THIRTEEN
NOT CARING
Present Day
New York City
Dear God. He’s in my apartment. Like, in my apartment. Not only that, he’s wandering around, looking at my stuff.
Having him in my formerly Holt-free Sanctuary is making my skin prickle with heat.
This is the place where Tristan and I have talked about him. Where I write angsty-emo vitriol in my diary night after night. Where I’ve brought countless men who always ended up having his face. His hands. His body.
And now he’s here. Pulling off his jacket and laying it on the couch. Turning to look at me with a small, nervous smile. Showing me that no matter how many men I bring back here, he’s the only one who truly looks like he belongs.
Dammit.
How did this happen? Why did I let it?
Today’s rehearsal was a crapfest. Ethan was nailing his characterization, while I was still flubbing simple lines. When Marco invited us out for drinks afterward, I didn’t miss how he only finished half of his spritzer before leaving us alone. Subtle.
He may as well have hired a skywriter to say, “Sort out your shit with Holt and stop ruining my play.”
Even though I turned down his invitation to have Holt replaced, I’m still having trouble being completely open. So I vowed to try harder as I stayed with Ethan and drank.
When Holt offered to walk me home, I figured it might help us bond.
My mistake was letting him walk me up to my apartment. He’d practically put his neck out trying to see inside when I opened the door, and when he flat-out asked to come inside, I was unable to say no.
So now, here we are—him wandering around my living room, and me watching like he’s an exhibit in a zoo.
He examines my book collection and smiles as his fingers settle on my dilapidated copy of The Outsiders.
“I haven’t read this in a while,” he says, and pulls it out, then leafs through it. “I’ve missed it.”
“I thought you read it every year.”
He gives me a smile before placing it back in its slot. “Yeah … well … I gave my copy to some chick. Haven’t gotten around to getting a new one yet.”
The day he gave me that book, he was so proud. A birthday present I’d never forget, given to me by a perfect boyfriend.
Pity the boy who gave it to me didn’t really exist.
I hear the front door lock click open, and Tristan’s booming voice calls down the hallway.
“Cass? You here? I’m taking you out tonight, and ‘no’ isn’t a word I’m accepting. Get out that hot black dress with the low back. I want to show you off.”
The hallway closet slams as he puts away his yoga mat, and the look on Holt’s face screams, “You didn’t tell me you lived with someone. Especially not a man.”
Tristan walks into the room and freezes when he sees Holt. Just like dogs in the street, the two men size each other up.
“Hello,” Tristan says coldly before giving me a dark look. I shrug as he turns to assess Holt with narrowed eyes. “From the pictures Cassie showed me right before she burned them, I’m guessing you’re Ethan Holt.”
Holt bristles, but with more grace than I’ve ever seen from him, he composes his face and holds out his hand. “That’s right. And you are?”
I roll my eyes as Tristan steps forward to face off with Ethan. He’s only an inch taller, but the black tank he always wears to yoga class shows off his stupidly ripped physique.
He ignores Holt’s hand and says, “I’m Tristan Takei. I live here. With her.”
“I see,” Holt says and drops his hand. “Nice to meet you, Tristan. Cassie didn’t tell me she lived with someone.”
“Maybe she thought it wasn’t any of your business.”
Testosterone is thick in the air, but before I can explain I don’t have a live-in lover, Tristan grabs my arm and hisses, “Cassie? I need to speak to you in the kitchen,” and drags me out of the room.
When we get into the kitchen he turns to me, fury on his face. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
“Tris, calm down.”
“I’m calm.”
“No, you’re not. Your chakras are flying around like fireworks.”
“You don’t believe in chakras.”
“Yeah, well, if I did, that’s what they’d be doing. Chill.”
He glares at me for a few seconds before closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. Then he lets it out slowly and sighs. “Okay. I’m calm … ish. Now, answer the question.”
“I’m not doing anything. We were hanging out.”
“Hanging out doesn’t involve bringing him back here. You know very well that when you bring a man home, it’s for one reason, and if you think you’re going to jump back into bed with him—”
“I don’t! I’m not. I was a little tipsy. He walked me home.”
“You’ve been drinking, and you let him in here?! For the love of Krishna! It’s a wonder I didn’t find you giving him a damn lap dance! You know that if you’re within twenty feet of an attractive man when you’re drunk, they’re likely to be stripped naked and humped in record time! Let alone your handsome ex who you’ve never really gotten over!”
“Dammit, Tris, would you please keep your voice down?!”
He exhales again. Nothing ruins his equilibrium faster than the idea of me regressing to my old ways.
I touch his arm. “Do you honestly believe that a couple of weeks of him being decent is going to convince me he’s no longer an emotionally defective asshole? Even I’m not that naive.”
“I’m not saying you are, but that man is your Achilles’ heel. If he asked you to sleep with him right now, would you even be capable of saying no?”
My whole body blushes. “Tristan, God … that’s not what he wants.”
“Bull. I see how he looks at you. If you gave the word, that boy would sex you up ten ways from Sunday.”
I run my fingers through my hair. “Tris…”
He sighs and puts his hands on my shoulders. “Look, sweet girl, I know this whole thing is difficult to navigate, but you have to remember everything we’ve talked about. Boundaries. Respect. Honesty. Emotional availability.”
