by Maggie Riley
“Good,” I told them, knowing they wouldn’t hang up without some sort of update from me. “Leaves are changing.” At least we could talk about that.
“There are trees in the city?” my mom sounded surprised, even though I had sent her pictures of Central Park when I was going to NYU.
“Yes, Mom, there are trees.”
“You’re not walking through the city at night, though, are you?” my dad demanded.
Since my parents had never been outside of Nebraska, they were essentially terrified by cities like New York, which they only knew from the news or movies where New York was portrayed as a dangerous, sex-filled orgy.
“It’s very safe,” I reassured them. “And I have pepper spray.”
“Oh good.” My mom sounded relieved. “And don’t let anyone buy you a drink—I heard something on the radio about wackos putting heroin in people’s drinks.”
I sighed. “I’m pretty sure they weren’t talking about heroin, but don’t worry, I don’t even have time to go to bars these days. I’m really, really busy with work.” I said, hoping they’d take a hint.
A glass of water appeared in front of me, and I looked up to find Shane, still with that amused smile on his face, handing it over. I took it gratefully, disappointed when he pointed to the bathroom, indicating he was going to take a shower. Not that I blamed him. My parents were clearly gearing up for a very long conversation.
“Are they keeping you late at work?” my mom asked. “I thought you just took notes.”
I sighed. No matter how many times I tried to break down my responsibilities as a stage manager, the only thing that seemed to stick was that I took notes during rehearsals. Somehow that translated into me being something of a glorified secretary to them.
“I have to be the first person there and the last person to leave,” I told them.
“Well, that’s not going to be very appealing to men,” my mom said.
Great. We were veering into this topic. My favorite.
“Mom—” I warned, but she didn’t listen.
“We saw Kevin again,” she said.
I leaned my head back against the sofa.
“He started working at the car dealership with his dad. The next time you’re in town we should go over there.”
I frowned at the phone. “But I don’t need a new car.”
“I know that,” my mom sounded frustrated. “But they don’t. It’s just an excuse, Allison.”
“What good would it do for me to see Kevin again?” I wanted to know. “Even if we can forget that fact that he dumped me—I live in New York now.”
“For now,” my dad said.
Obviously, no matter how many times I told them I wanted to stay in New York, they were still convinced that I would come back to Nebraska. Of course, my three other siblings had done that, so there was precedent, but still. I had known since I was little that I wanted to be in a big city. In fact, Josh and I had talked about moving to New York together when we were kids, which is why it had been so disappointing to get the guilt trip from him of all people.
But back then, before we could head out together, he had started getting attention in baseball and it was clear that the idea of being a big fish in a small pond was pretty appealing. Until he wasn’t the big fish anymore. And now he was too stuck in his own depression over the end of his minor-league career to even remember what he used to want.
“I’d love for you guys to come to New York sometime. I could show you what I love about it,” I said, knowing already what their response would be. I had asked so many times. They hadn’t even made the trip for my NYU graduation.
“Oh, honey,” my mom said. “You know it would just be too overwhelming for us.”
“Yeah,” I sighed. “I know.”
The shower was still running when I finally got off the phone with them. For a moment, I thought of stripping off my shirt and my panties and joining him under the hot water, but talking with my parents had really taken the wind out of my sexual sails, to say the least.
Instead, I dragged myself to the bedroom and shut the door behind me, hoping I hadn’t just blown my only chance with Shane.
Chapter 16
ALLIE
The following week was complete and utter madness. It was the first time the cast was rehearsing with their puppets, and there seemed to be a new problem with them every hour. By Friday, I was fighting off an unending headache, and I wanted nothing more than to go back to the apartment and sleep for forty-eight hours. At least.
Unfortunately, this was only the start of the mad rush that happened before the first preview, which wasn’t very far away. Tensions were high, and even Reagan—who seemed to have an unflaggingly sunny outlook on things—was being affected by the stress.
And on top of all that, I had barely seen Shane since our last steamy encounter. Somehow, our schedules had aligned perfectly so that we never seemed to be in the apartment at the same time. If it wasn’t for the occasional dirty dish in the sink, I would have doubted if he was even living there.
There were times when I pulled out my phone, tempted to call or text him, but it just felt too weird. What was I going to say, anyways? “Hey, remember that amazing orgasm you gave me on the back of the couch the other day? Well, thanks, and please, sir, can I have some more?”
Because honestly, even if he said yes, I didn’t even have time for orgasms now. The combination of my week and my conversation with my parents just reminded me of the exact reason I had avoided getting involved with anyone. It was way too hard to balance work and the needs of a relationship—even a casual one, as it turned out. I didn’t have time for both. I barely had time for one, and when it came down to it, I had never found anyone worth taking time away from work. Though this was also the first time I had even felt the temptation.
But it was clear from the way our schedules seemed destined to never align that Shane didn’t have time, either. Sometimes I’d walk home from a late night at the theatre and see the lights still on in his workshop. Obviously we both had other priorities.
Still, it was hard to forget how good it had felt when Shane stripped me down to my panties and made me writhe under his incredibly skillful mouth. For an orgasm like that, a girl might be tempted to give up some things.
