my brother.

  TEDDY: So??? Did we hear back yet?

  TEDDY: Don’t keep me in suspense over here, Care Bear.

  I love that even though his schedule is crazy enough to rival my own, my older brother still manages to be involved in my acting career. Little things like this make me wonder how we can share the same genes as our parents. That is not a road I want to go down right now, though.

  BROADWAY BABY: Not yet, but it should be today or tomorrow.

  TEDDY: You better call me IMMEDIATELY!!!

  BROADWAY BABY: Don’t I always?

  TEDDY: Truth. Okay, gotta go. Keep me posted. Love you.

  BROADWAY BABY: Love you too!

  His text is completely unnecessary. He is always the first person I call when it comes to audition news, and—fingers crossed—he will be the first one I’ll call if I ever do receive that Tony nom. He likes to stay informed every little step of the way. I’ll wait until I know if the role is mine for sure before I reach out to my parents, though I don’t expect much more than a text in response—if I even get that.

  Don’t dwell on things you can’t change, Mels.

  Following my own advice, I pop my earbuds in and head for the subway, arriving at the theater with more than enough time for my hair and makeup to be done before the two o’clock curtain time.

  * * *

  “So…” I say around a swallow of wine.

  “So?” Ella is the picture of innocence as she keeps her attention on the old episode of Sons of Anarchy we have playing on Netflix. I can’t blame her—because Charlie Hunnam, duh.

  One of my favorite parts of my day is when we’re all back in our apartment, showered, dressed in pajamas, and curled up together on our couches in the living room. SOA is the most recent show we’ve been bingeing, and even though it’s a rewatch, we don’t complain. I mean, you saw I mentioned Charlie Hunnam, right?

  And let me tell you, in the season we are currently on, when the Sons are sent to jail, Mr. Hunnam is looking especially fine with his shorter hair. Le sigh.

  He also kind of reminds me of a certain hockey player I shouldn’t be thinking about, and oh yeah, I was trying to say something, wasn’t I? Damn sexy badass bikers distracting me.

  “When were you two going to tell me you gave Jase Donnelly my phone number?”

  I’m not 100% certain he’s my mystery texter, but the badly feigned expressions of shock staring back at me confirm my suspicions.

  “Oh don’t even try it.” I point at them with my wine glass. “It’s a good thing I’m the actress in our trio, because the two of you suck.”

  “You know what?” Zoey straightens, getting as serious as she can—which is not very. “I’m not even sorry we did it. You should have given that Greek-god-of-hockey-playing-perfection your number as soon as he asked for it.”

  “You’re nuts, you know that?”

  “Never claimed I wasn’t.” She shrugs.

  “But for real, Mels,” Ella cuts in, “you should’ve given him your digits yourself.”

  “Plus, you should know better than to leave your phone behind when you go to the bathroom.”

  I let out a puff of frustration, downing the rest of my wine in one swallow. Are best friends supposed to drive you to drink?

  “You guys know why I didn’t give him my number.”

  “Pfft.” Ella waves me off. “That’s a bullshit excuse and you know it.”

  “Really?” I arch a brow.

  “Well…okay, no. It is a legitimate concern, but you’re also an adult and can make your own decisions when it comes to your love life.”

  “One text conversation does not a love life make.” I go for another gulp of wine then remember I’m out and in need of a refill.

  “He texted you?”

  “Already?”

  “He didn’t wait three days?”

  “Wait? A conversation? As in you sent multiple messages?”

  Ella and Zoey’s questions come at me like pucks flying at a net in shooting practice.

  Picking up the Moscato from the counter, I long to forgo the glass and drink straight from the bottle. Unfortunately, Sundays are a matinee performance, and I’m not the type to show up hungover.

  Meddlers One and Two lunge for my phone, already scrolling through my texts. I could stop them, but it would only pull the focus back to everything and make them think something will happen when in reality it’s a dead end.

  I retake my spot on the couch, tucking my legs underneath me, and focus my attention where it belongs—on a shirtless Mr. Hunnam.