“Are you referring to him or me?”
“Both. Don’t be blinded by your hormones. I can’t watch you go through all that heartache again.”
He pulls me into a hug, and I sigh. “Thanks, Tris.”
“You’re very welcome.” He pulls back. “But I just have to do one more thing before I can leave you two alone. You might want to look away, because this will be embarrassing.”
Before I can stop him, he steps around me and strides back into the living room. Holt is sitting on the edge of the couch, but he stands when Tristan enters.
“Okay, you,” Tristan says, pointing at Holt’s face. “I’m going to say this once, so listen up. I spend a good portion of my waking hours trying to find calm in this world and be at one with my serenity, but I love this woman more than pretty much anyone else on the planet, so if you hurt her, in any way, I swear by mighty and powerful Buddha that I will not hesitate in ending you. Do you understand me?”
Holt glances at me before nodding, and I’m surprised to see that his face shows not fear but steely determination.
“Yeah, I understand you, Tristan. But just so you know, hurting her is the furthest thing from my mind. I know I’ve been an idiot in the past, and I have a lot to make up for, but I intend to see this through to the end. Whatever that may be. So you’d best get used to seeing me around, because I’m not going anywhere this time. Do you understand?”
Tristan stares at him for a moment before relaxing his stance, a look of surprise on his face. “Well … good, then. You have a pretty face. If you treat her right, I won’t have to ruin it.”
I suppress a smile, because in all the time I’ve known him, I’ve only seen Tristan get this alpha-male once before, and that was when a guy he was dating called Gandhi a “grandstanding hypocritical über-pussy.” It took Tris a long time to find his serenity again after he punched the guy in the face.
He gives Holt one last evil eye before clapping his hands together and saying, “Okay, I need to shower. You two behave yourselves while I’m gone.”
Tris departs, leaving Holt and me facing each other awkwardly.
“So … yeah. That’s Tristan,” I say. “He lives here and apparently threatens my ex-boyfriends. Would you like some wine?”
“Fuck, yes,” Holt says, and follows as I head into the kitchen.
I grab a bottle of red and pour two overly generous glasses. I hand one to him and take a large mouthful of mine before leaning against the counter.
“So, Tristan’s kind of protective of you, I take it,” Holt says.
“Oh, you picked up on that?”
“Yeah, a little. It’s not often I’m threatened by a scary-tall super-fit Japanese dude. Can’t say I enjoyed it.”
“He’s only half Japanese. And he’s not usually like that, but I guess seeing the Antichrist in his house pushed him over the edge.”
He laughs and rubs the back of his neck. “Well, I’m just going by Satan these days, but if you want to be all formal about it…”
“Can I call you Lucy?”
“Huh?”
“Short for Lucifer.”
“Oh, sure, but only when we’re alone. I can’t have you calling me that in front of my evil minions. They might laugh and … well … that would just hurt my feelings.”
We head back into the living room and sit on the couch.
“So, you and Tristan. Are you guys”—he looks ill when he says the word—”together?”
I almost laugh. “No.”
“Have you ever been?” He looks at me way too intensely as he waits for my response.
“No. I don’t have the … uh … necessary equipment to satisfy Tristan.”
He looks at me blankly for a few seconds as my words seep into his wine-clouded brain. Then a virtual lightbulb goes on behind his eyes.
“Oh! Well, thank Christ for that. My blood pressure just lowered by about twenty points.”
I laugh and take a sip of wine, and when I look back, he’s staring at me. “I saw pictures of you guys together, you know.”
“When?”
“When I was in Europe. For the first few months after I left, my nighttime ritual was to get shit-faced drunk and google you. There were pictures of you and Tristan together when you were working off-Broadway. When I saw them … I … fuck, Cassie, it gutted me. I thought he was your boyfriend. That you’d moved on, while I couldn’t stop pining for you.”
I get a mental image of him, bottle in hand in front of his computer, seeing me with Tristan and cursing me for not being miserable. But I was miserable, even though the pictures showed me smiling.
“Yeah, well, you always did underestimate my feelings for you,” I say, and turn away from him to fiddle with the stem of my glass. “That was one of our major problems.”
“I know it sounds like a cop-out but … I just couldn’t comprehend how you could love me as much as I loved you. It just didn’t seem possible.”
For a moment, I can’t believe what I’ve just heard. He always had trouble saying the “L” word. It was the one thing that made what we had too real for him.
When I glance over, he looks like an arachnophobe who just trumped a roomful of spiders.
“Impressed?” he asks. “Look at me go with the ‘L’ word. Didn’t even stutter.”
“It’s like a miracle, only less likely.”
Now it’s his turn to gaze at his wine. “It’s only taken three years for me to realize that not saying it didn’t help me deny my feelings. Whether or not I loved you wasn’t dependent upon a word. It was just a fact. Plain and simple. You’d be surprised how often I say it these days.”
I go back to my wine, because his face is so full of emotion that I just can’t look at it.
“Music?” I say, and head over to my iPod.
I spend a few moments looking mindlessly through my playlists, before he says, “Need help? Because if you pull out any country music, I’ll be forced to mock you.”
“You’re never going to let me live that down, are you?”
“What, that you once spent real folding money on a Dixie Chicks album? Nope. Never living that down.”