But just because I was tempted didn’t mean I was going to throw away all the work I had done for the past several years. The fact that I had worked so hard and still wasn’t where I wanted to be made it even more imperative that I didn’t take my eyes off the prize. Not even for amazing orgasms. Sadly, I had to regulate them to the bottom of my list of priorities.
“Ugh!” Reagan slumped down into the chair next to me, her glasses in her hand as she rubbed at her temples. “Remind me never to do a show with puppets ever again.”
“I’ll make a note of it.” I mimed writing that down in my notebook. “So, do you think we can we fix our hookers?” The puppets that represented the three streetwalkers in the show had been giving the actors a lot of trouble, and one of their heads had popped off during today’s rehearsal.
Reagan nodded. “Yeah, the puppet studio said they’d reinforce them, but I’m still worried that Anna is going to manhandle them to the point of no return.”
Anna was the actress playing all three of the parts and she was getting a reputation for being especially hard on her puppets.
“I’ll talk to her,” I said and made an actual note to do that.
“I wish I could be as calm as you,” Reagan noted, and I looked at her with surprise.
“Calm?” I was pretty sure I had pens sticking out of my hair, my shirt was wrinkled and I might have forgotten to put deodorant on that morning. I resisted the urge to do a smell check.
“Yeah.” She gave me the once-over. “You always look like you’ve got everything under control. Like nothing can ruffle you.”
“Are you sure you’re not mistaking me for Joanna?” I asked.
Reagan laughed. “Joanna isn’t calm. She�
��s a WASP—she can’t help being emotionless. They remove the flustered gene and other such inconveniences at birth.” She sighed and smoothed her black skirt down over her black tights. “I can’t mess this up,” she said, genuinely looking concerned.
“You’re not going to mess it up,” I told her. “You’re a great director.”
“You have to say that, you’re my stage manager.”
I smiled. “Absolutely not. If you were a disaster, I’d tell you.”
“Really?” Reagan appeared extremely pleased to learn that.
“Really.” I looked down at my notebook. “Maybe we should go over Act II again,” I suggested. “That’s the one with the most technical issues right now.”
Reagan nodded. “Good idea.” She stood, putting her glasses back on and looking like herself once again. She patted me on the shoulder. “Thanks, Allie. I’m really glad you’re here.”
I nodded, keeping to myself the knowledge that I was still looking for other stage managing jobs in the minimal spare time I had. It wasn’t that I didn’t like working with Reagan and Joanna. It just was that it wasn’t what I had planned on doing. I wanted to be stage managing big Broadway shows, not experimental off-Broadway ones. I knew it made me a snob, but I couldn’t help what I wanted. What I had always planned to do.
We worked through Act II a couple of times before stopping for a break. During that time, I got a text from Megan. Apparently she was in the neighborhood and was hoping she could come by to practice in the space and maybe meet some of the actors. Our run-through of Act II had gone pretty well, so everyone was in much higher spirits than they had been a few hours ago, so I told Megan to stop by. We would be finishing up soon, so she could practice as I closed up.
She came in twenty minutes later, her face red from the cold, unwinding several miles of scarves from around her neck. Most of the actresses had left, but there were still a few lingering—including Anna, the puppet murderer—so I introduced Megan around and told them about her audition dilemma.
“Oh, I have some great audition tricks,” said Anna. She was a perky redhead, who—despite her aggressive handling of props—was also an excellent actress. “Let me walk you through some of them.”
Megan’s face lit up. “Really?”
“No naked rehearsing!” I told Anna, who laughed.
“What?” Megan looked a little nervous.
“Don’t worry about it. You only have to be naked if you want to,” said Anna, leading Megan to a quiet corner where they could talk.
“She looks familiar.”
Joanna had seemingly appeared out of nowhere, and I jumped at the sound of her voice.
“Yeah, she’s Shane’s sister,” Reagan, who had not been startled by Joanna’s sneak attack, told her.
“The handyman?” Joanna asked, looking aloof and beautiful as always.
Reagan nodded. “He’s Allie’s roommate too.”
Joanna raised an eyebrow.
“Temporary roommate,” I quickly added before explaining how Liz had unintentionally offered us both the same place at the same time. “I’m going to move out.”
“Oh?” Joanna gave me a look. “And how’s the apartment hunt going?”
The implication in her words was clear: You live at the theatre, when do you have time to look for a new place?
And she was right. In the midst of everything that had been happening, I had let my apartment hunt take a major backseat. Which, now that I really thought about it, was pretty lame, considering that Shane was still sleeping on the couch every night. A couch that was way, way too small for someone with his long, hard, delectable frame.
“I’m working on it,” I said, feeling a little ashamed that I hadn’t been. I made a mental note to renew my search during my commutes—the only time I wasn’t completely focused on the play.
“I have a realtor that could help you,” Joanna offered.
“That’s kind of you,” I told her, genuinely touched. “But I don’t think you and I are in the same price range.”
