Bad Romeo: Starcrossed 1

by Leisa Rayven

I shuffle my feet as the quad starts clearing of people. “So, what are you doing now?”

  He slings his knapsack over his shoulder and sighs. “Going home to write a thousand words on experimental theater, I guess.”

  “Well, you could come to my place to write your paper. I could pick your brain, so I don’t come off sounding like an idiot.”

  He thinks about it for a few seconds. Judging by his expression, he’s weighing whether or not to sell one of his kidneys.

  “Jeez, Holt, I’m not asking you to get married. I just thought you could help me out.”

  “Okay,” he says reluctantly. “But you owe me snacks.”

  “I can do that.” Apart from the preprepared meals filling my freezer, the only food I own is snacks. My mother would be so ashamed.

  We detour to the library and I grab a few books that might be useful. Then we make our way back to my apartment.

  I walk into my bedroom and dump my bag on the bed before I turn to see him hovering in the doorway.

  “What the hell?” I say and laugh. “Are you like one of those vampires on TV? You need to be invited in before you can enter?”

  He shakes his head and walks into the room. “No, it’s just weird to be in here when you’re not either vomiting or passed out.” “I have ‘vomiting and passing out’ on the schedule for nine o’clock. Stick around. Should be fun.”

  I’m about to unpack my books when my phone rings. I fish it out of my pocket to see my mom’s number.

  “Be back in a second.”

  I head out to the living room, because I know why she’s calling.

  “Hey, Mom.”

  “Sweetheart! Happy birthday!”

  I put my hand over the speaker and look over my shoulder.

  “Thanks, Mom.”

  “Oh, sweetie, I wish we could be with you. Are you having fun? What are you doing tonight?”

  “Uh, not much. Studying.”

  Holt pokes his head out of my bedroom and says, “Taylor, where are the library books? I’ll start on the research.”

  My mother’s talking, but I cover the phone and whisper, “In my bag, on the bed.”

  He nods and disappears.

  Mom stops. “Who was that?”

  “Just a boy from my class. We’re studying together.”

  There’s a beat of silence before she says, “You’re alone with a boy in your apartment?”

  Oh, Lord. Here we go.

  “Mom, it’s not what you think. We’re working.”

  Just then Holt yells, “Jesus, Taylor, your bed is fucking uncomfortable! How the hell do you sleep on this thing? Or is that the point? You don’t want guys trying to snuggle when you’re done with them?”

  I cringe, and my mother gasps.

  “Mom—”

  “Cassie! I raised you better than to jump into bed with the first boy you meet.”

  “We’re just friends.” Sort of. “It’s not like that. Really.” “Why don’t I believe you?”

  “Hurry up, Taylor! I think your bed has put my back out. I can’t get up!

  I’m going to kill him!

  My mother launches into a rant about how many rapes occur on college campuses, and how irresponsible I’m being, and crows that this is what happens when she’s not around to supervise me. Usually I’d just let her get it out of her system to keep the peace, but I have a tiny little Holt on my shoulder, urging me to stand up for myself.

  “Mom, just stop. Whether or not I have a man here is none of your business. I’m an adult now, and I don’t need your approval for my every decision. Now, I love you, but I have a very good-looking man in my bed and I have to go.”

  She’s silent for a few seconds, and I’m terrified I’ve given her a heart attack.

  “Mom?”

  There’s more silence. I picture my mother lying glassy-eyed in her living room, the phone still clutched in her hand.

  “Mom?!”

  “How good looking?” she finally asks.

  I sigh. “You have no idea.”

  She laughs. It’s fake, but at least she’s trying.

  “Be careful of the good-looking ones, sweetie,” she says. “They’ll break your heart.”

  “Mom, Dad’s good looking.”

  She pauses. “Yes, well, your father sends his love. He’ll call you later tonight when he gets home from work.”

  “Thanks, Mom.”

  I get a pang of homesickness. Despite bitching about them, I really miss my parents.

  I say good-bye and feel a kernel of pride for speaking my mind.