“Hey, there were some good songs on that album.”
“Cassie, there was fucking yodeling on that album. I’m pretty sure that album killed the stereo in my old car.”
I laugh. “You used to blare AC/DC out of that car every day. Those speakers were completely shredded. You can’t possibly blame two minutes of yodeling.”
He walks over and takes the iPod from me. “That two minutes scarred my eardrums for life. I can only speculate about what it did to my poor stereo. Now, step aside, woman. Allow me to find the perfect music for us.”
I shake my head and sit down. I’m once again struck by how surreal it is to have him in my apartment. Six months ago, it would have been inconceivable. Now he’s trying so hard to show me that he’s matured and grown. If only I had. Even now, I can feel resentment bubbling inside of me, waiting for him to make one wrong move so it can explode.
“Oh, wow,” he says with a nervous glance over his shoulder. “Don’t hate me for putting this on, but … God … this album…”
The opening strains of Radiohead’s Pablo Honey filter though the speakers, and I immediately tense.
I take another mouthful of wine.
“I can change it if you want,” he says. “I just … I haven’t heard it in a while.”
Yeah, me neither.
“It’s fine,” I say, before drinking again. The alcohol makes it easy to lie. This album was the soundtrack of so many memories, and although they’re pleasant ones, they’re also the parts of him I miss the most.
He joins me on the couch, far enough away to make it look like he’s respecting my personal space but close enough to make my wine-addled brain crave him closer. I lean my head back and let the music distract me.
We’re on the third song by the time Tristan appears in front of us, freshly showered and ready to go out.
He takes in the scene before him and frowns. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d swear you two were meditating. Although I’m not sure why you’d be meditating to sex music.”
Holt squirms a little.
“Cass, are you sure you don’t want to come out with me?” Tris asks. “It’s bubble night at Neon. You could even bring tall, dark, and brooding here. Looks like he could use some bubbles.”
“No, thanks,” I say with a sigh. “I’m kind of enjoying my meditation. You should be proud.”
Tristan’s mouth presses into a thin line as he turns to Holt. “So that’s how this is going to work? You just waltz back into her life and get her to do something I usually have to bribe her with chocolate to do?”
Holt blinks at him lazily. “What can a say, man? I don’t need to use chocolate, ’cause I’m just naturally sweet.”
Tristan looks at me in confusion, like he’s struggling with either really liking Holt or really hating him.
Welcome to my world.
“Okay, I’m leaving,” Tristan says as he frowns at Holt once more. “But Cassie? Just remember what we spoke about. I don’t want to arrive home and have to cleanse your aura of douche vibes.”
Ethan tenses. “I’ve worked very hard to rid myself of ‘douche vibes,’ but if by chance some still exist, I promise not to infect Cassie with them.”
“You do that,” Tristan mumbles as he heads down the hallway to grab his jacket. “See ya, Cass.”
“Bye.”
The door opens and closes, and Holt and I sink further into the couch.
“Call me crazy,” Holt says as he turns to me, “but I think Tristan really likes me.”
“Well, that’s one theory.”
“What the other one?” he asks.
“That he wants to tear off your head, poke out your eyeballs, and use your skull as a bowling ball.”
“Oh, he bowls?” he deadpans.
“Occasionally. On disco night.”
He smiles—one of those beautiful, lights-up-his-whole-face smiles. When he notices me staring, his smile fades into a more wistful expression.
“Man, I’ve missed this. I never realized how much it hurt to not be with you until I saw you again, and the pain went away.”
My smile falters. The wine is making his tongue loose and his eyes intense, and I’m not drunk enough to hear him say stuff like that.
“Did you miss me?” he asks, almost whispering.
“Ethan…”
“Not the bastard me,” he says. “The me who was good to you. Made you laugh. Who … loved you.”
“Unfortunately, he was locked inside the bastard you,” I say, glancing up at him. “I could never have one without the other.”
“You can,” he says. “I promise, you can.”
“It’s going to take me a while to believe it.”
“I get that. I never thought making things right with you would be easy, but I know it will be worth it.”
“What if it’s not?” I say, unable to bear him thinking we’re just going to walk off into the sunset. “What if, after all of this time, you’re just fooling yourself into thinking we can rekindle something that’s been over for a long time?”
His eyes cloud over, and the familiar pull I feel for him thickens the air between us.
“Cassie,” he whispers as he leans forward, so close I can smell the sweet scent of wine on his breath. “We’ve never been over. You know it as well as I do. Even when I was halfway around the world and you hated my guts, we weren’t over. You can feel it between us now. And the closer we are, the stronger it gets. And that’s what scares you.”
He looks at my lips, and it takes every ounce of my dwindling self-preservation to turn away.
“If you can tell me you don’t feel it,” he says quietly, “then I’ll back off. But I’m pretty sure you can’t do that, can you?”
I only hesitate for a moment before saying, “I don’t feel it.” The line falls flat.
He touches my fingers, grazing warm fingertips over the back of my hand until he reaches my wrist. He wraps his hand around the thin bones and squeezes gently.
“You can say what you like, but your pulse doesn’t lie. It’s pounding. I’m doing that to you.”
“How do you know it’s attraction and not fear?”
“I’m certain it’s a bit of both. But the attraction is definitely there.”
