by Leisa Rayven
He pushes his foot into his boot and tugs roughly at the laces. “Don’t I? You looked pretty into that kiss. And it’s been obvious from day one that Connor wants to get into your pants.”
I walk over and stand in front of him as he laces up his other boot. “I don’t think he does anymore. Ever since that first party when I stopped him kissing me, I think he’s known that … well …”
He finishes with his laces and looks up at me. “He’s known what?”
I focus on the tiny frown line between his brows. “Even back then, he’d figured out that I … you know … liked you.”
He leans back in the chair and sighs. “Yeah, well, that doesn’t mean he stopped liking you. He just started hiding it better.”
“He’s hiding it pretty well. During our entire week of rehearsals, he didn’t make a single pass at me.”
“Apart from all that time he spent sucking your face, of course.”
I blink. “Uh … yeah. Apart from that.”
He stands up and takes a step toward me. “Did he use tongue?”
“A little.”
“How little?”
I cup the back of his head and pull his head down. “Kind of like this.”
I kiss him slowly, then take his top lip between mine and suck on it gently before repeating the move on his bottom lip.
He makes a noise and pulls back to glare down at me. “Jesus, Cassie, he kissed you like that?!”
“Uh … sort of.”
“Sort of?!”
“Well, yeah, but … it was different because it was our characters, and … it wasn’t you. And that made it all wrong.”
He drops his head. I’m not explaining myself well, but I don’t know what to say to him.
“He and I didn’t have any of the chemistry you and I do.”
“From where I stood, it looked like you had plenty of chemistry.”
“It was just acting. Did you see the love scene between Miranda and Jack? It was hot as hell, but it’s not like Miranda has traded in her lesbian card and wants to jump Jack. It just looked that way.”
He walks around me and grabs a hanger from the rack before hanging up his suit and zipping it into a garment bag.
“Ethan, come on.”
“I believe you,” he says as he shoves it onto the rack. “Logically, I know you did what was needed in order to make the scene work. But …”
“But what?”
He puts his hands in his pockets and blows out a breath. “It made me feel sick, seeing you kissing him.” He looks at me, and even now he doesn’t seem entirely well. “It made me crazy, Taylor, and I’m not just saying that as hyperbole. I truly felt unhinged. Like I could have beaten the shit out of him for touching you.”
“Like you did to Matt when you found out about him and Vanessa?” I ask.
He laughs bitterly and shakes his head. “Jesus, is there anything my goddamn sister hasn’t told you?”
I walk over and put my hands on his chest, then stroke him through his sweater.
“Ethan, I wouldn’t cheat on you with Connor.”
He looks down, seeming more vulnerable than I’ve seen him for a long time. “I know that.”
“I’d never cheat on you, with anyone.”
“Yeah, well, technically, you can’t cheat on me, because I’m not your boyfriend.”
His words at first hit me like a sucker punch, but I have to remember who I’m talking to.
“The funny thing is, you sound a lot like my boyfriend.” I run my hands up his neck. “My extremely hot, jealous boyfriend.”
I pull his hands out of his pockets and wrap them around my waist. His trademark flicker of fear sparks in his eyes, before he shakes his head and strokes my lower back.
“Taylor, you have sucky taste. There are guys who would be far better boyfriends than I would be. I’d bet Connor would be a fucking spectacular boyfriend. He’d be one of those sickening idiots who’d bring you flowers in the middle of the cafeteria or hire a barbershop quartet for your birthday.”
“So are you telling me I should date Connor instead of you?”
“He’d be better for you than I would.”
“Oh, in that case, I’d better go find him.” I turn to leave, but I only take three steps before he spins me around, presses me into the door, and kisses me, all open mouth and soft tongue.
For the life of me, I can’t remember what we were talking about thirty seconds ago.
When he pulls back, we’re both breathless.
“So, I’m not sure if you got my subtle subtext there,” he says, “but I’d really like it if you stayed the fuck away from Connor, okay?”
My heart is pounding overtime. “If Connor knew you were my boyfriend, he’d know I’m not available. I don’t understand why we can’t just go public.”
He leans his head against mine. “Cassie, I’ve had high-profile relationships. When things go wrong, it just makes it that much harder to deal with.”
“I understand that, but you’re working on the assumption that something will go wrong with us. Maybe it won’t. Maybe we’ll be perfectly happy and never fight.”
He laughs. “You have met us, right? We fight all the time.” He tightens his arms around me and pulls me more firmly against him. “I just want to keep it between us for a little longer. Okay?”
I nod. “I guess I just … I don’t want to feel like you’re ashamed to have people know you like me, or whatever.”
“I’m not ashamed.” He cups my face. “Well, actually, I’m a little ashamed of my constant erection, but that’s beside the point. I just don’t want people judging and talking behind our backs. I’d prefer we keep it private.”
I sigh and run my fingers across the stubble on his jaw. “Okay. We can keep it on the down-low for a while longer, but what do I say if someone straight out asks me about us?”
There’s a babble of voices in the hallway, and he immediately steps away and shoves his hands in his pockets. “Lie.”
“And if Connor asks?”
His eye twitches. “Tell that fucker we’re engaged.”
