Chapter Three
Tamsin
Daniel Bowman is taking an acting class?
I’ve been looking forward to Experiments in Drama all summer. It’s open to juniors without any prerequisites, but most of the people who take it are drama majors. The professor is supposed to be amazing and I really want to stretch myself this semester. Take risks, delve deep, all that.
It’s an evening class, too, which is good. I’m not a morning person. My night performances have always been better than my matinees, and I’m hoping I’ll improv better at night, too. Plus the class is in a theater, which is fun. We’ll meet in the small, student-run space where they do smaller shows, experimental stuff, and open-mic events. A very cool environment.
Then, as I’m sitting here thinking about flexing my acting muscles, in walks Daniel Bowman.
Now, I should get something straight. Just because I’ve been celibate for almost a year doesn’t mean my lady parts have stopped working. And the sight of Daniel Bowman makes everything down there tingle.
As I’ve mentioned, I usually go more for grunge than clean-cut. But something about Daniel’s squeaky clean appearance turns my crank. He looks like he just got out of the shower after working out at the gym, and I want to rip open that blue button-down shirt and unzip those pressed gray trousers and…
“It is a truth universally acknowledged: the hotter a guy is, the worse he is in bed.”
I glance at Izzy. Sure enough, she’s looking right at Daniel, who’s standing in the doorway peering around in the dim light of the theater.
His neat dark hair invites a serious mussing, and he’s sporting an equally neat beard and mustache. Then, of course, there’s the truly impressive body filling out his business casual clothes. He’s looking a little confused, maybe because it’s dark in the theater and his eyes are adjusting, but more likely because he doesn’t belong here.
“It’s also a truth universally acknowledged that guys who look like that don’t take drama classes,” I remind Izzy. “No offense,” I add to Charlie, who’s sitting on Izzy’s other side.
Charlie, his eyes on his Twitter feed, doesn’t even bother to look up.
“None taken. Besides, isn’t the implication that I’m good in bed? Which I am.”
I turn back toward Daniel and raise my voice. “Unless you’re looking for Experiments in Drama, you’re in the wrong place.”
Daniel looks up at me. Charlie, Izzy and I are sitting about halfway up the raked seating area, with another dozen or so students scattered around us. We’re all facing the small stage, waiting for our professor, Joan Washington, to make an appearance.
“Experiments in Drama,” he repeats, in the slow, deep, sexy voice I remember from freshman year. “Yeah, that’s where I need to be.”
He stares at me for a moment, and the tingling in my nether regions gets a little more intense. Then he starts walking up the stairs, and I wonder if he’s going to take the open seat next to me.
My heart starts to pound.
But about three rows below us he stops and takes the seat on the aisle, setting his backpack on the floor. He leans over, unzips the backpack, and pulls out a notebook and pen.
Now for the real question. What the hell is he doing in this class?
He’s an engineering major. He’s also on the football team, although he’s not a starter. I started watching games last year because of my friends Will and Andre, and I learned that Daniel Bowman is a backup tight end. Whatever that is.
“He’s a decent player and a really good guy. Solid, you know? Dependable. Just not first string material.”
That’s what Andre said when I asked about Daniel last year. Not first string material.
To be honest, that sounds a little bit like me. I auditioned for the lead role in five different shows last year, and I was cast as a supporting character three times and an understudy twice.
This year, I’m going to change that. I’m going to make myself into lead actor material, and I’m going to make other people see me that way, too.
Izzy nudges me. “What’s up?” she whispers. “You’ve got this intense scowl on your face. Do you know that guy?”
I am frowning. After a moment, I realize why.
I don’t want anything to distract me from my goals this semester. I don’t want distractions in this class in particular.
And I’m worried that Daniel Bowman has the potential to be one huge-ass distraction.
“He’s in the engineering department,” I whisper back. “He’s on the football team. He’s definitely not a drama major. I’m just trying to figure out why he’s in this class.”
“There aren’t any prerequisites. Maybe he figured it would be an easy way to knock out his arts requirement.” She shrugs. “Anyway, he’s hot. You used to appreciate having eye candy around.”
It’s true. I did. Even when you’re not eating, you can still enjoy reading off the menu.