I pull my hand away and drain the rest of my glass. I’ve drunk too much. So has he. Lack of inhibition isn’t going to help anything at this point.
I yawn, and stand. “Well, it’s getting late.”
He nods and smiles. He can read me like a book. “Yeah, I’d better get going.”
When we reach the door, he turns to me, one hand on the handle.
“Cassie,” he says hesitantly as he leans on the doorframe. “Before I go, I just need to know one thing.”
“What?”
He leans forward, his voice low. “You and Tristan weren’t exactly whispering in the kitchen. I heard him say you wouldn’t be able to resist me if I asked you to sleep with me. Is that true?”
I take in his tall frame filling my doorway, the long line of his throat leading up to his remarkable, emotional face. I remember how his body feels under my hands, the noises he makes when I touch him. The incredible look he got on his face every time his body was joined with mine.
“Ethan…”
“Wait,” he says and shakes his head. “Don’t answer that. Because if you told me that you wanted me … well…” He looks down at me, and I can tell how much he wants to touch me; how his fingers flex and clench at his sides, how his breathing gets a little rough. “There wouldn’t be enough self-restraint in the world.”
Thankfully, before either of us does anything stupid, he takes a step back. “Good night, Cassie. For both our sakes, shut the door. Now.”
I close the door in his face.
Even through the wood, I can hear his sigh of relief.
Six Years Earlier
Westchester, New York
Romeo and Juliet Opening Night Party
The music is too loud. It vibrates through my skull and makes my eyeballs hurt.
The living room is packed with people swaying and laughing. Some of them are actually attempting to talk to each other over the noise that’s trying to pass itself off as music.
On the couch next to me, Lucas is smoking a joint. He offers it to me, and when I refuse he passes it along to Jack, who’s so glassy-eyed he could be labeled Glassy McStaresalot in Madame Tussauds.
I’m a little freaked out that someone is smoking illicit drugs so close to me. I keep expecting my father to burst through the door and go ballistic, but of course, he’s on the other side of the country, and even with his finely tuned dad nose, he couldn’t smell it from over there.
I’m pretty sure he couldn’t, anyway.
“Cassie!”
I look over at Ruby, and she mimes the “drink up” gesture. I sigh and down the shot of tequila I’ve been holding. She jabs a wedge of lemon at me and gives me a thumbs-up. I shove the lemon in my mouth, and she smiles broadly.
After putting the lemon and shot glass on the coffee table, I slump back onto the couch and sigh. For the millionth time in the last two hours, I look around, hoping that Holt’s decided to make an appearance.
Of course, he hasn’t.
“I’m going to get some air,” I yell as I stand and move past Ruby. She nods and pours herself another shot.
When I reach the front of the house, Elissa is sitting on the stairs, sipping something from a large cup.
I flop down next to her. “Enjoying yourself?”
“Sure,” she says. “I love getting ruptured eardrums every time Jack has a party. Just because he’s half deaf, he’s determined to drag us all down with him. His neighbors must hate his guts.”
“His dad owns all of the neighboring houses. That’s the only reason he gets away with it.”
She offers me her drink as she gazes out into the street.
“Waiting for Ethan?” I ask.
“Yeah.”
“Think he’ll show?”
She shakes her head. “Every run-in with Dad turns Ethan into a ball of rage. I’ve tried to tell him to just let it go, but he won’t listen.”
“Has their relationship always been so … complicated?”
“Yes.” She laughs. “It’s like Dad just doesn’t know how to deal with him. He’s fine with me because I’m a girl, but with Ethan? I don’t think he knows how to communicate with him on an emotional level. My theory is it’s because our grandfather didn’t believe men should be openly affectionate with each other, because it made them soft, or whatever. So now, whenever Ethan challenges Dad, they fight instead of talking things through.”
“That must be tough.”
“It is. And it got worse a few years ago. I blame Vanessa, the bitch-whore.”
My ears prick up. “Oh, so it wasn’t Olivia?”
“No,” she says, and sighs. “Vanessa was patient zero for all his issues. She’s the reason it went south with Olivia.”
“What happened between them? Ethan and Vanessa, I mean.”
She looks down and runs her finger around the edge of her cup. “You should talk to him about it.”
“Elissa, please. I’ve tried asking him, but he clams up.”
“Yeah, but he’d kill me for telling you.”
“I get that, but if it makes you feel any better, he read my diary, so he knows a whole stack of personal stuff about me I’d rather he didn’t.”
Her mouth drops open. “He read your diary?”
“Yeah. A few weeks ago. I might have written something about how much I wanted to touch his … uh … penis.”
“Oh my God.”
“And I kind of implied his dick could win awards.”
“Oh … whoa.”
“I know.”
“Plus … ew. That’s my brother.”
“I know. But in my defense, your brother’s extremely hot.”
She looks at me doubtfully. “If you say so.”
“I do.”
Elissa sighs. “Well, as gross as it is to me, I’m kind of glad you feel that way, because you’re the only girl I could see him getting serious with since the whole thing with Vanessa played out. I can understand why he’s hesitant, but still…”
“Please tell me that statement is going to segue into the full story.” I give her my best puppy-dog eyes.
She gives me an eye roll before saying, “Vanessa was Ethan’s high school sweetheart. They started dating in sophomore year.”