She waved a dismissive hand. “They work with all kinds of budgets,” she said. “They’d be happy to help, and I’d be happy to know my stage manager isn’t being distracted by house hunting during rehearsals.” Pulling out her purse, she shuffled through it and found a business card, which she passed over to me. “Call them.”
It wasn’t a suggestion.
Megan rejoined us before I could respond, and introductions were made before Joanna and Reagan headed out.
“Did you get any tips from Anna?” I asked, putting the chairs away.
Megan nodded emphatically as she helped me. “Oh yes,” she said. “She was great. Really, really helpful.”
“There was no nudity, right?” I was pretty sure that Shane would kill me if he found out one of my actresses asked his sister to disrobe for the sake of theatre.
“No nudity,” said Megan with a twinkle in her eye. “Does Shane know what kind of theatre you’re running here?”
“Nope,” I told her. “And he’s not going to find out.”
“You’re no fun,” said Megan.
“You are correct.” I dusted off my hands. “You’re welcome to practice in here—I have a few things I need to do in the office.”
Leaving her alone, I went and finished up my notes for the day, organizing some receipts and making lists for the next couple of days. We were coming up on preview nights—the performances before the actual, official opening. It was the first time it would be performed in front of an audience and the last time to smooth out any final wrinkles. It was also a chance for the press to see the show, so reviews would be out the day it opened. So even if there were wrinkles, they would have to be minor ones. And to keep that from happening, there was still a lot that needed to be done.
After an hour, Megan came up to find me.
“How was it?” I finished my last spreadsheet and began packing up.
“Good,” she said, her face bright. “I didn’t forget any part of the monologue this time.”
“I’m glad,” I told her. “Ready to go?”
She nodded and followed me outside, rewrapping her enormous scarf around her neck.
“Brr,” she said as a cold breeze whipped down 53rd Street.
I pulled my knit cap over my head, bracing myself against the wind. “I love this time of year,” I told her.
“Really?” she shivered. “You’re just like Shane. He likes the fall. I prefer the summer.”
“Summer’s nice, too.” I hoped we could skip right over any discussion about Shane, but Megan was clearly interested in talking about him.
“Is he being a good roommate?” she asked.
I nodded. “He’s very considerate.” I told her about him sleeping on the couch.
Megan grinned. “He likes you,” she said. “And I think you like him too.”
“Megan—” I sighed. It was bad enough getting the why-aren’t-you-dating talk from my parents. It was completely weird getting it from the sister of the guy I kept fantasizing about seeing naked. Because I was pretty sure she had a far more romantic view of what Shane and I might do together. “I barely see him.” And I knew from experience guys liked to be put first in a girl’s life. Something I was definitely not able to do right now.
“He’s busy with the workshop,” she told me.
“I’ve wondered about that.” I tried to change the subject again. “What does he do, exactly? Makes furniture, right?”
This time I was a little more successful.
“Amazing furniture,” Megan said, her pride obvious. We walked towards the subway together. “He’s really good. His stuff is beautiful. And expensive.”
“So he sells them to individuals rather than stores?”
Megan nodded. “He has private clients, but he gets a lot of orders around this time. You know, people want to put in their requests for the holidays, and he can only do so much.”
“It’s just him?”
“He started the
shop six years ago, and it was doing well, so he was going to hire people to help him out, but then—” She paused and looked down. “Well, he had to come and take care of me after the accident.” She sighed. “He had to close up the shop. Put his entire life on hold.”
I stopped and put my hands on her shoulders. “Megan, I know Shane doesn’t see it that way. It’s clear he loves you and would do anything for you.”
She looked down. “I know. But I’m afraid he’s gotten so used to giving things up, to taking care of me, that he’s forgotten how to take care of himself.”
“You’re a good sister to care,” I told her. “But he’s a grown man, and I’m sure he’s capable of figuring out what he wants.”
Megan glanced up at me, a little gleam of hope in her eyes. “I hope so,” she said, and I got the feeling that I was more involved in her idea of Shane’s happiness than I had intended to be.
Chapter 17
SHANE
I had more orders than I could handle and had been practically glued to the floor of my workshop for days now, making tables, chairs, rockers, bookshelves, all with the intense, meticulous attention that I leveraged my career on. And yet, all I could think about was the way Allie had come apart in my hands.
Twice I had seen, had felt, the way she lost herself in pleasure. In pleasure I gave her. Her soft, breathy gasps seemed to echo in my ear, the tightening of her fingers in my hair, the forward arching of her hips. The taste of her. God, she was addictive. It made me hard just to think about it. And I was having a hard time doing anything but.
I was pretty sure that operating heavy machinery with an unending erection was not something any of the safety manuals would have recommended, but there were only so many cold showers a man could take.
The fact that I had barely seen her since that night hardly calmed my desire for her. If anything, she seemed to haunt my dreams, and I imagined her above me, her curves soft under my hands as she sank down on my cock. I imagined her riding me, her head thrown back, her beautiful breasts thrust forward as her hips rolled against mine. I imagined her beneath me, her legs wrapped around my waist, my mouth biting, tasting the long, slender neck as I entered her. I imagined driving her up the bed with each thrust, her hoarse voice crying out my name as she shuddered her release.