Bad Romeo (36 page)

“I can’t pretend that this is enough for me anymore,” I say quietly. “I’m not fooling anyone. Not you, not our friends, and especially not myself. If and when you’re ready to be real, let me know.”

“Cassie—”

“See you in class, Ethan.”

I walk away, every footfall heavy as lead as bile churns in my stomach. As I turn down the path toward my building, I glance back.

He’s still standing where I left him, his hands clasped behind his neck and his head bowed. I have the sick urge to run back and tell him to ignore everything I just said. That I’ll take whatever part of him he wants to give.

But I can’t do that. It would just be another lie.

Instead I shiver as I walk to my apartment and unlock the door with shaky hands. Once inside, I strip naked and head to the bathroom, determined to stand under a hot shower until the compulsion to go back to him goes away.

Sadly, when the hot water runs cold an eternity later, I’m still waiting.

Present Day
New York City

I’m standing at the counter of the coffee shop across the road from the theater when I feel a warm hand on my hip. I turn, expecting to see Holt there, but instead it’s Marco, smiling at me with a knowing look.

“Miss Taylor.”

“Mr. Fiori.”

“Have a good time at the benefit last night?”

His tone and raised eyebrow imply he saw Holt and me kissing.

Dammit.

“It was fine.”

“I’m sure.”

“Please don’t make a big deal out of it.”

“What? My two leads making out in the corner like a couple of teenagers? Wouldn’t dream of it.”

“It was nothing.”

“My dear, I’ve seen nothing, and let me assure you that what you and Mr. Holt were doing last night was most definitely not it. I thought the way you kissed each other in rehearsals was scorching. Apparently it pales in comparison to the real thing.”

“Marco…”

“It’s all right. I’m not upset. If anything, I’m thrilled. Can you imagine the press we’ll get out of this?”

I groan as the barista hands me my coffee. “Really? Do you think they saw?”

“I’m certain of it. Our publicist wants to see us prior to rehearsal. I believe every Broadway website and gossip rag has picked up on it. You two are the talk of the town.”

“Oh, God.”

He laughs and pats my shoulder reassuringly as he guides me out of the cafe and across the street. When we get into the rehearsal studio, I dump my gear and head to the ladies’ room, trying to push down a wave of nausea.

After Holt and I left the benefit, he’d escorted me home.

When we reached my apartment, he’d given me a good-night kiss.

Well, to be honest, it was a little more than a kiss. It was more like a full-body vertical dry-hump against my apartment door. In fact, if Mr. Lipman who lives across the hall hadn’t sneezed while he was perving on us through his peephole, we probably would have graduated to an act that’s entirely illegal in a public hallway.

When I’d finally peeled myself away, I was more confused than a straight guy at a transgender beauty pageant. I’d promised myself I was going to take it slow with Ethan. I’d
meant
to take it slow, yet in one night, I’d somehow managed to kiss him twice, reach a heavily loaded second base, and get an enthusiastic grip on his baseball bat through the front of his pants.

In anyone’s playbook, that’s not even in the same universe as slow.

When I walk back into the rehearsal room, Holt’s there. His face lights up when he sees me.

As I stop in front of him, he wraps his arms around me and pulls me into a hug. He doesn’t intend it to be intimate, but it is.

His breath is warm on my ear as he whispers, “Good morning. I’ve missed you.” His voice is full of our time together last night—all lusty and a little bit smug.

“Hey.” Mine is purposefully flat. Not encouraging.

He pulls back. His smile drops, and the light goes out of his eyes. “Cassie?”

The room is filling up with people. Our publicist, Mary, enters the room like a tiny big-haired tornado, her arms full of papers and iPads.

“Well, you two had an interesting night. I had a whole marketing campaign organized to get the town buzzing about this show, but you managed to take us viral with one well-publicized make-out session. Well done.”

She lays all of her materials out on the table. There are several pictures of Ethan and me well and truly lip-locked. Each iPad is cued up with a different film clip of the kiss.

Goddammit, how many people were filming us?

“Wait for it,” Mary says as she taps a lacquered nail against one of the screens. “This one has a very artistic zoom that allows us to see actual glimpses of tongue. There!”