I nod and try to hide the vicious jealousy that flares inside me. It’s stupid to be jealous of a girl I’ve never met, right?
“At school, Ethan and Vanessa were like the golden couple. But behind the scenes, they argued a lot. Vanessa liked pushing his buttons. If she thought he wasn’t giving her enough attention, she’d flirt with other guys. She thrived on making him jealous. I totally think she was a sociopath. She even used to flirt with Ethan’s best friend from grade school, Matt. She used jealousy to keep Ethan in line.”
“Why didn’t he just dump her?”
“I don’t know. It was like she had him under her thumb. She could manipulate him into anything. Used his insecurities against him.”
“So what happened?”
“Well, one night during senior year, after Ethan had finally told Dad he wasn’t going to medical school and would be applying to The Grove instead, they had a really bad fight. I couldn’t hear exactly what they were saying, but the next thing I know, Mom’s crying and Dad’s yelling at Ethan to get out. After that, he went to Vanessa’s place, but she wasn’t there, so he headed over to Matt’s. When he got there, he walked in to find Matt and Vanessa. In bed.”
“Oh, God.”
“Ethan was devastated. I would have expected something like that from Vanessa, but not from Matt. He and Ethan were like brothers. The next day at school, Matt tried to smooth things over and apologize, but … Ethan was just so angry. He snapped and beat the hell out of Matt. Ended up breaking his nose and getting suspended for two weeks. Vanessa thought the two of them fighting over her was awesome. I’m sure she was playing them both for fools.”
“What a bitch,” I say, feeling violent hatred toward her. I expel a long breath. I can’t even wrap my head around how traumatic it must have been to be betrayed by your closest friends. No wonder Holt had intimacy issues.
“That’s when he really shut down,” Elissa says. “Getting rejected by The Grove didn’t help. He stopped communicating with me and Mom and became even more distanced from Dad. Threw himself into his theater work. Drank too much. Got into fights. Slept with every woman who came across his path, then never called them again. It was hideous to watch.”
My face must give away how much I hate thinking about him with other women, because she quickly adds, “There wasn’t ever anything serious.”
“Not even Olivia?” I ask.
Elissa scrunches up her face. “Yeah, they had a thing. But honestly, Ethan treated her so badly it was doomed from the start. And she was a nice girl, too. Nothing like Vanessa. I never thought my brother could be cruel, until I saw him with Olivia. She would have done anything for him, and he destroyed her. He hasn’t dated since.”
I think about all the cruel things he’s said or done since I’ve known him, and I feel sorry for his previous Juliet.
“So that’s the story,” Elissa says as she stands and pulls me to my feet. “Now, can we please stop talking about my deadbeat brother and start having a good time? I doubt he’ll show tonight. He’s probably in a bar somewhere, scowling at the wall and causing paint to blister.”
We head back inside, and half an hour and two tequila shots later, Elissa and Ruby have convinced me to dance. I twirl and sway with them, but I can’t help thinking about Holt and what he’s been through.
When I hear a huge round of applause at the front of the room, I turn around to see Holt there, a nearly empty whiskey bottle in his outstretched arms as he yells, “Wassup, fellow thespians?! Romeo’s in da house! Let’s party!”
The whole room roars its approval, and beside me I hear Elissa say, “Oh, God. What the hell is he doing?”
I watch in disbelief as Holt hugs and high-fives everyone around him while making his way through the throng like a rock star with his fans.
When he reaches us he smiles sloppily and says, “Hello, ladies,” in a voice I’m guessing is supposed to be sexy.
“Ruby,” he says as he pulls her in for a hug. “You hate me, don’t you? A lot of people hate me. Even my own father. Don’t worry. I don’t hold it against you.”
Then he turns to his sister and wraps his arms around her. “Oh, Elissa. Sweet, ball-breaking Elissa. Why do you put up with me? I don’t understand. But I love you. I really, really do.”
“Uh … Ethan?” she says, wincing as he squeezes her. “Did you happen take a whole bunch of Ecstasy tonight?”
He kisses her cheek before turning to me. His smile immediately falters, but he takes another swig of liquor and then steps forward as he reaches out to cup my face.
“And Cassie. Beautiful, beautiful Cassie. Are you okay?”
“Yes. Are you?”
“I’m great! I don’t even care about what happened tonight with my father. And you wanna know why? Because I’ve decided not to care about anything. It’s such a simple concept, I don’t know why I didn’t come up with it years ago. Look at how happy I am!”
He throws his head back and laughs. It’s the saddest sight I’ve ever seen.
“Holt…” I begin, but he puts his fingers on my lips.
“No, don’t ‘Holt’ me.” He puts down his bottle. “It’s a party, and I want to dance. See ya.”
He pushes into the crowd, and they whoop around him as he starts to move, energetic and ungainly.
“Wow,” Elissa says. “I’ve never seen my brother dance before. There’s … God … there’s too much wrong for me to comprehend.”
“He’s a truly terrible dancer,” Ruby says. “It looks like he’s having a vertical seizure.”
He’s the life of the party. He talks to everyone—is polite to everyone. Heck, he even laughs at Jack’s jokes and doesn’t sneer when Zoe flirts with him.
