Theo

Getting drilled – by a fist

 

Everything that could go wrong is since the moment I stepped into the theater this morning.

Considering what a great night I had last night with Joey, you’d think I’d be in the best mood ever and nothing could get me down. All the sweaty, naked sex on every hard surface imaginable.

I should be one mellow fellow.

I walk back into the small office in the back – which is really just a converted supply closet without windows – and it’s hotter than hell.

Birdie sits with her back to me, furiously typing something in her computer. She’s wearing a tank top, blonde hair piled up in a messy bun, a sweater draped across the chair back.

“G’morning,” I mumble, picking up a pile of mail, most of which goes to the producer of the show.

She whips her head around and the scowl that was there turns into a sultry smile. I swear she licks her lips.

Oh shit. I’ve been able to hold off her advances over the course of the last two weeks. She’s been good about respecting our boundaries. But maybe she’s like a shark and can smell the scent of sex on me, even though I just showered all the remaining sex smell off my body this morning. What a sad start of the day.

“Good morning, handsome,” she practically oozes.

I’m caught off guard when she reaches out and takes hold of my wrist. I jerk away from the intimacy of the touch in these small confines of a room.

“Whoa, someone’s jumpy this morning. Too much coffee or not enough?” she tries to joke, but it makes me uneasy and fidgety.

I try to laugh. “Not enough yet. Did Maggie put on a pot this morning?”

Birdie has all but stopped what she was doing and turns in her seat so that out of the corner of my eye, I can see the tanned flesh of her long, stickpin legs. She rolls a hand down her thigh, then reaches around behind her calves.

I ignore the weird signals she’s giving me. Has she always been this overt or am I just now picking up on it because I have sex on the brain? I’ve had no interest in Birdie since I met her. She’s much too much woman for me. I fear she’s one of those women who are dominatrix’s and likes to chain up her lovers and whip them into submission with those floggers.

I internally shudder at the imagine. Definitely not a scene in my playbook.

Her voice is low and raspy, coming from right behind me. My head was bent as I review the stack of mail and then I feel her body pressed up against mine. I remain facing the other direction, but turn my head, as our noses practically touch.

She’s right there.

And then I feel her long, tapered fingers with the claw-like nails sliding over my ass, and then they reach around to my…

I chuckle, dropping the mail onto the desk and carefully remove her hands from my hips and pelvis. Jesus, she’s a barracuda.

“Whoa there. I thought we talked about this?”

Didn’t we? Didn’t I make it clear with her from the start that this wouldn’t happen between us?

She groans, hands come back to my waist and I spin around to face her, placing my hand out to provide some distance.

Birdie takes it all in stride, waving a hand between us.

“Oh come on, Mr. Prude. What’s wrong with a quickie before we start the day? I’m sure you’re just as stressed as I am. Sex would do us good. Let off some steam. Plus, I’m horny.”

She tries again to once make a move, her bottom lip pouting as I slip past her toward the door.

I should be more forthcoming with her. Tell her I’m with someone else. But I don’t because she’ll press for answers. It would drive Birdie crazy not knowing who I’m fucking. And there is no way I want anyone to know it’s Joey.

“Birdie, I need a clear mind. First, I need coffee. But you know how tensions get between us. Sex is not going to be the answer. Okay? I thought we agreed on this topic? Not a good idea.”

She flops back down in the squeaky chair and sighs. “Fine. I guess I’ll figure out a different way. But I’m not letting you get away from me, Crawford. I will have my chance. You can bet on it.”

She winks and turns back to the computer as if dismissing me from her mind already.

I decide not to respond and walk down the hallway toward the breakroom where I hear the producer’s voice. He’s on the phone, I think. I slow my pace as I come to a stop just around the corner.

“That shipment was supposed to come in yesterday, John. We have unfinished sets for a production that opens this coming weekend. We need those products. Now.”

There’s a pause, and then he continues.

“You know I can’t pay for it upfront. You knew that and we verbally agreed to the pay half initially and then the remaining portion after the show’s opening. I don’t have that cash on me.”

Oh no. This can’t be good.

While this workshop is mostly volunteer, the only paid roles are myself, Birdie and the stage manager. Outside of that, everyone is volunteers, which means that the only overhead is the rental fees for the theater, and any set production costs.

If we can’t get a set built…oh shit. That’s huge.

I rub my temples where I feel the start of a headache coming on. This is the reason so many producers and directors become such assholes. It’s all the behind-the-scenes shit they deal with, along with the typical starlet and star egos they have to manage.

Thankfully since this is class performance with newbies, I don’t have that to contend with. Just a handsy-horny co-director who may very well end up tying me up in bondage and spanking me bare ass if I’m not extremely careful.

Niles gives a few more demanding pleas and then hangs up the phone with a curse.

“Fuck.”

I debate whether I should walk in there or not, but I’m in dire need of coffee so I take my chances.

“Morning, Niles,” I say with as much nonchalance as I can muster, pretending I didn’t overhear a portion of his phone call. “How’s it going?”

Doh.

He grumbles. “Fucking cretins.”

I pour myself a very large cup, locating the sugar packets and dumping a few in.

Turning back toward him, I lean my butt against the counter.

“Do I dare ask who you’re referring to?”

“Prop suppliers and lighting designers. Can’t get us what we need when we need them, even though I was promised they’d be available when I ordered them.”

I hum in understanding.

“Anything I can do?”

“Help me find some new set designers.”

“Okay. Difficult, but not impossible. I can make a few calls.”

We talk for a few more minutes when we hear a loud commotion coming from the main lobby.

Without thinking it through, we push through down the hallway to see an argument happening between one of our female actors and a man. A very large man.

“You’re coming home with me right this instant, Melody.” The big burly guy yanks on Mel’s arm.

She’s one of our ensemble cast and outside of showing up and participating, I know very little about her. But a lot is coming into view now.

“Go away, Tommy. Just go home and cool off. I’m not going anywhere with you in this state. You’re high and acting stupid.”

It’s then that I see Tommy’s hand fly backwards and Niles and I jump into action. Niles pulls his arm behind him and I tackle the guy to the ground with a whomp.

“What the-” he tries to get out as the air bursts from his lung when he hits the ground.

A crowd has gathered around us – cast and crew showing up for rehearsals. My knee is firmly lodged in Tommy’s chest and Niles has his arms locked over his head.

I’m overcome with a release of adrenaline and testosterone, made even more explosive when I glance up to feel a pair of emerald green eyes staring at me.

Joey.

And then because I’m distracted by the way her eyes lit up upon seeing me, and because Tommy is a hulk of a man, I’m suddenly flying backwards from what feels like a ten-ton brick in my eye socket.

The next thing I know, I’m staring up into Joey and Birdie’s very distraught and concerned faces. But there seems to be duplicate of them both.

Yeah, this day is not going the way I’d hoped it would.