TEN
CONNECTION
Present Day
New York City
Graumann Theater Rehearsal Room
I pack up my bag as I watch Holt out of the corner of my eye.
He’s nervous and keeps glancing over like he thinks I’m going to walk out and leave him behind.
That would be nice, but my brain is telling me we need go somewhere, so he can explain and I can rage. Then maybe we can break each other down and see if our pieces fit together anymore. But my heart is cowering like a dog that’s been beaten too many times.
What’s been happening between us the last few days scares the hell out of me. The connection I’ve tried to forget for three years is back, just as strong as it ever was, with barely any effort.
Even now, as I watch him shrug on his jacket and shove his script into his bag, the giant magnetic pull that always drew me to him is there, demanding I move closer.
I hate the familiar compulsion.
“Cassandra?”
I turn to see Marco, script in hand, with his hat perched on his head at what can only be described as a “jaunty angle.”
“Is everything okay?” he asks as he throws a glance at Holt, who is now conspicuously hovering on the other side of the room. “You and Ethan seemed out of sorts during the sex scene today. Should I be concerned?”
He’s been counting on our natural chemistry to smooth over the divots and potholes of our past. But unless Holt and I unload some of our baggage, the chemistry isn’t going to be enough. This whole journey will come to a screeching halt, and our impossible desire for each other will just be a dot in the rearview mirror.
“We’re figuring things out,” I say with as much sincerity as I can muster. “It’s complicated.”
He nods and looks at Holt again. “I’m can see that. But make no mistake, regardless of your issues, my first priority is the play.”
“I understand.”
“When Mr. Holt begged me for this role, I knew I was taking a risk on your torrid past. However, I trusted that you could put your differences aside for the sake of the show. If that’s not the case, tell me now, and I’ll have him recast.”
My stomach drops. “Wait, what? Holt begged for this show?”
Marco sighs. “Yes. After I’d decided I wanted you, I’d had discussions with another actor. A very talented unknown. But out of the blue, Mr. Holt called me and campaigned for the role. Of course, I knew his horde of rabid fans would practically ensure a box office hit, and physically, he was perfect, but I’d heard rumors about what he did to you and was skeptical it could work. He called me three times a day, every day, for two weeks. He reminded me about my reaction to seeing you both in Romeo and Juliet at The Grove. He was quite annoying. But his passion is what finally made me relent. The way he spoke about you … I couldn’t ignore that.”
“I’m sorry, Marco. I had no idea.”
“Don’t be sorry. Be better. If you can’t work with him, tell me. It’s still early. I could have him replaced by the end of next week, if that’s what you want.”
He looks at me expectantly. It’s a tempting offer. If Holt wasn’t in the show, I wouldn’t have to confront all the ghosts from our past. We could go back to our separate lives and never see each other again.
The thought of it makes a lump form in my throat.
“His fans would riot if we replaced him,” I say.
Marco shrugs. “Perhaps. But better that than have critics pan us for awkward, mopey lead actors.”
“Can I think about it?” I say, and he takes my hand.
“Of course. Personally, I hope you work it out. You’re both obviously miserable without each other, and it’s depressing to watch. Him, in particular.”
He nods toward Holt, who’s now pacing slowly, watching his feet in between glancing at us.
“I thought the story was that he broke your heart,” Marco whispers. “From where I’m standing, it seems the other way around.”
I quash the nervous giggle that bubbles in my throat. “I assure you, I was the breakee, not the breaker. I just don’t know if…”
He raises his eyebrows. “If what?”
I sigh. “If there’s too much damage. If we can ever be fixed.”
He smiles and leans in to kiss my cheek. “Dear Cassandra, sometimes it’s not about trying to fix something that’s broken. Sometimes it’s about starting again and building something new. Something better.” He looks over at Holt, who’s stopped pacing and is staring at us. “It seems like the old foundation is still there. Use it.”
He leaves and pats Holt on the shoulder as he passes. “I hope to see you on Monday, Mr. Holt.”
Ethan frowns before looking back at me. “Ready to go?”
I nod, and we head out.
We walk in silence as we climb the stairs that lead to the foyer. He holds the door for me, and we step out into the street.
“Marco wants to replace me, doesn’t he?” he says as warm fingers settle in the small of my back, guiding me closer to him as we cross the street.
“He doesn’t want to, but unless we get it together, he will.”
As we reach the opposite sidewalk, he stops me. “Is that what you want?”
I rub my eyes so I don’t have to look at him. “I don’t know. Marco told me you campaigned to be in the show. I thought this whole thing was fate throwing us back together, but it’s not. Maybe this play is a bad idea.”
For a moment, his composure falters before steely determination slides into place. “I don’t want to screw this opportunity for you, Cassie. If you want me to quit, I’ll quit. But if you’re only doing it to avoid dealing with me, that’s not going to work, because I came back to New York for you. The show was just a bonus.”
“Ethan…”
“I know I’ve been an idiot in the past, but this? Being with you again? It’s all I’ve wanted for so long I can’t even comprehend it not working.”
“But it’s not working. That’s the problem.”
“It will. I’m going to prove I’ve changed. Then you’re going to fall back in love with me, and we’ll get the happy ending we should have had the first time around.”
All of the air leaves my lungs. “That’s your plan? God, Ethan! What the hell?”
“Don’t do that,” he says, his expression dead serious. “Don’t second-guess us before we’ve even tried.”
“I’m not second-guessing. I’m saying what you’re hoping for is impossible. Why would you have such unrealistic expectations about us? After all this time?”