He probably feels like raging and punching people in the face, but instead he’s being the Holt he thinks everyone wants him to be.
I grind my teeth in frustration.
I know Holt can be an ass, because he’s been one to me on more than one occasion, but at least he was being real. This new Holt? He’s as fake as Zoe’s boobs.
Now I know how he felt watching me be a people pleaser. It’s aggravating as hell.
When I can’t take anymore, I push through the crowd to get to him. He’s talking to Zoe, smiling and laughing. She’s making sexy eyes at him, and I have an urge to smash her face into the bowl of Doritos on the table beside her.
Holt looks up as I approach, and once again his smile falters for a second before it slams firmly back into place.
“Taylor!” he says warmly. “What’s up? Zoe here was just telling me that if she’d been my Juliet instead of you, she wouldn’t have been faking the sex scene. Isn’t that hilarious?”
“Totally hilarious,” I say with zero enthusiasm. “Zoe?” I pick up the bowl of Doritos. “Want some chips?”
Pow. Right in the kisser.
She rolls her eyes. “Yeah, right, Cassie. As if I’m going to eat carbs.”
I exhale and plaster a nonviolent expression on my face. “Holt, can I talk to you for a second?”
“Actually,” Zoe says as she links her arm through his possessively, “he’s talking to me right now. Maybe you could come back later.”
Woman, you’d best get your hands off him before I give you a hydrolyzed-cheese-starch facial.
I slam the chip bowl down on the table and force myself to smile. “I won’t keep him long. I’m sure he’ll be back listening to your amusing pornographic hypotheticals before you know it.”
I grab Holt’s arm and tug, and thankfully, he follows me to the kitchen.
I spin around to face him. “What are you doing?”
He shrugs. “Having a good time?”
“Really? Is that what you call it? Talking to Slut Girl. Pretending you like her.”
“‘Slut Girl’ is a very unkind nickname,” he says, his words slurred. “And maybe I actually enjoy her company.”
“Oh, what a crock.”
“You jealous, Taylor?”
“Yes. Very. Now would you please drop this stupid act and kiss me?”
That stops him dead in his tracks. He blinks three times. I don’t even flinch. Guess I’m getting pretty good at saying what I really think.
Jack walks in and heads to the keg in the corner, ignoring the staring match going on as he fills several cups with beer. “Hey, Holt, buddy. You’re not slowing down, are you? Come on, have one of these.”
Holt turns around just as Jack holds out one of the cups, and the entire beer splashes down the front of Ethan’s shirt.
“Shit!” Jack gasps. “Sorry, man. Total accident.”
Jack grabs a dishtowel and tries to dry Holt’s shirt as he mumbles more apologies.
“It’s fine,” Holt says and forces a smile. “I really don’t care. Got a spare T-shirt I could borrow?”
Jack nods. “Yeah, upstairs in my closet. Wear anything you like.”
Holt slaps him on the shoulder a little too hard as he passes and mutters, “Thanks, buddy.”
He pushes through the crowd and strides up the stairs, and it’s all I can do not to follow him.
“You know,” Jack says. “I’ve never seen anyone be a happy-angry drunk before, but Holt somehow pulls it off.”
I nod. “It’s a rare and special gift.”
He picks a beer up off the counter and sips it thoughtfully. “I should jump online and see if there are any reviews of tonight’s performance out yet. I heard the reviewer from Online Stage Diary was there. I wonder if he had anything nice to say.”
I get a sudden knot in my stomach. “He was there?”
“Yeah. Him and about four others. One from the Broadway Reporter.” He looks at me and quirks an eyebrow. “You never know, Taylor. In the morning, you could be a star.”
“Yeah, right. Or they could hate me.” I laugh, but seriously, if they hate me …
Just the thought of it makes me prickle with nervous sweat.
“I’m sure they’ll say awesome things about you,” Jack says, putting an encouraging hand on my shoulder. “And if they don’t? Well, there’s still half a keg of beer left. You could drink until you forget about it.”
He grabs his beers and wanders off.
I stand there for a few seconds, contemplating my possible impending public humiliation, and I realize there’s only one thing that can help me stop freaking out, and he’s upstairs, maybe shirtless.
I push through the living room before climbing the stairs and heading down the hall to Jack’s room. The door is open, and as I peek around the corner, I see Holt seated on the bed, bare chested, his sodden shirt on the floor, his head cradled in his hands. He grips his hair and sighs, raw frustration emanating from him like an aura.
“Hey,” I say, and take a tentative step inside the room.
He looks up sharply before pushing off the bed and striding over to the closet.
“Hey.” He swings the doors open wide and flicks through Jack’s impressive range of T-shirts. “Some party, huh?”
I can’t look away from the muscles in his naked back as they move and flex. Well, that’s not true. I could look away, but I don’t want to.
“You okay?” I ask, coming closer.
“I’m great.” He holds out a shirt that says, To Err Is Human. To Arr Is Pirate. “Does Avery actually wear this out in public?”
“Holt…”
“Or what about this one?” He brings out a shirt that says, Here’s to nipples. Without them, titties would be pointless.
“Listen…”
“I mean, seriously. Did he buy these or were they paying people to take them away?”
“We need to talk.”
