Standing Ovation: A M/M Contemporary Romance

by Alexander, Romeo

  Standing Ovation

  A M/M Contemporary Romance

  Romeo Alexander

  Published by BUP LLC, 2018.

  Copyright © 2018 by Romeo Alexander

  All registered trademarks in this book are the property of their respective owners.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This book is a work of fiction. All resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

  This book contains sexually explicit scenes and adult language and may be considered offensive to some readers. Please don't read if you are under eighteen.

  All rights reserved.

  Contents

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  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Epilogue

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  Chapter One

  They say midnight is the witching hour, when time ceases to exist. Adam Weir, however, firmly believes the witching hour should be changed to four in the afternoon. 4:00 p.m. is a funny time when you work mornings at a coffee shop, especially if you’re partially covering the afternoon shift for a coworker. At that point, customers’ faces have begun to blur together, and Adam can’t tell if time is even passing. It feels like anything could happen and no one would even blink an eye.

  This afternoon, Adam has already run through a hundred-thousand scenarios about his future. It’s both a blessing and a curse that his brain operates on a constantly-searching-for-something-to-do basis. Sometimes it results in him running lines in his head, or dreaming of future interviews he’ll probably never have. Most often, it ends with Adam stuck in a cycle of thinking about the future, playing will-I-or-won’t-I, which, of course, he’ll never be able to predict.

  Adam’s coworker, Cameron, yells out for a double shot of espresso, and he doesn’t even think, hands reaching for the glass and pressing the button. The machine roars to life, thankfully louder than he can think, interrupting his cycle. The repetition is familiar but exhausting. Only one more hour, he tells himself.

  Everyone comes to New York to do something. Adam Weir, like every other theater boy from a small town in the Midwest with a too-big head, planted himself in New York to act. He’d even gone to NYU for acting, which at least set him apart from the rest of the crowd, if he did say so himself. Whatever the case, Adam knows this is his calling.

  Unfortunately, it’s taking longer than he expected. Or rather, longer than he wanted it to. Hence the coffee stained apron, the black sports cap digging into the side of his head, and the burns around his knuckles from being too impatient when he grabbed food for customers. Without something to pay the bills, he’d be on the streets.

  “Another latte to go,” Cameron calls to him.

  Adam grunts, still barely paying attention, following the process which had become rote. Prepare the espresso, steam the milk, pour, and walk it over. Easy.

  If only acting could be this easy. Then he would have scored a lead in A Midsummer Night’s Dream instead of the supporting character, Quince. His first Shakespeare gig and he only landed a support character. Adam realizes he should be grateful, but he isn’t particularly good at being grateful after seven years of acting.

  “Uh, excuse me?”

  Adam blinks, looking up to find a giant of a man, with liquid brown eyes and a black t-shirt stretched over broad shoulders, staring down at him. “Latte, Mr. Ent?” he offers, stretching his hand out further.

  The customer’s lips part in surprise and Adam has a moment to think about how lovely they are, before his brain catches up to him and he realizes what he just said. He pales slightly, hoping the customer doesn’t take offense.

  “An Ent?”

  “Like Lord of the Rings?” Adam knows he’s watched too many movies when he’s met with zero recognition. “They’re really tall trees.”

  This is why Adam has been banned from working the cash register; he can never quite manage to keep his mouth shut.

  “So that was a tall joke.”

  “Just the first thing that came to mind,” Adam says, as Tree Man accepts his drink. He still looks completely baffled, but it doesn’t take away from his good looks.

  “Are you like this with all your customers?”

  Again, Adam keeps quiet—a harder task than it should be—because no way in hell is he going to admit yes to this exceptionally pretty customer, with a sharp jawline. Luckily, Tree Man just shakes his head, a soft, amused smile gracing his face. He raises his cup, as if saluting, then strides away.

  As soon as he’s through the door, Adam lets out a breath. Did that really just happened? Just when he’s about to put it down to his imagination, Cameron sidles over from the cash register, grinning broadly. She looks far too delighted at Adam’s complete floundering, but that’s par for the course.

  “Cute,” she says approvingly, tossing her purple hair back. “You should’ve gotten his number. Also, another latte, please.”

  Adam snorts, moving back to the machines. “I don’t have time to get someone’s number.”

  “Sure, sure,” Cameron agrees. “But you should have some fun. Otherwise, you’re going to snap one day.”

  “I thought I already did.”

  “Nah, you’re just your usual pissy self.”

  “I have other things to think about.”

  “Ah, the great actor. Too busy for romance,” Cameron fakes a wistful sigh, as she rings up the next person’s order. “If only you had that dedication for everything, you’d be getting laid tonight.”

  Adam flushes a little, despite himself. Cameron’s greatest skill and favorite hobby is getting under Adam’s skin, and she’s hitting all the right buttons today. “I’m busy tonight.”