It’s just that a guy as fine as Daniel Bowman can make you feel like you’re starving. And when you’re starving, it’s hard to think about anything but food.
But I’m not going to explain all of that to Izzy right now. And anyway, it won’t be an issue. I was just surprised to see Daniel here, that’s all. All I have to do is ignore him. Stay focused. Don’t get distrac—
“Sex.”
The voice is loud, and seems to come from everywhere. I jump and let out a squeak.
Izzy smacks me on the arm. “What is wrong with you?”
“Who’s talking?”
Izzy smacks me again. “Our professor. Who’s standing on stage. Now shut up, please.”
It’s true. Joan Washington is standing on the stage, her hands in her jeans pockets, smiling up at us. And I didn’t even see her come in.
Grrrrr. It’s already happening! Daniel is distracting me, damn it.
I look down at him. He’s sitting there stiff with surprise, his notebook on his knee and his pen poised above a blank page. He seems like the dutiful note-taker type and I wonder if he’s going to write down the word “sex”.
“How did you feel when I said that?” Professor Washington asks. “Did you react to the word? What happened inside you, viscerally?”
There’s some stirring among the students. We’re sort of scattered around, and now the professor grins at us.
“Let’s bring it in a little. Come on down, okay? First and second rows, please.”
We all get to our feet and shuffle down to the two front rows. In the scrum, I end up sitting between Izzy and Daniel.
He’s on my right. He smells like soap and mint—toothpaste or shampoo, I don’t know which—and when his thigh brushes mine every muscle in my belly tightens.
I can feel the warmth of his body—unless that’s actually a rush of heat I’ve generated all on my own. I send a quick glance his way and he’s looking down at his notebook, frowning. Then he looks up, but not at me. He’s looking at our professor, who’s come forward to sit on the apron of the stage.
No distractions, I remind myself, and turn my attention the same way.
I’ve seen Joan Washington around, of course. She’s a popular professor in the drama department. But this is the first time I’ve been in a class of hers.
She looks like Mrs. Claus.
No, really. She’s this edgy, avant-garde teacher and director, and she looks like the jolly wife of Santa Claus.
She’s in her fifties or sixties, short and plump and rosy-cheeked. She has curly gray hair and a big smile.
Her clothes aren’t Christmas-y, of course. She’s wearing jeans and a T-shirt with a red panda on it.
I love red pandas.
“Okay, let’s try a different word.” She pauses. “Love.”
She looks at us, and we look back at her.
“Think about your reactions to those two different words. Mentally, emotionally, physically. Store that information for our first exercise. Now find a partner.”
I’m caught by surprise. By the time I turn to my left, Izzy and Charlie have already paired up.
That leaves the person on my right.
I turn to Daniel. “Do you want to work together?”
“Sure.”
He doesn’t sound super enthusiastic. In fact, he sounds downright hesitant. But I’m going to assume that’s because he’s an engineering major in a drama class and not because he has some kind of problem with me.
“All right,” Professor Washington says. “Now find some space, either out there in the audience or up here on stage.”
Daniel nods toward the back of the house. “Do you want to go up there?”
“Okay.”
We leave our backpacks but Daniel takes his notebook and pen. He steps out into the aisle and then waits for me to precede him up the stairs, which is a kind of politeness I’m not used to.
I go up to the back row and take a seat, and Daniel sits down next to me.
As we turn toward each other our knees touch, and both of us scoot back from the contact.
I clear my throat.
“I’m Tamsin.”
“I know. You’re friends with Andre, right? We’re teammates.”
I nod.
“I’m Daniel,” he says.
“I know. You were in my boyfriend’s dorm freshman year.”
It’s too dark up here to tell for sure, but I think his face turns a little red. Then again, maybe that’s just my imagination.
“All right, everyone, here’s the exercise. You’re going to ask each other questions about those two words. Love and sex. You can ask anything you want, and there’s only one rule for your answers. You can’t lie. You can say you won’t answer, but if you do answer it has to be the truth. Okay, go.”
Jeepers.
Normally I jump right into acting exercises, but this time I think I’ll wait for my partner to go first.
But after a long silence, I figure it’s up to the actual theater major to get things started.