Present Day
New York City
The foyer of the Majestic Theater is packed with performers, producers, sponsors, and avid theatergoers, all coming together for one of the largest fund-raisers on the Broadway calendar. Each audience member has paid several hundred dollars to see excerpts from some of the best shows currently playing in the theater district, with all proceeds going toward the Variety Performers of America Benevolent Fund.
Holt and I performed a short excerpt from our show as a preview prior to opening, and judging by the audience reaction, our show’s going to be a bona fide hit. Even now, as we move through the foyer, people keep stopping us to tell us how much they’re looking forward to seeing it. I spy Marco across the room, beaming. It feels good to know that the buzz is positive. It makes my growing anxiety about opening night a little more bearable.
With his hand at the small of my back, Holt steers me to an alcove at the side of the foyer. It houses a particularly bad fake-marble statue of a man with an abnormally small penis, but as least it’s free from the noise and crush of the rest of the room.
“Sorry for rubbing up against you,” he says. “It was unavoidable in that crowd.”
“Yeah, that’s what I thought the first three times you did it. Then it was just gratuitous.”
He looks shocked. “Taylor, are you implying that I rubbed up against you on purpose?” He moves forward so my back is against the pillar. “That’s just insulting. I would never stoop to something so low. If I was going to sexually harass you, I’d be all subtle about it, like this.”
He gives me a ridiculously sexy face and presses me into the wall, and although I want to laugh at his antics, the truth is, having his body pressed against me ruins my ability to do anything but breathe.
A loud laugh nearby jolts me back to reality, and a prickle of nervousness runs up my spine as I realize we can still be s
een.
“Okay, Sir Humpsalot, cut it out.” I push against his chest until he steps back. “There are reporters here. We don’t want them getting the wrong impression.”
“What, that I enjoy rubbing myself on you? Because that’s not the wrong impression. That’s an indisputable fact. How do you not know this by now?”
“What I mean is, they might think that we’re … well … you know …”
His smile fades a little. “No. Why don’t you tell me?”
I sigh and stare at him. “They might think that we’re … together. And we’re not.”
A flicker of disappointment registers on his face, but he hides it quickly. He puts his hand on the pillar behind my head and leans down.
“You know, it would be really good publicity for our show if we were together. I mean, just think of it, ‘Real-life Couple Plays Lovers Onstage.’ The press would eat it up.”
“Ethan …”
“Of course, we’d have to do lots of publicity. I’d have to take you out to high-profile restaurants and make sure the paparazzi were watching when I kissed you … and sucked on your neck … and put my hand between your legs under the table.”
The juncture of my thighs lights up at the thought.
I lean more heavily against the pillar.
“If you really want our show to be a hit,” he says as his gaze flickers between my eyes and mouth, “then you’d agree to let me kiss you. Right now. In front of all of these people.”
He stares at me, and all I can do is gaze at his lips while my lust wages war with my fear.
“Just say yes, Cassie. Don’t overthink it.”
His mouth is close. Almost too close for me to deny him anything.
“Ethan …”
“No, not ‘Ethan.’ ‘Yes'. Or better yet, ‘Yes, please, God, kiss me before we both go insane.’ Either works for me. ‘Fuck, yes!’ with an accompanying fist pump is also acceptable.”
I have to smile.
God, I love him.
I gasp.
Whoa,
So not ready to face that reality yet.
He reads the panicked expression my face and drops his head in defeat. “Okay, fine, no kissing, but let me tell you, it’s a wasted opportunity. Alcohol?”
“Yes, please.”
“Oh, so you can say ‘yes, please’ to booze but not to me? Nice. Taylor, if our show tanks, just know it’s because you didn’t get on board with my make-out-with-Ethan-as-often-as-possible publicity plan. I hope you can live with that decision.”
I laugh and slap his arm. “Vodka cocktail, please.”
“Yeah, whatever.” He fake-sulks as he makes his way through the crowd toward the bar, and as soon as he leaves my side, I miss him.
I step out of the alcove and take a deep breath.
As beautiful, and patient, and hilarious as he’s being, there’s still a shard of something inside me that twists and burns without reason or warning, and it terrifies me, because sometimes it makes me feel like the specter of our past will always be hanging over us, making me push him away even when I want him closer.
I feel a hand slide around my waist, and I flinch in surprise as I turn to see a familiar face.
“Connor!”
Oh, God, Connor.
“Hey, Cassie,” he says and leans in to kiss my cheek. “How have you been?”
“Really well. You?”
What’s he doing here? Leave. Please, leave now.
“I’m great. Just about to open in the new production of Arcadia down at the Ethel Barrymore Theater.”
“I heard! That’s fantastic. I can’t wait to come and see it.”
“Well, let me know when you want to come, and I’ll get you house seats.”
“That’d be great.”
I’ll never come and see it. He knows that. I’ve ruined our friendship.
I’m a fucking terrible person.
We lapse into silence and just look at each other for a few seconds as awkwardness settles between us.
“You look beautiful,” he says, and I glance down because I really can’t look him in the eyes anymore. “As usual.”