  “Doing what?”

  “Shouldn’t you be paying more attention to your job?”

  “I’m great at multi-tasking,” Cameron grins at the customer in front of her and counts their change back. “Black coffee, Adam, and tell me what you’re doing tonight. Or who.”

  Adam rolls his eyes. “It’s the first night of rehearsals. Midsummer Night’s Dream, ever heard of it?”

  Cameron wrinkles her nose, as she does any time he mentions rehearsals. “Sounds like something I didn’t read in high school,” with no more customers to serve, she leans her back against the counter. “What is that? Shakespeare?”

  Adam resists a groan. “Yes,” he says, wiping his rag extra hard along the counter. “It’s Shakespeare.”

  “Is that the one where he fucks his mom? And goes blind? That would be wild.”

  “Wait, what? No, God no. What were you even do
ing in school to mix that up so badly?”

  “Sleeping. Smoking pot sometimes. Drawing comics.”

  Typical. “That’s Oedipus who fucks his mom, and is from a completely different century.”

  “Oh yeah,” Cameron says, though she obviously still doesn’t have a clue.

  Deep breaths, Adam tells himself. “Midsummer,” he emphasizes. “Is about a love square gone wrong, and fairies get involved. A little bit of fairy dust, shenanigans, a guy turns into a donkey, and everything turns out alright.”

  “A romance! Now, Adam, how are you going to act in a romance when you’re not getting laid?” Cameron asks, wiggling her eyebrows again.

  “I’m not one of the people in love,” Adam carefully keeps the sour note out of his voice. “I’m a director in the show that’s trying to put on a play as the sub plot.”

  Cameron pauses. “Huh. Yeah, that seems more your speed. Less romance, more business.”

  Adam frowns. “I can do romance plenty.”

  “I don’t think I’ve ever even seen you get a customer’s number. And you’re practically their savior getting them coffee. And you never mention dates.”

  “Well, when was the last time you went on a date?” Adam asks, irate now.

  Cameron cocks her head, thinking hard. Adam hopes it hurts. “Four days ago,” a smug smile spreads across her face. “Man from Williamsburg, with tattoos everywhere. Everywhere.”

  Adam wrinkles his nose. “Are you seeing him again?” he asks, partially from obligation, but mostly from morbid curiosity.

  “Dunno. Neither of us texted each other, but I wouldn't mind,” Cameron’s eyes glaze over in such a way that Adam doesn’t even have to ask what she’s thinking about. Adam decides that’s clearly his cue.

  “Right, I’m leaving,” Adam rips his apron off and places it on the hook behind him.

  “Go find yourself a date, Weir!” Cameron calls after him as he exits around the counter.

  “Bye, Cameron!”

  Adam slams the coffee shop door behind him and inhales the fresh air of New York City deeply. Now free from the 4:00 p.m. curse, Adam allows his shoulders to relax. As he begins his walk down toward the subway, he tries not to let Cameron’s conversation bother him. After all, it’s a conversation they seem to have at least once a month since they first met two years ago. Cameron is very concerned with finding the love of her life, although, right now, her goal seems to be trying to sleep with the entirety of Manhattan. Man or woman. And, if her words are anything to go by, and Adam generally trusts Cameron not to lie, then she’s on her way to accomplishing that goal. Her second goal seems to be harassing Adam every chance she gets. “You need to loosen up!” she’d say. “Enjoy the ride!”

  That seems ridiculously impossible for Adam. How is he supposed to enjoy the ride when he doesn’t seem any closer to doing what he wants with any consistency? Sure, he has a part every few months. But they’re all small and never last more than a few weeks. Then again, maybe that is success.

  Adam snorts to himself as he takes the subway stairs down and grabs the train. Success at playing nameless characters, that’s who he’s destined to be. “Adam Weir, the actor best at saying quickly forgotten lines,” he mutters.

  Yeah, fuck that. Adam refuses to be cast aside. He will make people remember him, whether they like it or not. Nodding firmly to himself, he allows that determination to carry him all the way back down to Brooklyn.

  Today is the first day of rehearsal and Adam has a plan. Granted, most of Adam’s plans don’t end particularly well, but he finds that if he puts enough pressure on them, something will give.

  Rounding the corner, Adam arrives at the community center they’ll be spending the next four weeks at. He enters the rehearsal hall about thirty minutes before the agreed time. It’s relatively small, with about eight rows of seating and a box-like stage that’s barely raised above the ground. This early, none of the other actors have arrived yet and the space is eerily quiet. Sneakers squeaking against the linoleum floor, he makes his way toward the stage at the front.

