By Shannyn Schroeder
The O’Learys
More Than This
A Good Time
Something to Prove
Catch Your Breath
Just a Taste
Hold Me Close
Hot & Nerdy
Her Best Shot
Her Perfect Game
Her Winning Formula
His Work of Art
His New Jam
His Dream Role
Hot & Nerdy
HIS DREAM ROLE
Shannyn Schroeder
LYRICAL SHINE
Kensington Publishing Corp.
www.kensingtonbooks.com
All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.
Table of Contents
Also by
Title Page
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Teaser chapter
Copyright Page
Chapter 1
Just as Free Mitchell parked his car at the health club, his phone started buzzing with a text. He should’ve called Cary as soon as he’d known he’d be late.
Are you coming?
Parking now.
Free ran around to the front of the building, where he knew he’d find his brother waiting outside. Even after all these months, Cary still wouldn’t go in without him.
“Sorry I’m late. You could’ve started without me. It’s not like you need me there anymore.”
“I know. I like the company. So what made you late?”
“I was with Hunter and Adam talking about the New Year’s Eve party.”
“Let me guess—you had to wait on Hunter.”
“Of course.” Free reached over and pulled the door open.
As he walked through, Cary asked, “How’d it go?”
“The usual. Hunter wants a big blowout like last year, but Adam and I don’t. Hunter said he’d limit his invites if Adam and I have dates.”
Cary laughed. Like out-loud-drawing-attention laughter.
“It’s not that funny,” Free said as they entered the locker room.
“You haven’t had a girlfriend since last spring.”
Free couldn’t argue because his brother would know if he lied. He hadn’t even had a real date since Kim broke up with him. He blamed being out of practice; he and Kim had dated for over a year. In reality, he sucked at asking girls out.
Cary changed quickly while Free waited. He never did a real workout with Cary. He was there just for the wow factor. As Cary grabbed a towel, Free adjusted the lapels on his coat and straightened his earflap hat. Showtime.
Some costumes he wore required more props. Sherlock Holmes was simple. Unfortunately, many people didn’t necessarily get it, even with the overcoat and hat, so he carried an oversized magnifying glass with him to aid in his sleuthing.
Truth be told, Cary no longer needed his help. Last summer, after the doctor told Cary he absolutely had to get off his fat ass and lose weight, Free offered to work out with him. Cary admitted that it wasn’t the working out that bothered him as much as the people staring at him.
So three days a week for the past six months or so, Free dressed in outlandish costumes to draw attention away from his overweight brother.
Cary sat down at the first machine to work his legs and Free leaned against the adjacent machine. For a change, the room wasn’t crowded and no one took notice of them.
“What are you going to do about Hunter?”
Cary talking to him during the workout was a relatively new development. For months, they walked in together, but Free would stroll through the gym drawing attention to himself in subtle ways. Over the last month or so, they’d spent more time hanging out during Cary’s workout. Soon, Cary wouldn’t need him to show up at all.
“I’m going to prove him wrong. I’ll find a date for the party.”
Cary extended his legs and brought them back. “See if she has a sister, okay?”
The workout routine continued on in the same manner, Cary working various muscle groups and chatting. They talked about work and the holidays and Free soon became bored.
When Cary got on the treadmill, Free wandered around, trying to find something of interest. Two muscle-bound guys came out of the locker room and sneered at him.
One said, “Who do you think you are?”
Channeling the arrogance of his father, as he did every time he needed to portray Holmes, he answered, “I’m a high-functioning sociopath. Sherlock Holmes.”
He cocked an eyebrow and waited for them to respond. The first guy elbowed the other and they called a few friends over.
A ball of nerves plummeted through Free. He’d never been much of a fighter and he knew he couldn’t hold his own with the first two, much less all their friends. He looked at the group and said in his best British accent, “I dislike being outnumbered. It makes for too much stupid in the room.”
To his surprise, all the guys started to laugh. Sure, he was insulting them, and he was pretty sure they understood that, but they still laughed. Free pulled out his magnifying glass, nodded to them, and walked back toward the treadmills.
Cary slowed his pace. “Problem?” he asked, tilting his chin toward where Free had come from.
“Nope. Just my winning personality creating more fans.” He leaned against the rail of the treadmill while Cary jogged and watched the TV in front of them. Cary had it tuned to the financial reports. Free didn’t need to hear the anchor or have closed-captioning on. He simply watched the numbers scrolling at the bottom of the screen. The red and green digits soothed him like a lullaby would a baby.
When Cary stepped off the treadmill, Free followed him to the locker room. “I’m going so I’m not late for rehearsal, okay?”
“Sure. See you later.”
He walked out the front door of the health club, but instead of heading to the parking garage around back, he went to the coffee shop down the street. For the last month, there was a woman who came in at the same time he did. Samantha—he loved places that made it easy to learn everyone’s name. In light of Hunter’s challenge to get a date, and Cary’s laughter at the thought, Free decided that today would be the day he would speak to her.