  Chapter Six

  THE BIG HAMMER: *meme of potatoes saying, “It’s amazing how potatoes give us chips, fries, and vodka. Get your shit together, every other vegetable.*

  BROADWAY BABY: I see we are sticking with the theme from our first convo?

  THE BIG HAMMER: Yup. Gotta be consistent.

  BROADWAY BABY: If you were really worried about being consistent, you wouldn’t have waited more than a week to text me again.

  THE BIG HAMMER: Sorry. I had to travel for work and I’m the dumbass who forgot to grab his phone before he left *facepalm emoji*

  BROADWAY BABY: Your bad luck must have followed you, seeing as you lost 2 of your 4 games.

  THE BIG HAMMER: Can’t win them all.<
br />
  THE BIG HAMMER: Wait.

  THE BIG HAMMER: Hold up.

  THE BIG HAMMER: You know who I am?

  BROADWAY BABY: Yup.

  THE BIG HAMMER: Did you figure it out on your own or did your girls rat me out?

  BROADWAY BABY: I figured it out but they confirmed it.

  THE BIG HAMMER: Okay then. So…when are you going to let me take you out on a date?

  BROADWAY BABY: How about the 2nd of never?

  THE BIG HAMMER: *sad face emoji* Oh come on, baby, don’t be like that.

  BROADWAY BABY: **rolls eyes** Are we really back to the baby thing?

  THE BIG HAMMER: You’ll like it. I promise.

  BROADWAY BABY: I wouldn’t hold your breath.

  BROADWAY BABY: Or maybe do. If you hold it long enough, I won’t have to worry about you harassing me any longer.

  THE BIG HAMMER: 1st off: ouch, that’s harsh, baby. 2nd: My sister went to college on a swim scholarship, so I picked up a thing or two about lung stamina, and I’ll have you know, my stamina is REAL good.

  BROADWAY BABY: Are you trying to get me to sext you?

  THE BIG HAMMER: No, I was just stating a fact. When we sext, you’ll know. There won’t even be a question.

  BROADWAY BABY: There will NEVER be a “when.”

  THE BIG HAMMER: Never say never, baby.

  BROADWAY BABY: You know, I want to say something about how cocky you are, but with your jockhole, playboy reputation, I’m really not all that surprised.

  THE BIG HAMMER: Playboy reputation? I thought you said you knew who I was?

  BROADWAY BABY: Oh I do, Jase Donnelly. That is why I should probably stop talking to you now. Nothing good can come from us keeping this line of communication open.

  THE BIG HAMMER: Oh good, you DO know who I am. With you calling me a playboy, I was starting to think you had me confused with Tuck. Though the guy is one of my closest friends, he’s really the only one from the squad who could be considered a “playboy”, as you so eloquently put it.

  BROADWAY BABY: Did you really just use the word eloquently?

  THE BIG HAMMER: Yeah? So? Just because I’m a jock doesn’t mean I’m dumb. I’ll have you know I actually graduated from both high school and BTU with honors, thank you very much.

  BROADWAY BABY: No. Sorry. That is not what I meant at all.

  THE BIG HAMMER: It’s okay. I forgive you. And you can make up for both it and calling me a playboy by joining me for dinner sometime this week.

  BROADWAY BABY: Not so fast there, buddy. I apologize for the unintentional dig at your intelligence, but the jury is still out on the whole playboy thing.

  THE BIG HAMMER: You know, you have me questioning my entire public profile. I think I need to have a serious discussion with my other half about this.

  BROADWAY BABY: Your other half? See what I mean? PLAYBOY!

  THE BIG HAMMER: Take a chill pill, babe. I’m talking about my sister. Since we’re twins, I’ve always considered her my other half. We were wombmates, after all. But JD manages all my PR, so if it’s out there that I’m some playboy, I must have done something to piss her off and cause her to spread fake news about me.

  BROADWAY BABY: That is actually a little bit adorable.

  THE BIG HAMMER: That’s me, baby—adorable.