“No, we really don’t.” He replaces the hanger and flicks roughly through the rest of the rack. “Does this guy own nothing but goddamn joke shirts? Nothing sporty? Or, God forbid, plain?”
He keeps flipping through the hangers, his posture becoming more and more tense.
“Ethan,” I say and place my hand in the middle of his back.
“No.” He spins around and steps away from me. “Just fucking … don’t, okay?”
“Why not?”
“Because you touching me never ends well. Because when you touch me, I … fuck, I think stupid thoughts and want stupid things, and … so … just … don’t…”
I take a step forward, and he presses his back into the closet door. When I place my hand in the middle of his chest, he inhales sharply and clenches his jaw.
“I don’t know what you’re so scared of. I’m not Vanessa.”
His expression hardens. “What the fuck do you know about Vanessa?”
I take a deep breath. “Elissa told me about her. And the other girls. And Olivia.” He sighs heavily, and I step a little closer. “Don’t be mad. I forced her.”
His fists clench by his sides. “She still had no goddamn business telling you.”
“I wanted to know.” I bring my other hand onto his chest where I can feel the frantic thrumming beneath the surface. “And now I understand a little more about why you’re so hesitant to date again. What Vanessa did to you was horrible. But I’m not her. I’m nothing like her.”
He looks down at me with less anger, but it’s replaced with tired resignation. Like he’s already had this conversation in his head, many times.
“You don’t get it,” he says. “It doesn’t matter that you’re nothing like her. Some part of me thinks you are, and it’s just … waiting … for everything to go to shit again. It’s not logical, but I can’t help it. And as much as I’m afraid of you hurting me, I’m more afraid of hurting you. What happened with Olivia? I can’t do that to someone again, especially not you.”
He thinks he’s trying to protect me, but as someone who’s been so afraid of being wrong all my life, I finally know, without a shadow of a doubt, that I’m right for him.
“Ethan, no relationship comes without out its risks, and even though you think you can keep pushing people away forever, I’m here to tell you that you’re absolutely going to fail.”
I graze my hands up his forearms, his biceps. Skim across his warm, soft skin.
“The thing is,” he says, looking at me as he tentatively cups my cheek, “as much as you frighten the living fuck out of me, and as much as I know one of us, if not both, is going to absolutely regret it … I want to fail with you.”
We stare at each other for long moments, and as I look into his eyes, I see the exact second he makes his decision. I stop breathing as his fingers tighten in my hair. Then he leans down, his mouth lingering just above mine, sweet warm air fanning over my face as time stops.
“Looking at me like that isn’t fair,” he whispers. “Not even a little bit fucking fair.”
Then the space between our lips is gone, and he’s kissing me, hard and needy. A sharp inhale from both of us sounds incredibly loud in my ears. We kiss each other desperately, lips connecting and pressing, fitting together like it’s their purpose, then parting to make way for low moans.
The effect he has on my body is instantaneous and powerful, and I take full advantage of him being shirtless. My hands roam everywhere. Across his broad shoulders and arms. Around to his back and up to his shoulder blades. Back down his sides and onto his stomach.
He groans into my mouth and explores me just as hungrily. “Jesus … Cassie.”
He kisses me unreservedly, passionately, and at last I feel that, after taking so many steps backward, we’re finally moving forward. Toward what, I have no idea, but just knowing he’s open to the experience is better than any other feeling I’ve ever had.
“I’ve wanted to do this all night.” He pants in between kisses. “Staying away from you was fucking exhausting.”
Somehow we start walking back toward the bed, still kissing, deep and frantic. Before I know it, I’m on my back with him between my thighs. I clutch at him as he grinds against me, slow and insistent.
“Oh, God. Yes.”
He buries his head in my neck, then he’s sucking. He moves along my throat and onto my chest where he cups my breasts as he continues to move against me, stealing my ability to breathe.
I angle my hips up to meet him and boldly grab his butt to push him against me more firmly.
“Fuck.” He groans into my shoulder as he freezes. The room is silent, apart from our ragged breathing.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, gripping his shoulders as my heart thunders way too fast.
“Nothing,” he says, still not moving. “Just give me a minute. Don’t move.”
I’m secretly thrilled that I affect him so powerfully. It’s good to know our attraction is definitely two-sided.
“Talk to me,” he says as he drops his head onto my shoulder. “Anything to distract me from your total fucking hotness.”
“Uh … well, I’m sorry about your dad tonight.” I gently stroke his back. “He was totally out of line. And I certainly wouldn’t let two years go by without telling you I loved you. That’s ridiculous. If you were mine, I’d say I loved you every day.”
I inhale quickly. “I mean, I’m speaking as if I was your dad, you know? If you were my son I’d say that. I’m not saying I love you. I’m not saying that. I just…”
“I didn’t think that you were…” He smiles. “Maybe you should shut up and kiss me again.”
I push him onto his back. “Well, if you insist.”
He pulls me down to him, and we’re kissing again, and it’s like I’m in a warm, aching dream I never want to end.
The kiss becomes more frantic, mouths and hands moving hungrily until we hear a distressed voice say, “Oh, God, you guys, come onnnn! Not in my bed!”
We look up to see Jack in the doorway, swaying like he should have stopped drinking about an hour ago.
“Did you not get the memo that no one’s allowed have sex in my bed tonight? That Star Wars quilt cover is vintage!”
