FIVE
GETTING CLOSER
Two Weeks Later
Twelfth Night Theater
New York City
The ladder wobbles as I stretch up on my toes to grasp the power cable that hangs from the lighting bar. When I shove the plug into the socket, I breathe a sigh of relief and grip the top of the ladder with both hands. Being a short-ass and rigging lights don’t really go hand in hand, but experience has taught me that stage managers on low-budget shows need to be Jacks-of-all-trades. Or Jills, as the case may be. The first week of rehearsals may almost be over, but the hard work for me and my crew has just begun.
I pause when I hear a noise backstage. I listen for a few seconds, and try to ignore the sudden thundering of my heart.
“Hello?”
Silence greets me.
Great. I love being stuck in a dark theater by myself with creepy sounds. Not freaking me out at all.
I’m halfway down the ladder when large hands close around my hips and make me scream.
“Ahhh! Get off me, creeper! I know karate!”
I immediately flail, and kick the ladder over in the process. Strong arms lift me away as the ladder topples noisily onto the stage.
“Hey! Chill, Daniel-san. It’s me.”
The arms tighten around me, and the familiar smell of all things Liam invades my senses. I grip his hands and exhale as he lowers me to the floor. “You scared the hell out of me! What are you doing?”
When I push away and turn to face him, he looks way too amused for my liking.
“Sorry,” he says, not looking at all apologetic. “Didn’t mean to freak you out. I thought you heard me behind you.”
“Well, I didn’t. And if you sneak up on me like that again, I’m going to make you wear a collar and bell.” I brush my hair away from my face and try to calm my hammering heart. “Why are you even here? Everyone else went home hours ago.”
He wanders over to the ladder and sets it upright. “I think I left my keys in the dressing room. At least, I hope I did, otherwise I’m sleeping on the street tonight. Why are you here? Isn’t rigging lights Sean’s job?”
“His wife went into labor and we need these specials for tomorrow’s rehearsal. Figured I’d just do it before I left.”
He stops in front of me, a little too close for comfort. In the low light, the shadows define the hard line of his jaw, as well as the soft curve of his lips. He’s so damn attractive, it’s frustrating. True to his prediction, being around each other every day and ignoring our insistent attraction is putting us both on edge.
“So, you’re here alone?” he asks quietly. “No Josh?”
I shake my head. “It was his gammy’s eightieth tonight. Every Kane in the tristate area is at the Four Seasons for her birthday dinner.”
“What about you? Have you had dinner? You look . . . hungry.” However I’m looking at him right now, it’s making his breathing speed up.
“I’m fine,” I say, but my voice is breathier than I’d like. “I’ll grab something when I’m done.”
I force myself to move away from him and head to the lighting desk at the front of the stage. I feel him behind me as I bring up the faders in sequence to check that all the lights are working.
“Let me stay and help you.”
“That’s not a good idea.”
“Why not?”
I grab another light from the cart and walk over to the ladder. “Can’t have you dirtying your pristine actor hands doing filthy crew work. How will you sign autographs and wave at all your nubile female fans if you chip a nail?”
He chuckles as I set the light down and reposition the ladder. “You have a point. I guess my hands got too soft lugging around bags of cement and tons of steel when I was constructing buildings for a living. Hanging a few lights is clearly beyond me.”
I flinch in surprise when he takes my hands and rubs our palms together. “Hmmm, would you look at that? It seems that of the two of us, the hard-core crew leader is the one with the velvet-soft hands. How did that happen?” He turns my palms over and examines them while trailing his forefinger over the sensitive skin. It shouldn’t be unbelievably erotic, but it is. “Liss, you don’t have a single callus on these dainty digits. How is that possible?”
A shiver runs through me. “I moisturize.” I flip his hands over and carry out a similar examination. As the pad of my finger traces his many calluses, he sucks in a sharp breath.
“Wow,” I say. “Looks like you’re all out of hand cream. I could grate cheese on these babies.” I’m exaggerating. His hands are rough, but not in an unpleasant way. In fact, I love their texture. I remember how they felt when he cupped my face and pushed under my clothes. Not that I should be thinking about that while we’re alone together. Nothing good will come of it.
“Liss?”
“Hmmm?” I look up at him. His jaw is tense.
“If you don’t stop touching me like that, I’m going to forget I’m supposed to stay away from you and do some very unprofessional things to you right here in the middle of the stage. Now, I’d actually enjoy that, but I’m predicting you wouldn’t. So, continue at your own risk.”