Everyone laughs. I want to throw up.

“So,” Mary says, “I’ve already had a dozen requests for interviews this morning, so we need to come up with a strategy. Obviously, I’m all for pushing the whole ‘ex-lovers reunited in hot new play’ angle, because it will sell tickets. People love it when onstage passion is the real deal. If we’re all in agreement, I’ll get some draft press releases drawn up and get them out by this afternoon.”

She looks between Marco, Ethan, and me.

Predictably, Marco and Ethan are waiting for my reaction.

Just as predictably, my answer is, “No freaking way.”

Mary begins to bluster. I don’t hang around for it.

“I need to smoke. I’ll be back in a minute.”

I grab my cigarettes and lighter. When Ethan brushes his fingers over my arm as I pass, I keep going.

Once I’m in the alley, I attempt to light my cigarette, but my trusty Zippo picks that moment to stop being trusty. I flick the roller again and again, but the flint refuses to fire.

“Fuck it!”

I slump back against the wall and close my eyes. When I hear the door open, I know it’s him without having to look.

“Cassie?”

I keep my eyes closed. Not seeing him is easier.

“Please look at me.”

I can’t. I want to be strong, and looking at him makes me the weakest woman on the planet.

“Look at me, or I’m going to kiss you.”

That works.

I open my eyes to see him frowning, his arms crossed over his chest.

“Would you like to tell me what the hell is going on?”

I throw up my hands. “It’s everywhere. Pictures. Videos. Blog posts.”

He stares at me, confused. “And?”

“And … people are gossiping about us being together.”

“Good. As Mary said, it’s great publicity.” His calm is annoying.

I tense and try to move away, but he grabs my shoulders and holds me still. “Cassie, stop. Why is this freaking you out? No offense, but you didn’t seem too concerned last night when we nearly defiled your hallway.”

“For a start, what we did in my hallway was between you and me…”

“And Mr. Lipman.”

“… not splashed all over every tabloid in the city!”

I push on his chest, and he steps back to give me the space I need to breathe. His face is still aggravatingly serene, and I hate that he’s not joining me in my outrage.

“Since when do you care what people think?” he says. “There’s no hiding our onstage chemistry. Who gives a shit if they think we’re doing it offstage, too? For all they know, I’m actually fucking you during the sex scene.”

He doesn’t get it, and it’s because I’m not explaining myself clearly. Explaining it will hurt him. And yet part of me is totally okay with that.

“Ethan, for everyone who knows us … who knows our history … I’m going to seem like the biggest idiot in the world for letting you in again, and the kicker is, they’re probably right. They know how devastated I was when you left, and now I’m making out with you like nothing happened? How stupid must I be?”

That stops him short. The muscles in his jaw work overtime. “Cassie, I’ve worked really hard to be in a position to even think about trying to fix things with you. If I thought, even for a second, that I could possibly hurt you again, I wouldn’t be here. Can’t you just trust me on that?”

I shake my head. “No. And that’s the problem here. I don’t trust you, and I don’t know that I ever will again. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I’m always going to be waiting for the other shoe to drop. For you to get that dead, faraway look in your eyes and run. How can we possibly get back together knowing that?”

His gaze turns steely. “Knowing how we feel about each other … how we’ve
always
felt about each other … how can we not? Don’t even try to tell me you’ll ever love someone as much as you love me, because as arrogant as it is to say, that’s bullshit. And I feel the same way about you. Everyone else is just going to be second best for us. Don’t you get that?”

I take a deep breath, heart hammering.

We’re charging ahead in a rocket car, and I have no idea if we’ll end up in paradise or smashed into a tree.

History would suggest the tree.

“Maybe we should just … step back,” I say. “Get through opening night, then … I don’t know. Reassess.”

He laughs, short and scoffing. “Reassess. Right.” He runs his hand through his hair.

“Ethan, reporters can insinuate whatever the hell they like, but when they ask if we’re a couple, I’m going to tell them no, and it’s going to be the truth.”