“What do you want, Jack?” Holt sighs, while I suppress a laugh.
“You gotta come downstairs,” he says as he leans against the door and spills his beer. “The first critique of our show is in, and it’s … well … it says some really bad stuff about you two.”
Holt and I look at each other, panic and fear crossing our faces.
“Just messing with you!” Jack laughs. “It’s completely awesome. Get your asses downstairs so I can read it to everyone. Come on!”
He staggers out the door. Holt reluctantly climbs off me and grabs a T-shirt from the closet. He pulls it over his head and smoothes it down with a smirk. It has a huge red cross on it and reads, Orgasm Donor.
“Well, at least I got one that’s accurate.”
I shake my head and laugh as I straighten myself up.
He walks over and puts a hand on each side of my face before leaning down and kissing me.
“I’m not going to kiss you in front of them,” he says. “Or hold your hand. I just don’t want them talking about us. Assuming stuff.”
“Okay,” I say, disappointed I have to hide how I feel about him. “But isn’t Jack going to tell them that we were making out?”
He shakes his head. “The state he’s in, he probably forgot about us five seconds after he left the room.”
He kisses me again, and then we head downstairs, trying to ignore the whispers that filter through the crowd as we emerge together.
“Finally!” Jack says. He shushes everyone as he puts down his beer and holds up the pages he’s printed out. “Okay, listen up guys. This review is by Martin Kilver from Online Stage Diary. He’s notoriously hard to please, so keep that in mind when you hear what he has to say.”
The whole room goes quiet, and I can feel Holt tense beside me as Jack starts to read:
“With any production of a classic Shakespearean play, the actors run the risk of imitating and re-creating much of what’s gone before. In the most recent production of Romeo and Juliet by The Grove’s Dramatic Arts Academy, this couldn’t be further from the truth. The production is sparse and modern, which in itself isn’t groundbreaking. What is revolutionary is that after seeing countless productions over the years, I finally believe in the truth and power of two young people in love. To say it provided this reviewer with one of the most thrilling nights of theater I’ve ever encountered would be an understatement.”
There are murmurs of surprise and some light applause, and Jack smiles before continuing: “Director Erika Eden has shaped her young charges into a slick, powerful company of exciting players, and while they all show maturity in their performances, they lose nothing of the rambunctiousness of youth that is so central to the story.”
More hoots of agreement. I feel the light pressure of Holt’s hand on the small of my back.
“Okay, keep it down,” Jack says. “We’re getting to the best part.” He clears his throat. “Although the entire cast is truly exceptional, special mention must be made of Aiyah Sediki as the nurse, who brings a wonderful sense of dignity to the role, and Connor Baine as Mercutio, a role that is often played as two-dimensional in its brashness, but to which he brings a surprising and welcome sensitivity.”
There are huge yells of approval as Aiyah and Connor beam. I applaud them both, so proud.
Jack looks at us knowingly before continuing: “But the major triumph of this production is the casting of the two lead actors—Ethan Holt as Romeo, and Cassandra Taylor as Juliet.” The crowd whistles and hollers, and my face burns bright red. “In playing Romeo, Mr. Holt brings to the role a prickly vulnerability that plays directly against the acres of flowery prose the character has to utter. His intense, panther-like energy is a refreshing change from the foppish, wet-eared Romeos I’ve seen in the past, and I predict that if this performance is anything to go by, Mr. Holt will have very bright future on the professional stage.”
I swallow a lump in my throat as pride for Holt wells up inside me. I turn to look at him, bright eyed and emotional. I want to hug him and whisper how proud I am, but that will have to wait until later.
I look back at Jack who’s now staring at me. “Cassandra Taylor as Juliet is equally as compelling and truly epitomizes a heroine of the twenty-first century. Beautiful and bold, her Juliet is no shrinking flower. She’s a headstrong, passionate woman whose strength of purpose will make the audience fall in love with her every bit as much as her doomed Romeo. Miss Taylor displays a stunning emotional range in her finely tuned performance and has what can only be described as ‘star quality.’”
I try to swallow, but I’m too choked up. I clench my jaw to stop myself from crying, and when I feel Holt’s fingers gently brush mine, I’m grateful he’s there.
“But,” Jack says, coming into the home-stretch, “as exceptional as these two young performers are in their own right, it’s their astounding combined chemistry that really makes this production soar. For in our modern, cynical world, filled with a staggering divorce rate and disposable ideals, it’s not easy to convince an audience to believe in the power of true love. Well, I’m here to tell you these two pulled it off beautifully, and I defy anyone who witnesses their onstage love affair to leave untouched by their extraordinary passion. It certainly made this somewhat-jaded reviewer wish there was more true love in the world.”
The entire crowd “awwws” in unison, and when I look at Holt, I swear he’s blushing just as furiously as I am. The room explodes with chatter as everyone discusses the review and what it all means, but I’m too stunned to even make conversation..
Jack pulls out his phone, and orders Ethan and me to pose for a photo. Without even thinking about it, we put our arms around each and beam for the camera.
After the flash pops, Jack shows us the picture.
It’s beautiful.
Our smiles are so dazzling, it makes me believe that no two people in the history of the world have ever looked happier than us in that moment.
We’re stars.