Reluctantly, I take my hands off him and step back. “It’s not that I wouldn’t enjoy it. It just can’t happen.”
He runs his hand through his hair. “I understand. Sort of. I’d better go find my keys. And have a cold shower. Please don’t fall off the ladder and kill yourself while I’m gone. That would bum me out.”
I try not to smile. “I’ll do my best.”
He heads backstage to his dressing room. By the time he returns, I’ve hung the last lamp and have started plotting a few of the light settings we’ll be using the next day.
He holds up his keys. “Found them. Also, did you know there’s no shower in my dressing room?”
“Yep. There’s only one shower in this entire theater, and right now, it’s filled with paint cans and half-washed rollers. Welcome to the glamorous world of theater.”
He throws his hands up in mock exasperation. “I can’t work under these conditions! I’ll be in my trailer.”
I smile. “Getting a head start on your star attitude, huh? I approve. You are going to be a star, after all.”
“Really?” he asks. “I’m doing an okay job?”
I roll my eyes. “Miriam hasn’t gushed over your performance enough? You’re amazing. We all think so.”
He takes a step closer, and suddenly, I have no idea which cue I’m up to anymore. “We? As in, you think I’m amazing?”
I pause and give him my most sincere expression. “Eh. You’re okay.”
He chuckles as I go back to my cue sheet. I can feel his eyes on me as I continue to punch buttons and set light levels.
“Well, I think you’re amazing,” he says, gently. “Is there anything you can’t do?”
I smile. “Lots of things. Calculus. Burpees. Nickelback karaoke.” He puts his hand over mine, and it makes me suck in a quick breath.
“I mean it, Liss. You’re incredible. If you’re almost done, we could grab a pizza and head back to my place. Sit on the roof. Watch the lights. Nothing unprofessional. Just . . . friends. Who lust after each other.”
He strokes the back of my hand, and I’m tempted. I really am. But being alone with him for an extended period is sure to result in us being naked and handsy. “I can’t, Liam. I’m sorry.”
He nods. “I figured you’d say that, but I had to ask.” He removes his hand and exhales. “Okay, then. I’ll let you get back to work. See you in the morning?”
“Yep. See you then.”
He smiles and walks away, and when I hear the stage door slam closed behind him, I put my head down on the desk and groan with frustration.
Sometimes having impeccable work ethics sucks giant hairy yak balls.
Most days, I’m the first person to get to the theater. I enjoy it because it means I can take my time and get organized before everyone else arrives.
That’s why it’s disturbing when I walk in this morning to hear sex noises. They’re quiet, but definitely there.
I grab my big metal flashlight and creep backstage, ready to confront horny teenagers who probably snuck in while our security guard, Guido, was off getting his fourth espresso of the day.
As I sneak through the backstage shadows, I realize the noises are coming from Liam’s dressing room.
Oh, God. Really?
My heart’s in my throat as I approach the door. It’s open, and bright light bleeds into the dark corridor.
The soft grunting continues, and I shouldn’t find it arousing considering that the thought of finding him with another girl makes me want to throw up.
I close my eyes and take a breath. “Liam? Is that you?”
The grunting stops just long enough for him to say, “Yeah. Come in.” Then the noises start up again.
Okay. This could be awkward.
I step into the doorway and freeze. He’s not having sex. He’s lying on the ground, knees bent, doing sit-ups.
Shirtless.
My sweet giddy Christ.
Pecs, wide and hard. Abs, everywhere. Way too many to be normal. Biceps pop as he presses his hands behind his head.
I’m ashamed to say I’ve imagined what Liam’s naked torso would look like too many times to count, but I’ve never actually seen it until now. Clearly, I have the imagination skills of a cabbage, because his actual body? In the immortal words of Keanu Reeves: Whoa.
“You just going to stand there and watch?” he asks, a little out of breath.
“Yep.” The contraction of his abs has me completely mesmerized. I can’t look away. “Anyway . . . uh . . . this is about as close to exercise as I like to get. But please, you knock yourself out.”
My God, his body is insane.
He chuckles at my slack-jawed expression. “Okay, then. There’s a chair if you’d like to make yourself more comfortable.”
I lean against the door frame instead. Don’t really trust my legs to make it the three steps to the chair right now.
“How many have you done?” I ask, vaguely fascinated.
“About a hundred.”
“How many do you have left?”
“Another two hundred.”
“Seems excessive.”
“Not really, considering Miriam wants me to spend most of the play shirtless. She told me last night. No pressure or anything.”
He goes back to grunting every time he sits up. My knees go weak.