  I’ve never stood up to my mother before, and I got through it without crying or killing her. Maybe Holt is onto something after all.

  I smile as I walk back into the bedroom to find him sitting on the edge of my bed, bent over a book, raking his fingers through his hair.

  “Wow, that looks like a thrilling read,” I say.

  He jumps up in surprise. “Taylor … I didn’t mean to. It was in your bag. One of the other books had pushed it open, and I saw my name and I …”

  A wave of sickening horror washes over me as I realize what’s in his hand.

  I swallow embarrassment and nausea. My face blazes.

  “How much did you read?” I whisper, my voice hoarse with shame.

  “Enough.”

  “Everything I wrote today?”

  “Yes.” He pauses. “It’s your birthday?”

  I’m going to be sick. He’s read it all. Me ranting about my virginity. How horny I am. How much I want him and his award-winning penis.

  All of it.

  “Cassie …”

  “Holt, if you say ‘happy birthday’ to me right now, I’m going to destroy you.”

  I cover my face and refuse to cry, but he can’t be here anymore. I can’t be near him. Ever again. Maybe longer.

  “Goddammit, Taylor …” he says. “What you wrote about me? I can’t know that. I seriously fucking can’t—”

  “Get out.”

  I hear him exhale, but I can’t look at him.

  “Cassie—”

  “Get. The Hell. Out. Now.”

  I hear a dull thud and I look over to see that he’s dropped the diary on the bed. He comes over and grabs his bag from the floor behind me.

  When his body brushes mine, he makes a noise and pulls back. I open my eyes to find him right in front of me, studying my face. I feel like if he doesn’t stop, my skin is actually going to burst into flames.

  “How is it possible?” he asks quietly.

  “What?”

  I press my back into the door of my closet as he moves forward and continues to stare. “How is it possible you’ve never … ? That no man has ever … ?”

  I want him to finish the sentence, but he just keeps staring with an incredulous expression. “It’s a fucking crime that you haven’t been kissed properly.”

  I stare at his chest. It’s rising and falling fast. So is mine.

  I close my eyes. “You do it, then.” It’s out of my mouth before I can stop it, but I don’t want to take it back. “You show me how I should be kissed.”

  I open my eyes to see him staring at me with such intensity, it takes my breath away.

  For a moment, he doesn’t move, and I want to climb into the wall to escape my mortification. But then he leans forward, so slowly it barely looks like he’s moving. I think I stop breathing because my chest hurts. I didn’t know how much I wanted to be kissed by him until this moment, but now, every cell of my body craves it. Everything tingles with vicious anticipation.

  Holt’s expression is serious. Eyes dark and searching. His hands go to my hips, and I lean back against the door as his fingers squeeze and release in a rough rhythm.

  I finally inhale, and he’s so close now, I breathe in his warm, sweet air.

  This is going to happen. Oh, God, please let this happen.

  I close my eyes and part my lips, almost crying from the expectation of having his mouth on me.

  But th
en, everything stops. His air is no longer washing over my face, and his warm hands disappear from my body.

  “You really think after reading all of that, there’s any way I can fucking kiss you?” he says in a rough voice. “Jesus, Taylor, I can’t even cope with being in the same room as you.”

  When I open my eyes he’s slinging his bag over his shoulder and striding out the door.

  Mortification and embarrassment fill all the space in my lungs, and I slide down the wall and cover my face, wishing myself invisible.

  I’m still waiting for the earth to open up and swallow me when I hear the front door slam closed.

  SIX

  COURAGEOUS CASTING

  Present Day

  New York City

  Day Four of Rehearsal

  The coffee shop is noisy, but they have free Wi-Fi. A perfect place to haul out my iPad and lose myself during my lunch hour. I’ve been writing in my diary most days. Mainly because Tristan keeps insisting it will keep me sane within the craziness of my current situation. As usual, he’s right.

  Of course, these days I use an online journal with an encrypted password and more security than a presidential motorcade, but it’s not quite the same as writing on real paper.