“Connor …”
“How’s the play going?” he asks, changing the subject. “Must be weird working with Ethan again, huh?”
I look over and see Holt at the bar, waiting to be served.
“Yep.” I tuck my hair behind my ear and push down my rising panic. “Weird is one word for it. Does he know you’re here?”
He shakes his head. “No. I wanted to see you first. Say hi. I … I wasn’t sure how much you’ve told him about us. I didn’t want things to be awkward.”
I sigh. Awkward seems to be where I live these days. Right there on the corner of Freak-Out Avenue.
“I haven’t told him anything,” I say, wishing Connor would leave before Ethan comes back, “and I’d really appreciate it if you didn’t mention it. We open in a week, and I don’t want to cause drama.”
“Don’t tell me you’re back together?” he asks, his face turning dark.
“No. We’re not. We’re just … we’re trying to be friends.”
When I look over, Holt’s walking toward us, and I feel like I’m going to have a stroke, my heart’s beating so fast.
Connor follows my gaze as a wry smile settles on his face. “Well, I guess some things never change. I can’t believe that after what he did to you, you’re still completely in love with him.”
I look at him sharply. “That’s not true.”
“Oh, please, Cassie. Even when you claimed to hate him, you were so fixated, you couldn’t see other options that were right in front of you.”
“Connor—”
“I would have never hurt you like he did. But I guess it’s all just history now, huh?”
He shrugs it off, but I know how much damage I did, and that knowledge makes me feel like garbage.
“I just hope you know what the hell you’re doing, because if he hurts you again …” He shakes his head. “You deserve to be happy, Cassie. That’s all I’m saying.”
I nod. Things might have been so different if I could have made things work with Connor. But I couldn’t. I tried. We both know I really tried.
“Hey, Connor!” Ethan hands me my drink and then shakes Connor’s hand. To his credit, he looks genuinely pleased to see him. I, on the other hand, am on the verge of two worlds colliding and am about to pass out. “I heard you were doing Arcadia, man. Congratulations. The cast looks awesome.”
Connor plasters on a smile. “Hey, Ethan. Yeah, it’s great. Bookings are going well, so we’re hoping for a nice, long run.”
Holt smiles and gestures toward the bar. “Can I get you a drink? They have some decent imported beer. Or if you want to live dangerously, I could get you one of these pink monstrosities Taylor’s drinking, although I’m pretty sure it’s made from just vodka and sugar.”
Connor looks at me and smiles, but there’s sadness in his eyes. “Yeah, well … she always did have questionable taste.”
Something shifts in the air, and when I look back at Ethan he’s staring at Connor, his smile fading. Suddenly I think it’s really important that Connor leaves.
As if he senses the building tension, Connor says, “Well, it’s been great seeing you guys but I’ve got to get back to the rest of my cast. Hope you can come down one night and see the show.” He looks at both of us as he says it, but I know he’s only talking to me.
“See you, Ethan,” he says, his voice less than friendly. Then he kisses my cheek and whispers, “Take care of yourself, Cassie. Please.”
He leaves, and even though the room is full of people chattering and laughing, all I can focus on is the absolute silence surrounding Ethan. He takes several mouthfuls of beer and pretends to look at something across the room, but I can see that his eyes are glazed and unfocused. He’s not looking at something as much as he’s trying not to look at me. I squirm because I know, without a shadow of a doubt, what he’s about to say.<
br />
“You slept with him, didn’t you?” he asks quietly. He doesn’t sound angry, or even hurt. Just … resigned.
When I don’t answer, he looks at me, and I can see that he’s struggling to hold in everything he’s feeling. His lips are pressed together and hard, and my heart is pounding so loudly I can hear it in my ears.
“Ethan …”
“Just tell me, Cassie. I’m not going to make a scene. I just need to know.”
“You already know.”
He huffs in frustration. “I need to hear you say it.”
I take a deep breath and push down a wave of nausea. “Yes. We slept together.”
He blinks but doesn’t stop staring at me. “When?”
“You know when.”
“After graduation.”
“Yes.”
“Straight after I left.”
“Yes.”
“For how long?”
“Three months.”
“Three months?!” He laughs, but it’s a bitter sound. “Three fucking …” He nods and takes another swig of beer, his expression intense. “So you two were … what? In a relationship? Dating?”
“No. I mean … kind of. He wanted to, but I just … I couldn’t. I didn’t feel that way about him. It was just sex.”
He laughs again, and he’s looking everywhere else but at me.
“Ethan … I was angry and hurting. He was there. You weren’t.”
He swallows more beer, his jaw clenching and releasing.
“You can’t be upset with me for something that happened after you left. That’s not fair.”
“I know,” he says, his voice low. “I know I shouldn’t want to smash in Connor’s fucking face, but … Jesus, Cassie, three months?!”
He takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly before looking at me.
“I know you were with other men after I left,” he says. “I overheard you and Tristan talking about it the night I came to your apartment. And as much as it fucking killed me to hear that, I coped by telling myself they were just nameless, faceless guys. One-night stands that fulfilled some urge for you. That didn’t mean anything—”
“They didn’t mean anything. Nothing has meant anything for longer than I can remember.”
“Connor meant something.”