“When I heard you,” I say, “I thought you . . . um, had a girl in here.”
He sits up and rests his elbows on his knees. “What?” I watch as a droplet of sweat runs down his neck and onto his chest.
“I thought you were . . .” I bob my head in the “you know” gesture.
He frowns. “You thought I was having sex?” I nod. “In my dressing room?” I nod again. “With someone who isn’t you?” He screws up his face. “Jesus, lady, go get yourself another cup of coffee, because you’re not thinking straight.”
He goes back to his sit-ups. “Besides, this sounds nothing like the noises I make when I’m having sex.”
“What sort of noises do you make, then?”
“Can’t tell you. I want it to be a surprise.” He raises an eyebrow, and I can’t help but laugh.
“Aaaand on that note, I have to go.”
“Really? Wouldn’t you rather come?”
I shake my head, and as I grab the door to close it, he starts moaning. “Oh, God, Liss. Yes. Grab that hard door handle. Right there. Fuck, yes. Wrap your hand around it and pull. Ahhhhh!”
I close the door and shake my head as I walk away. I make a mental note that it’s not cool in any way to be aroused by exercise grunting or dirty talk about doors. It’s a pity my body continues to ignore all logic and reason as far as Liam Quinn is concerned.
I grab the stack of paper off the photocopier, and soon I’m smiling.
Reviews. Lots of them. All of them glowing. Our show is officially a hit, and even though everyone in the cast is excellent, Liam and my brother Ethan, who’s playing Mercutio, are getting all the attention.
It doesn’t surprise me. Hot actors who are also talented as hell? It’s the bedrock on which Broadway was built.
I head backstage and distribute the reviews to the dressing rooms. Actors love reading nice things about themselves. It will put the whole cast in a good mood for the show tonight.
When I get back to my console, side stage, I roll my neck and wince as it cracks. I don’t think I’ve sat down all day, and the dull thud of a potential headache lingers behind my eyeballs.
I jump when large hands curl over my shoulders.
“Relax.” Liam’s deep voice resonates behind me. “You’re so tense you’re going to sprain something. Thank you for the reviews; I’m sure my parents are going to wallpaper their living room with them. I appreciate you taking the time to copy them, so I’m here to do something nice for you.”
Strong fingers dig into my neck muscles, and I bite back a groan. “Oh, my God.”
“Come on now. We’re past that sort of formality. You can call me Liam.”
I close my eyes as he kneads away the tension in my neck and shoulders. It feels so good, it borders on sexual.
“Liam . . . Oh, wow. Uh . . . you should stop.”
“Should I? Why? You seem to be enjoying it, and I’m sure as hell enjoying it.”
“The leading man can’t be seen massaging the stage manager. It’s wrong and unnatural.”
“Who can massage you, then?”
“No one. I’m unmassageable.”
“Hardly seems fair. You have one of the most stressful jobs here, but aren’t allowed a little help to unwind? Fuck that.”
He digs his thumbs into the base of my skull and my eyes roll back into my head. “Ohhhh . . . No, really. This is bad. Stage managers are strange creatures. We thrive on stress, caffeine, and lack of sleep. You can’t mess with that. Make us too relaxed and we fall apart.”
Warm breath and soft lips graze my ear as he whispers, “I’m looking forward to watching you fall apart one day very soon, Liss. Twenty-one days and counting, in fact. I have the closing-night party marked on my calendar.”
He pushes his thumbs into the muscles on either side of my spine, all the way down to the waistband of my jeans. When I bite back a groan, he chuckles. “Are you sure you want me to stop?”
“No, but you should.”
He sighs. “Fine. But first, stand up and come here. Your back is a mess.” I stand and turn to face him. He bends his knees and wraps his arms around me. “This will relieve the pressure on your vertebrae.” He lifts me off my feet and tightens his arms, and a rolling series of cracks travels up my spine. Almost instantly, I feel relief.
He sets me down, and I roll my shoulders. “Wow. That’s much better. Thank you.”
“Are you kidding me? I got to press my chest against your boobs. The pleasure was all mine.”
He smiles, and my face flushes. I don’t enjoy these involuntary reactions. Despite my best efforts to remain detached, he’s like a sexual lightning rod, and all my sparks gravitate toward him. It’s exhausting. I try to lean back, but the wall is right behind me.
He’s still standing close, staring at my lips. I’m also staring at his. They’re beautiful, and every time he kisses Juliet, it drives me insane. Not only because I get hot ashes of jealousy, but the way he holds her face and cradles her in his arms is incredibly passionate and sweet. And then there are those groany sounds he makes in the back of his throat when Romeo and Juliet have sex on their wedding night. Those tiny noises slay me. Every damn time.