  THE BIG HAMMER: *picture of Jase mugging it up for the camera*

  BROADWAY BABY: Yeah, “adorable.” Still doesn’t change the fact that when you first asked me out, you had another woman sleeping at your apartment. It’s things like that that SCREAM playboy.

  BROADWAY BABY: You’ve gone suspiciously quiet over there.

  THE BIG HAMMER: Sorry. I was just trying to figure out what you were talking about. Do you mean Skye?

  BROADWAY BABY: She the gorgeous, tall redhead? Then yes.

  THE BIG HAMMER: *GIF of Mike Tyson cracking up*

  THE BIG HAMMER: Omg no. No, no, no. Gross. Skye is my sister’s BFFL, and she’s pretty much my adopted sister. So no, nope, no way.

  * * *

  THE BIG HAMMER: *picture of Jase wearing a t-shirt that says, “I may look like a potato now, but one day I’ll turn into fries and you’ll want me then.”*

  BROADWAY BABY: Funny. *laughing emoji*

  BROADWAY BABY: You’re the sexiest potato I’ve ever seen. Why don’t you take your shirt off and prove it.

  THE BIG HAMMER: *picture of Jase shirtless, holding up his left arm, flexing to show off his biceps and Olympic rings tattoo*

  BROADWAY BABY: Um…why are you sending me pictures of you half naked? I told you multiple times in the last week I’m NOT sexting with you.

  THE BIG HAMMER: You asked for it, baby.

  BROADWAY BABY: I did not.

  THE BIG HAMMER: Did too.

  THE BIG HAMMER: *screenshot of the conversation proving this*

  BROADWAY BABY: OMG. I’m going to murder Zoey. Word of advice: don’t leave your phone unattended around your drunk friends. It could lead to homicide.

  THE BIG HAMMER: Need help burying the body? We could turn it into a date. Instead of the boring dinner and a movie, we could do dig a shallow grave, grab a burger and fries. Good times.

  BROADWAY BABY: There is something seriously wrong with you, you know that?

  THE BIG HAMMER: So I’ve been told.

  THE BIG HAMMER: Why are you guys drunk?

  BROADWAY BABY: We’re celebrating.

  BROADWAY BABY: *picture of Melody, Ella, and Zoey glassy-eyed and cheesing holding champagne flutes*

  THE BIG HAMMER: 1st: you are way too beautiful for words. You should ALWAYS smile like that. 2nd: I am impressed with the lack of typos going on in this conversation right now. And 3rd: You ladies sure seem to celebrate a lot. The night we met you were drinking champagne.

  BROADWAY BABY: Ah. I had a big audition that day, and today I officially signed the contract for the role. And Zoey got the job as the choreographer. It’s a win-win for us.

  THE BIG HAMMER: Big part?

  BROADWAY BABY: The biggest. It’ll be the first time I’m eligible for a Tony.

  THE BIG HAMMER: That’s like your version of the Stanley Cup right?

  BROADWAY BABY: Yup.

  THE BIG HAMMER: What’s the role?

  BROADWAY BABY: *GIF of Marilyn Monroe in the iconic white dress being blown up*

  THE BIG HAMMER: Holy fuck!

  * * *

  THE BIG HAMMER: Merry Christmas *Santa emoji* *Christmas tree emoji*

  BROADWAY BABY: Merry Christmas. Enjoying your short break?

  THE BIG HAMMER: Mostly.

  BROADWAY BABY: Too much family time? I thought you *loved* your family?

  THE BIG HAMMER: Oh I do. It’s like a college reunion at my sister’s place every Christmas break. But I could do without getting my ass kicked in Mario Kart by a pair of 9-year-olds.

  BROADWAY BABY: Mario Kart? Really? Aren’t you a little old for video games?

  THE BIG HAMMER: Gasp! Bite your tongue woman. Mario and his friends are sacred in our group.

  BROADWAY BABY: Oh I’m so sorry. Please accept my humblest apologies.

  THE BIG HAMMER: You are forgiven. It’s okay, I have two cute blondes here to cheer me up.

  BROADWAY BABY: Okay. I’m hanging up now.