  There’s only one person there; Violet, the director. She’s plopped in the center of the stage, an array of papers surrounding her, muttering distractedly to herself. Her thick-rimmed glasses have slid down to the very tip of her nose and her dark brown hair is in danger of falling out of its bun. They’ve worked together twice before, on a small film production and at an improv workshop, but this is the first time Adam has worked with her as the director. He sets his bag down. “Violet?”

  She jerks, head whipping up, hair finally releasing itself from its desperate hold. Violet scowls at the hair, or possibly at him, shoving it back with one hand, while placing her script down. “Adam,” she pulls her hair back into an equally messy bun, eyes darting over him and around the space. “You’re early.”

  So enthusiastic. “I wanted to talk to you about something,” he says, shooting for casual, but probably ending up somewhere between constipated and stern. Okay, he isn’t too great at asking for things nicely.

  “Okay, shoot. But help me staple and sort these scripts while you’re at it,” she gestures at the piles of papers around her, and he nods with a bright smile pasted on his face. The smile is clearly too much, because Violet shoots him a concerned look. He quickly drops it and hops up on stage, blindly grabbing the first set of papers in front of him.

  As they work, Adam talks. “So, you cast me as Quince, right?”

  “That’s right,” Violet replies, in a tone that’s clearly suspicious. He guesses the few productions they worked together didn’t build as much good will as he’d hoped.

  Adam foregoes any flattery and jumps right in. “Well, you know…I was wondering if you’ve considered any understudies.”

  “Understudies?” Violet raises an eyebrow, not moving from her seat on the floor. “It’s a small production and we’re putting it on in maybe four weeks. I doubt we’ll need an understudy. Or I really hope not.”

  “Well, you never know, anything could happen,” Adam says with a shrug.

  Violet groans, stapling the next script a little too harshly. “Please don’t say that. This is my first directing gig and I only got it because we agreed to put it on in such a short time. So…” she sets her last script down and pins him with a stare. “Let’s agree that nothing is going to go wrong, okay?”

  “Yeah, but shouldn’t we plan for every contingency?” Adam persists.

  Violet pauses, studying his face, her eyes dark and intense. Adam tries not to shift or look away. “You know, didn’t you once try to convince an NYU professor to completely change his method acting course?”

  Adam makes sure to keep his face blank. “And if I did?”

  “I hear stories about you sometimes. You know Kyle, right?”

  Adam’s heart sinks. “Kyle Travers?”

  Adam’s known Kyle for nearly as long as he’s been in New York, and run into him in nearly every production Adam has worked in. Ever since the first time, where Adam secured a better role than Kyle…well, the two haven’t exactly been friends.

  “That’s right,” Violet nods, pushing her glasses back up. “He’s playing Oberon and helped me work through the casting. He said not to pick you because you’re too showy and demanding when you’re working as a support character.”

  Adam scowls. Of course Kyle said that. “Kyle exaggerates.”

  “You’re not wrong.”

  “Look it’s better than being forgettable, right?”

  “Sometimes you want someone who can blend in a little more. And take direction without questions, especially when you have to work with leads.”

  Adam frowns. “I can do that. Everyone has disagreements sometimes,” he shakes his head and changes tactics. “Look, all I’m saying is that it’s better to plan in advance. So let me understudy one of the leads.”

  “Any lead?” Violet says, still clearly skeptical. “That seems a little forward.”

  “Come on, there’s always concer
ns about one cast member, right? Especially in local productions.”

  Violet stares. For a moment, Adam thinks she’s simply going to throw him out right then and there. Then, she says, “Fine,” taking a script and tossing it at him. He fumbles, but manages to hold onto it. “You can learn all of Lysander’s lines, too.”

  Lysander? Adam brightens. Take that, Cameron, he thinks. He could totally do romance. “Sure can, boss.”

  Violet gives him an unamused look. “I already gave you what you wanted, right? Just work with me here.”

  Adam raises his hands, backing down. “I’ll take it,” he declares.

  “Yeah, you will,” she hesitates for a second. “You’re not going to, like, poison my lead, are you?”

  “What? What type of person do you think I am?”

  Violet throws back her head and laughs, breaking the tension between them. “I’m joking, I’m joking,” she pats Adam on the back. “Better start learning those lines, I’m counting on you.”

  Everyone’s a comedian today. But Adam grins anyway.

  A few minutes later, the rest of the cast begins to filter in. Adam steers clear when Kyle arrives, merely shooting him a nervous smile. The rest seem like a fun crowd, with many faces Adam recognizes from past gigs. There’s Charlie with combat boots, an undercut, and dark eyeliner coating her eyes, introducing herself as the most punk rock Hermia Adam’s ever seen. Next, Grace flounces in, head held high and long blonde hair swept up into a ponytail, perfect and elegant, poised to play Helena. Adam falls into conversation with the two of them. The usual New York small talk, what train they took, where they live, how many NYU professors did they think slept with their students, when someone else catches Adam’s eye, the tallest person he’s ever seen.