“Have you ever been in love?” I ask.
He hesitates a moment before answering. “No.”
I stare at him. “You’ve never been in love?”
“No.”
I know he’s dated a few girls at Hart, but at the moment I can only think of one name.
“So…Bree Simms? You weren’t in love with her?”
He shakes his head. “I cared about her. I really liked her. But I wasn’t in love with her.” He pauses. “Okay, my turn.”
“Sure.”
“Have you ever been in love?”
“God, yes. Falling in love is my fatal weakness.”
He raises one eyebrow, which is a really sexy look on him.
“Love is a weakness?”
“Only when they don’t love you back.”
Now both eyebrows go up. “Come on, Tamsin.”
“What?”
“You can’t expect me to believe the guys you’ve been in love with haven’t loved you back.”
“I can’t? Why not?”
He gestures toward me. “Look at you.”
Warmth spirals up inside me, and I hope Daniel can’t see how much I like his compliment.
I figure the safest refuge is humor.
“You don’t have to tell me I’m good-looking. I’ve got a mirror. But it takes more than a pretty face for someone to fall in love with you.”
“Yeah, but you—” He stops.
“I what?”
“Nothing.”
“Come on, finish the thought. Were you going to say I have many loveable qualities? Based on not knowing me at all?”
He smiles at that, and it turns out his smile is as sexy as his eyebrow-raising.
“Call it an instinct.”
“Your instincts tell you I’m loveable?”
“Yeah.” He pauses. “Are you in love with someone right now?”
“No. I’ve gone cold-turkey on my big weakness.”
“You’ve gone cold-turkey on love?”
“Love, relationships, dating, all of it. I’m coming up on a year of celibacy.”
I’m not sure exactly why I revealed that. Am I letting him know I’m not on the market, or am I reminding myself?
“My turn,” I say now.
“Okay.”
I cast around for something good to ask. We’ve already covered love, so maybe it’s time for sex.
“What’s your favorite thing to do in bed with someone?”
He blinks. “Uh…”
“You can choose not to answer,” I remind him. “Of course if you do, I’ll tease you unmercifully for being a coward.”
“You will, huh? A fate worse than death.” He pauses a moment. “Oral.”
Having dated a few guys in my time, this comes as no surprise.
“You like it when a girl goes down on you?”
“No. I like going down on girls.”
Now it’s my eyebrows shooting up.
“You’re not allowed to lie, Daniel.”
“I’m not lying.”
“Going down on a girl is your favorite thing to do in bed?”
“Yeah.”
This deserves a lot more conversation. But at that moment Professor Washington says,
“Okay, everyone, come back to where you were.”
In a couple of minutes I’m sitting between Izzy and Daniel again. Only this time, the whole right side of my body is warm.
Professor Washington waits until we’ve all settled into our seats.
“All right. Now that we’ve warmed up with a couple of provocative but relatively easy words, let’s try something tougher.” She pauses. “Abortion.”
Wow. Talk about provocative.
“So?” she asks after a moment. “What’s your reaction when you hear that word?”
After a moment, Charlie speaks up.
“It makes me uncomfortable.”
A few students nod.
“Okay. Why? What’s the source of the discomfort?”
Someone else answers that—a student I don’t know.
“It’s a political issue. A tense one.”
A blonde girl sitting in front of me chimes in. “Hearing that word makes me feel angry, because reproductive rights are under assault in this country. And I feel helpless, because we’ve been fighting for so long.”
A lot of nods to that.
Now another girl I don’t know. “We all know the issue isn’t abortion. It’s about men controlling a woman’s body. It’s about women being seen as baby machines, without any value or agency as human beings outside of that.”
As people talk, I start to feel my own anger, too.
“It’s like we can’t ever relax,” I put in. “My grandmother has been going to pro-choice marches for forty-five years, and she wears one of those shirts that says, I can’t believe I still have to protest this shit.”
That gets a rueful laugh. And then, on my right, Daniel says,
“Wait a minute.”
Professor Washington looks at him expectantly. “Yes?”
“Is everyone here pro-choice?”
The blonde girl in front of us twists around to stare at him. “Of course. Aren’t you?”
He pauses a second. Then:
“No.”