  Every day, Elissa and Ethan ask me to join them for lunch, but there’s no way I’m going there.

  I come to work, do my job, and try to stay as far away from Ethan as possible in the time we’re off stage. He keeps trying to ambush me into talking, but I’ve learned to duck and weave better than a world champion boxer.

  Talking will achieve nothing, other than taking us for a stroll down Excruciatingly Painful Memory Lane. Neither of us needs that.

  I’m in the middle of typing my latest diary entry when a giant Caesar salad is plunked next to me. I’m about to protest that I didn’t order it when I look up to see Elissa.

  “You’re getting too skinny,” she says as she sits beside me with her own lunch. “A woman can’t survive on caffeine and nicotine alone, you know.”

  “Wrong,” I say and give her a smile. “I’m a shining example.”

  “Well, your stage manager thinks you’re beginning to look like a bobblehead, so eat up. My treat.”

  Looking at the salad, I realize just how hungry I am. “Yes, ma’am.”

  As I pack away my tablet, I notice Holt on the far side of the café at a table by himself.

  Goddammit. Of all the diner joints in all the towns in all the world, he has to come to mine. This is supposed to be a Holt-free zone.

  As if anticipating my next question, Elissa says, “I’m having lunch with you because I’m sick of his company. Whenever I ask about how things are going between you guys, he clams up.”

  I shrug and keep eating. I gave up trying to figure out Holt’s motivations a long time ago.

  “You barely say a word to each other in rehearsals. You won’t even look at him, but he spends all his time staring at you. Wanna tell me what’s up?”

  I sneak a glance over at Holt, who’s reading and absently picking at a bowl of fries.

  “Nothing’s up,” I say, and take a sip of my drink. “Just working hard.”

  She tilts her head, studies me for several seconds, then says, “Are you fucking my brother?”

  I laugh and cough at the same time. A dribble of Coke runs down my chin, and I grab a wad of napkins to clean myself.

  Holt seems oblivious to our conversation. Thank God.

  “Of course I’m not,” I whisper. “Do you think I have zero sense of self-preservation?”

  She glances at Holt before whispering back, “I think that when it comes to my brother, you can’t think straight, and if he wanted to get you into bed, you’d have your legs in the air in about three seconds.”

  “Not true.”

  “Really?” she says. “Because I could power half of New York with the heat you two generate in rehearsals. You both look guilty. If you’re not fucking, then what?”

  This really isn’t a conversation I wanted to have today. Or ever.

  I sigh and shake my head. “Look, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t still attracted to him. But God, Elissa, that’s it. I have no intention of getting back into something with him. Ever.”

  “But you must still have feelings for him. I thought you’d run a million miles away when you heard he was going to be your leading man. Why didn’t you?”

  I shrug. “I have no idea.”

  That wasn’t entirely true. I had to see him. I needed for him to tell me he’d made a mistake and was sorry, but I’m starting to doubt that’s ever going to happen. Now I think I’m just trying to get through it to prove I can move on without him.

  “Well, you have guts, that’s for sure,” Elissa says. “I mean, I love my brother, but if someone had done to me what he did to you …” She wipes her mouth with her napkin. “Let’s just say, I understand why you stopped taking my calls. When Ethan told me you’d been cast, I thought this was our chance to mend bridges.”

  “Lissa, you never burned any bridges. Your brother did.”

  “I know. But I’m glad we’re talking again. I’ve missed you.”

  I take her hand and squeeze. “I’ve missed you, too.” I hadn’t realized how much until now.

  “So, Marco’s working on the kiss after lunch, huh?” she says as she swirls a fry in some ketchup. “Nervous?”

  “No. It’s not the first time I’ve been cast opposite your brother when I couldn’t stand the sight of him.”

  “True. But last time there was less water under the bridge.”

  “And I was a lot younger and less able to separate reality from fantasy.” I take a mouthful of salad, even though I’m not really hungry anymore.