I close my eyes and take a breath, and try to pull myself together. “Okay, so . . . I’m about to give the half-hour call.”
“I should go get ready.”
“Yeah.”
“Okay.” He reaches over and gently cups my cheek. I don’t want to lean into it, but I do. “Here I go,” he says as he grazes his thumb over my lips. “Leaving.”
I can’t deal with the desire in his expression. It makes me so light-headed, I instinctively grip his T-shirt. “Your version of leaving is very . . . stationary.”
“Yeah, I’m trying to convince my hand to stop touching you, but it’s not listening. And don’t even get me started on what my lips are telling me to do.” He leans down, and I know I should push him away but I can’t. There’s not enough willpower in the world to stop this moment. “Did you know I dream about your mouth? How it feels. And tastes. Every time I see you, the urge to kiss you is so damn strong, it hurts to deny it. Tell me you feel the same.”
His mouth is right there. All I’d have to do is stand on my toes and I could have it. Put us both out of our misery. “Of course I feel the same, but—”
He cuts me off by grazing his thumb over my lips again. “Less talking. More kissing me.”
I’m holding my breath in anticipation of his mouth meeting mine when a burst of laughter makes us both pull back. The actors playing Juliet’s parents pass by without a glance in our direction, but the close call reminds me where we are. And who we are.
Liam stares at me for a few more bone-melting moments, then stalks off toward his dressing room without another word.
I slump down onto my stool and pull on my headset. After a few deep breaths to calm myself, I click the button on the microphone in front of me.
“Ladies and gentlemen of the Romeo and Juliet company, this is your half-hour call. Thirty minutes until places for Act One. Thank you.” It’s only when I click off that I realize how stupidly breathy my voice sounded.
At least I don’t have a headache anymore. Nope. Now, the ache is a whole lot lower.
“Elissa.” I look up to see my brother striding toward me. He’s holding up one of his headshots. Someone has defaced it with devil horns and a goatee that looks vaguely like a penis. “Was this you?”
“Ethan, please. Do you honestly think I’d produce such crude work? That penis-beard doesn’t even have veins. It was probably Olivia.”
Ethan has been pseudo-dating our Juliet, and as usual, he’s screwed things up as only Ethan can.
He looks briefly at the photo. “Huh. Olivia did seem pissed when I saw her earlier.”
“What did you do this time?”
“Nothing.” I shoot him a look, but he holds up his hands. “I mean it. I’ve barely spoken to her since last week.”
I roll my eyes. If my brother were any more clueless about women, he’d be a conservative politician.
I take the photo from him and throw it in the trash. “Did you get the reviews?”
“Yep.”
“Some nice things about you.”
He shrugs. “I guess. I haven’t been ordered to move to L.A. like Quinn, but still . . .” The shock of what he’s said must register on my face, because his expression softens. “You haven’t heard?”
“Heard what?”
“Last week, some big-shot Hollywood casting agent was in the audience. She cornered Quinn at the stage door and told him if he headed straight out to L.A. when the show closes, she could get him screen tests for some major studio movies. Olivia overhead them.”
“And what did Liam say?”
“He said he’d think about it.”
I lean back against the wall, shell-shocked. He might be leaving? My stomach churns and rolls.
No. He can’t.
“Sis?” I turn to Ethan. “You okay?”
“What? Uh . . . yeah. Fine.”
“Wait, you two aren’t—?”
“No.” But I thought we could be. “I’m just surprised, that’s all. You’d better go get changed. I’ve given the thirty-minute call.”
He stares at me with concern for a few more seconds. “Yeah. Okay. I’ll talk to you later.”
Once he’s gone, I slump onto my stool.
I know I shouldn’t be hurt Liam didn’t tell me, but I am. The flirting. The touches. The overwhelming connection. I thought we meant something to each other. I’ve even entertained fantasies about what it would be like to have him as my boyfriend. Wandering the theater district, going to see shows and arguing about which we liked the most. Or walking through Central Park, holding hands. Maybe sitting on a bench and making out in really obnoxious, inappropriate ways.
I squeeze my eyes shut. My headache is back, with a vengeance.
Why didn’t he tell me?
I sigh. Even if he did, what would I say? “Don’t go”?
I couldn’t. He has to do it. Of course he does.
But I have a terrible feeling if he goes, it will change both of our lives forever. And not in a good way.