He entered the shop and a warm blast of air hit him. The shop wasn’t usually busy at this time and today was no different. As he approached the counter, Samantha was in front of him, digging through her purse. The cashier watched her with impatience just short of rolling her eyes.
“I’m so sorry. I know I had cash in here.” Her long, light brown hair created a curtain across her cheek. “I can’t believe they stole it again.”
For a change things actually worked in Free’s favor. He wouldn’t need to force an introduction. He pulled out money and said, “Here. Let me.”
The cashier smiled brightly at him. “Anything for you?”
“Large black. Thank you.”
She charged him for both coffees and Samantha stared at him with her wide, pink-lipped mouth hanging open. He had the sudden urge to feel those lips against his.
“Thank you,” she finally managed. “I can pay you back.”
“No big deal.”
From the other side of the counter, the barista called, “Samantha.”
Free pointed over his shoulder. “Your coffee’s ready.”
She took a step, then paused. “How did you know?”
He winked at her. “Elementary, my dear. I’m here at this time three days a week. They call your name every time.”
“Hey, S
herlock.” The barista thought he was funny.
Free followed Samantha to the other end of the counter and grabbed his cup.
Samantha smiled. Her whole face brightened as she looked up at him, her amber eyes shining, and said, “Thanks again. I appreciate it. I’ll get yours next time I see you.”
“Until then.” He gave her a tip of his hat and turned to leave. If he had his way, he’d be sharing a cup of coffee with her by week’s end.
As the bizarre Sherlock Holmes pushed the door open and held it for an elderly couple, Sam surreptitiously snapped a photo on her phone. She sat at a table and texted her best friend, Jess. Guess who just bought me a cup of coffee? Sherlock.
A minute later, her phone rang. “Hey, Jess.”
“Where do you find the weirdos?”
“I’m at the same place I always get my coffee.”
“And Sherlock Holmes just walked in and bought you a cup of coffee.”
“My ten bucks was stolen out of my purse again.” As soon as the words left her mouth, she wanted to yank them back because Jess was going to start yelling.
“Jeez, Sam, we talked about this. When you’re at the shelter, you need to lock up your shit. I get that you want to help people, but that doesn’t mean they won’t steal from you.”
Sam sighed. She did know better. She’d mostly learned her lesson her first week when her whole purse went missing. Now she only carried a small amount of cash on her, and bottom line, she figured if a kid stole it, he needed it more than she did. “I know,” she finally huffed back. “Anyway, Sherlock came up behind me and paid for my coffee.”
She took a sip and waited for Jess’s reaction.
“So, does he think he’s really Sherlock?”
“Hmm . . . I don’t think so. I’ve seen him in here before. He’s always dressed weird, like in costume. Once he was Riddler and another time, a Jedi? And then again the guy with the pointy ears from the other show.”
“So he’s a supreme weirdo.”
Sam smiled. “He was nice. He bought my coffee and left. He’s cute.”
“Oh God. Please tell me you didn’t give him your phone number or make plans for a date.”
“Nope.” She knew better than to tell Jess that she planned to buy him a coffee as a thank-you. Jess might be right. He could be a total weirdo. In fact, the first few times she saw him, she was concerned that he might have some mental issues. But his costumes were too well crafted and he functioned well in public, so she figured he was just eccentric.
“I mean it, Sam. Find a normal guy.”
Sam choked on her coffee. After clearing her throat and regaining the ability to breathe, she said, “I date normal guys.”
“You intentionally find strange ones just to piss off your dad. You’re getting a little old for that.”
“Whatever. I gotta go. Talk to you soon.” She disconnected quickly because Jess had known her long enough to know that was exactly what she’d done for years. Her dad had an idea of the kind of guy he wanted Sam to be with, so Sam rebelled. However, Sam really did like the guys she picked. At first. She tended to fall hard and fast. It was her nature.
Sherlock was different. He was far from a bad boy. Maybe sweet and quirky was her type. Everyone had a type, right?
She finished her coffee, tossed the cup, and bundled up for the cold. As she exited the shop, she looked toward her car and wished she could abandon it. The Mercedes made her stick out everywhere she went. She believed the damn thing was the reason kids at the shelter were okay with stealing from her. The car screamed I’m rich!—which she wasn’t. Her parents were well off, not her.
The car had been her compromise. She’d wanted to live in the city to be closer to the locations where she would work and where she currently volunteered. Her parents flipped. They couldn’t have their baby living in unsafe situations and—gasp—taking public transportation.
They ultimately came to a compromise on an apartment and Sam agreed she’d use the car to get to and from classes and her volunteer work. When she’d agreed, however, she’d imagined a regular car, like a Civic or RAV4. Her dad’s compromise was getting a low-end Mercedes, as if one actually existed.