  Elissa finishes the last of her grilled cheese before saying, “So you won’t have a problem kissing him? It’s not going to bring up old feelings?”

  I shrug. “There are no old feelings to bring up. They died a long time ago.”

  She gazes at me for a few seconds, then shakes her head. “Sure they did.”

  We continue to make small talk, neither one mentioning Ethan again. Our friendship too often revolved around him when it should have just been about us.

  As we chat, I notice a trio of girls has gathered around Ethan’s table. His groupies. There are always a few of them waiting for him outside the theater. They seem to have a sixth sense about where he’s going to be. It’s irritating.

  They squeal and ask for his picture and autograph. Gaze at him like he’s a gift from God. Push out their boobs like they have a chance with him.

  If only they knew the truth. Despite having the face of an angel, he’s an evil, Cassie-abandoning bastard.

  I spear the last of my salad with a little too much gusto as a barrage of giggles fills the café.

  Damn his stupid angel face.

  When Elissa and I are done eating, she says, “See you back there.

  Don’t forget Chapstick. Ethan hasn’t shaved. Don’t want you getting chafed.” She gives me a quick hug before taking the check up to the cashier.

  When she’s gone, I let out a long exhale.

  I’d almost forgotten about the kiss. Well, not forgotten so much as blocked it out. As Tristan will attest, my talent for denial is impressive.

  I’m packing up my stuff when I feel someone at my back. I’m not surprised my body reacts before I see who it is.

  “So, you’ll talk to my sister but not me?” he says as I turn to face him.

  “That’s because I still like your sister.”

  He’s wearing his trademark frown. “We have to talk sometime, Cassie.”

  “We really don’t.” I grab my gear and push past him to the exit.

  Of course, he follows. “You think we can get through this play the way we are now? That it won’t affect our performances?”

  I step out into the street, and the traffic noise makes me raise my voice. “I won’t let it affect my performance. This is my dream job. And despite the universe sc
rewing with me by casting you, I’m going to make it work.” I turn to him. “If you can’t, then do us both a favor and quit.”

  He leans down, purposefully invading my personal space to mess with me. “Cassie, don’t fool yourself into thinking you could do this role justice opposite someone else, because we both know that’s bullshit.”

  “I’d be willing to try,” I say and give him my sweetest smile.

  He’s about to protest when more groupies show up.

  They all but push me out of the way to get to him.

  They’re welcome to him. I’m done being his fangirl.

  As I walk away, he calls my name.

  I don’t stop.

  Six Years Earlier

  Westchester, New York

  The Grove

  Sixth Week of Classes

  He’s staring at me.

  I keep my focus on Erika and try to concentrate. It’s tough. His gaze gives me an electric tingle that starts at the back of my neck and spreads all over my body.

  I’d tell him to knock it off, but that would involve acknowledging his existence, and there’s no muffing way I’ll be doing that in the foreseeable future.

  Since he read my diary nearly two weeks ago, I’ve avoided him at all costs. Whenever I look at him, a huge wave of humiliation washes over me, followed quickly by vicious anger, and ending with a strong urge to rub myself all over him. I thought he was going to kiss me. It looked like he was. Then he left, and now I have no idea what’s going through his brain.

  Just thinking about our almost-kiss has my girl parts all excited. I don’t have the heart to tell them we’re going to die without ever experiencing an orgasm. It would depress them too much, and I really can’t afford to have a sad vagina.

  “Miss Taylor?”

  “I’m sorry, what?”

  Erika’s looking at me. So is everyone else. Except him. Oh, the irony.

  “I asked why you think we become actors,” Erika says. “What drives us to pursue this profession?”

  Okay, stay cool. Answer her question honestly. Don’t just give her the answer you think she wants to hear.

  “Miss Taylor,” Erika says, “I promise this isn’t a trick question. Why do you think we act?”

  “Well …” I take a deep breath and try to ignore all of the eyes on me. “I think it’s a way to communicate ideas and concepts. I guess we’re like mediums. Channeling different personas and characters in order to bring other people’s work to life.”