I see a flicker of pain in his eyes, but he’s still not angry. I want to scream in frustration, because that statement should have sent him storming away in a fit of rage. Instead, he’s staring at me with an intensity that curls my toes. He moves toward me and puts his hand on the wall next to my head before leaning down until our noses are almost touching.

“Cassie, us agreeing to take a step back is totally different than you pushing me away, which is what’s going on here. Let me save you a lot of effort by telling you that you can’t get rid of me that easily. I can’t live without you, and more importantly, I don’t want to. So you go ahead and freak out all you want. I’ll still be here when you’re done. Understand?”

He stares at me until I nod to acknowledge what he’s said. Then he looks at me for another few knee-buckling seconds before saying, “Good.”

With that, he walks away and disappears back inside the theater.

Later that day, we do a series of press interviews in which we both deny being romantically involved. Based on the reactions of the interviewers, it’s clear no one believes us.

SEVENTEEN

SICK & TIRED

Six Years Earlier
Westchester New York
The Grove

I sigh and turn over in bed. Again.

And again.

And again.

I look at the clock: 1:52 a.m.

Dammit.

I grab my phone off the nightstand and check it.

Fully charged. No missed calls. No messages.

I don’t know why I’m so surprised. Did I really think my little speech in the rain was going to wash away all of his insecurities? Even I’m not that naive.

And yet, here I am at two o’clock in the morning, hurt that he hasn’t called or texted.

I dump my phone back on the nightstand, then turn over and shut my eyes.

Just stop thinking about him. If he comes around, he comes around. If he doesn’t …

Well, if he doesn’t …

I pull my legs up to my chest to try to suppress the ache that’s growing there.

If he doesn’t … life will go on. I’ll be okay.

I’ll be okay.

I lie in the darkness repeating that same phrase over and over again, and even when sleep eventually claims me hours later, I still don’t believe it.

“Wow, you look like crap,” Ruby says as I shuffle into the kitchen.

“Thank you.”

“He didn’t call, huh?”

“Nope.”

“Idiot.”

“Yep.”

I plunk myself down at the kitchen table as Ruby places a plate of grayish scrambled eggs in front of me.

I look at them dubiously.

“Don’t start with me,” she says. “Even I can cook eggs.”

“Really?”

“Dunno. Never done it before. Still, I’m sure they’re delicious.”

I scoop some into my mouth as she opens the fridge. I almost gag. I’m not sure how someone can screw up eggs so badly, but Ruby has managed it.

“Good?” she asks over her shoulder.

“Awesome,” I say with a full mouth. “You should have some.” Why should I be the only one subjected to this torture?

“You going to call him?” she asks as she pours me some juice.

“Nope.”

“Good girl. You’ve done all you can. Let him come to you.”

I swallow thickly around the eggs and my paranoia. “And if he doesn’t? Come to me, I mean.”

“He will.”

“But what if he doesn’t?

“He totally will.”

“Ruby, dammit, what if he doesn’t?”

She stops what she’s doing and stares at me. “Cassie, that boy is so hung up on you, you might as well be a coatrack. It might take him a little while to realize he can’t live without you, but he will. Trust me.”

I sigh and push my eggs around the plate. “So, what do I do when I see him today?”

“Act cool.”

“I don’t know how to do that.”

She puts her plate on the table and sits next to me. “Just … act polite. Be friendly but not familiar. If he brings up your relationship, then talk about it. If not, stick to neutral topics: the weather, politics, sports teams, how much you want to ride his throbbing hard cock. Hang on, wait.” She frowns and holds up a finger. “Scratch that last one. He knows about that already.”

I laugh and try not to wince in disgust as I eat the rest of my terrible eggs.

“He’ll cave, Cassie,” Ruby says and picks up her fork. “Trust me. He probably cried himself to sleep last night and can’t wait to see you today so he can declare his undying love. There may even be a proposal.”

I roll my eyes as she scoops some egg into her mouth and immediately gags. “Oh, fuck me! That’s disgusting! Why didn’t you warn me?”

I wear my most innocent expression as I sip my juice.

I have to admit, I take a little extra care when I get ready for class. I apply more makeup than normal, take time to straighten my hair. Wear a boob-hugging top and an ass-hugging skirt.