She pressed the key fob to disarm the car and got in. Admittedly, she did enjoy the heated seats when the weather turned. That probably made her a hypocrite.
The problem was, she wasn’t quite sure who she was supposed to be yet and graduation was looming. Part of her wanted to continue on for her master’s degree immediately so she could stay in her safe cocoon of school, where she knew exactly who she was. A bigger part of her, though, loved the work she did at the shelter, and she felt like she belonged there, like she made a difference.
She had a hard time reconciling the Mercedes-driving, heated-leather-seats Sam with the woman who wore yoga pants splattered with finger paint.
Sam pulled into her parking spot in the lot behind her apartment and sat in her car for a minute. A nagging feeling had been gnawing at her for months. Her life felt unsettled in a way it never had before. Jess’s point about her dating habits hit home. She needed to decide what she really wanted and why.
The problem with that was she was going to a school, driving a car, and living in an apartment her father paid for. If she took the stand that she wanted independence, was she willing to walk away from everything that made her life comfortable?
Chapter 2
Two days later, as Free was leaving the health club straightening his tie, Cary called out, “Hey. Before you go, I gotta know. What’s going on that you pulled out Doctor Who? You usually save him for special occasions.”
Free slid into his brown overcoat. “I have to see a girl about a cup of coffee.”
“Seriously? Does she have a sister?”
“I haven’t asked. And even if she did, I’m not working on getting you a date.”
“Come on. Hook me up.”
Free waved at his brother. “Later.”
Minutes later, when he walked through the door of the coffee shop, Samantha was standing near the entrance. Waiting. For him? He smiled. “Hello again.”
She eyed him up and down, taking in his pin-striped suit and his red Converses. He extended a hand. “I’m the Doctor.”
“Doctor who?”
“Exactly.” He turned toward the register. When the cashier looked at him, he ordered his usual black, no cream, no sugar and a large caramel macchiato for Samantha. As he reached for his wallet, she jumped in front of him.
“I’ve got this. I owe you for the other day.” She paid for the drinks. As she tucked her wallet back into her purse, she turned to face him. “So really, what costume is this?”
She didn’t get it. “Doctor Who. British TV show. Time Lord. Daleks. TARDIS.” He watched her face for any sign of recognition. He found none. Sweeping a hand over himself, he added, “I’m the tenth doctor.” Still nothing.
“I think I’ve heard of it.” She smiled. It was enough to make his day, even if she was clueless about Doctor Who.
When their coffee was ready, he handed her the cup and was at a loss for what was supposed to happen next. He sucked at this.
Samantha pointed toward a table. “I have my books over here if you want to sit.”
“Books! The best weapons in the world!” As soon as he said it, he knew it was a mistake, but once in character, he couldn’t always stop. And the Doctor’s words always sounded better than his own.
Samantha giggled a little. “I agree with the sentiment, maybe even your enthusiasm. It’s one of the things I try to get across to the kids I work with.”
“Kids? Are you a teacher?” He followed her to the table, knowing he couldn’t stay long because he had to go to rehearsal, but he wanted to hear more.
“No. I’m studying to be a social worker, so I volunteer at a shelter for victims of domestic abuse. I see a lot of kids who are utterly hopeless, so I try to give them some hope, teach them that things can be different.” She sat and slid her books toward th
e edge.
He took the seat across from her and waited. He hoped she would continue the conversation. She sipped from her cup and then licked a bit of foam from her top lip. Free stared at the tip of her tongue and her pink lip, entranced. Then she smiled again.
“You’re in need of books for your kids. What kind?”
“We take anything. I’m working mostly with little kids right now. Hence the paint and glue stuck to me all the time. It’s just that they come to us with so little, except for the number of problems.”
“Books are an excellent escape.” He drank his coffee and thought about where he could get books for her. His mother would know. She knew the ins and outs of many things when it came to charity. “What was your favorite book at that age?”
“The Little Engine That Could.”
Even as a child she was prepared to save other children and make a difference. “Then I guess we’ll have to start with that one, won’t we?”
“Who are you?” she asked, her voice so quiet it was nearly a whisper.
“The hoper of far-flung hopes and the dreamer of improbable dreams.”
She leaned forward and propped her chin in her hand. He became uneasy beneath her scrutiny, so he stood. “I have to get going. I have rehearsal.”
“So you’re an actor.”
He nodded. “Until next time.”
“Wait. What are you rehearsing?”
“A Christmas Carol. I’m Scrooge’s nephew, Fred.” Free left the coffee shop with a great sense of accomplishment. Not only had Samantha talked with him and asked him to sit with her, she’d told him about herself. Even he knew that if she wasn’t interested in him at all, she wouldn’t have bothered.
His Dream Role Page 1