He sighs, and when he speaks again, his voice is softer but still firm. “You keep your expectations low if that’s what you need to do to protect yourself, but don’t tell me to lower mine. It’s not going to happen. If they’re too high, the only person who’s going to get hurt is me.”
“Ethan, no…”
He takes my hand and brushes his thumb across my skin. Such a sweet, simple gesture, but I feel it everywhere.
“Look, Cassie, I get it,” he says. “I understand how you’re feeling, because I used to feel it, too. It’s easier to expect nothing, because then nothing can be taken away from you. But it doesn’t work like that. I tried to convince myself I wanted nothing from you and ended up losing everything.”
He looks into my eyes, and I think Marco is right. As much as he broke my heart, I broke his as well.
“I don’t want nothing anymore. If you kick me from the play, I’ll understand, but I’m not going to let you shut me out of your life without a fight. Are we clear?”
I can see why Marco caved. His passion is very persuasive.
He wants to fight for us? That makes a nice change.
Six Years Earlier
Westchester, New York
Diary of Cassandra Taylor
Dear Diary,
It’s the morning after “O” day—a day that will forever linger in my memory with thigh-clenching fondness.
I can’t even put into words the feelings Holt brought out in me.
It can’t be natural for one man to be so infuriatingly sexy. Maybe he’s made a pact with the devil. See, that I could understand.
He’s sold his soul to Lucifer in return for sexual powers over frustrated virgins.
It would explain a lot.
It seems Olivia feels the same. She was pretty pissed with him.
I have to wonder about their story. Or perhaps it’s best I take the old head-in-the-sand approach to dealing with intense, brooding bad boys. What I don’t know can’t hurt me, right?
Right?
As I approach the theater, Holt’s there, waiting. I cringe when I realize how excited I am to see him.
Jeez, Cassie. Be cool. Don’t let him work his devil powers on you.
Oh, God. Too late. Look at him.
Dark jeans. Black V-neck tee tucked haphazardly into his waistband. Vintage belt buckle I want to unclasp with my teeth.
He looks up as I approach. He has two cardboard cups in his hands. I assume one’s for me, although surely he’s not offering me a Dickachino today. Not after his expert dry-humpage.
Perhaps Starbucks makes an Orgasmalatte.
As he watches me, he stands a little taller. His chest rises and falls in a deep sigh.
Oh, yeah. He totally wants to orgasm me. He wants to orgasm the hell outta me.
Maybe he’ll use his fingers this time.
Please, God, let him use his hot-assed fingers.
I smile at him. He swallows but doesn’t smile back.
Alarm bells go off in my head.
“Hey,” I say, trying to be casual.
“Hi.” He’s no better at casual than I am.
He’s nervous. Sweating a little. He hands me a cup, and I take it. I suspect it’s a Dickachino after all.
He puts his own cup down on the bench beside him and straightens up. His brows furrow as he says, “Listen, Taylor, about yesterday…”
Dammit, Holt. Don’t say it.
“I really shouldn’t have done … you know … that. To you.”
He’s looking anywhere else but at me.
“It was fucking stupid and wrong … and … I used you.”
“No,” I say vehemently. “You didn’t. I wanted you to—”
“Taylor,” he says, “I humped you like a fucking dog. In front of our acting teacher. What the hell is wrong with me?”
“Holt—”
“Olivia is right. I need a psych eval. Whenever I get around you, I lose my head. It’s fucking crazy, not to mention completely wrong.”
“But, we can just—”
“No, we really can’t.”
“Stop cutting me off! I’m trying to—”
“I know what you’re trying to do, but this isn’t up for negotiation! What we’re doing stops now, before either one of us gets hurt!”
I want to hit him with a witty comeback, but nothing comes to mind. I consider just hitting him instead.
His expression softens as he steps toward me. “Look, the path we’re heading down isn’t going to end well for either of us. Trust me on this. I can already feel you want things from me that I can’t give you, and if you fall for me? Well, that’d be one of the stupidest fucking things you’d ever do. There’s a whole bunch of girls who’ll attest to that.”
A flash of anger runs up my spine. “God, egotistical much? Maybe I don’t want anything from you.”
“Then tell me I’m wrong,” he says and holds out his hands. “Tell me the look on your face when you saw me a moment ago wasn’t excitement with a touch of ‘please fuck me now.’ Tell me you don’t think about me. Dream about me.”
I don’t say anything, because I can’t deny it. But I don’t understand why having those feelings is such a bad thing. With the way he’s talking, it seems like us becoming closer is tantamount to a crime.
“You want me, too,” I say.
“I’m not denying that,” he says as he steps closer. “And that’s part of the problem. You’re enough of a distraction already. If we start giving in to temptation, then … Jesus, Taylor, that’s all there’s going to be for us. Forget about us concentrating on our acting. Your virginity? Gone. My sanity? Gone. Our time here would become a blur of fucking and hormones, and I don’t want to get into that with any girl, especially you.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
He leans forward, so close I can smell his cologne. “It means fucking won’t be enough for you. You’ll want emotions and hand holding and romantic bullshit. And you deserve all that stuff, but that’s not me. Not anymore.”
“Why not?”
He looks down and doesn’t answer.
“God, Holt, some girl really did a number on you, didn’t she? Was it that girl from yesterday?”
There’s silence, but he gives me a look that warns me to not push it.
“What did she do to you?”
“Nothing. What happened between us was my fault, and I’m not going to make the same mistake twice. I’m sure she told you to stay the fuck away from me. Take her advice.”
I feel like he’s breaking up with me, even though we’ve never actually been together.
All of a sudden, I’m really tired. I feel like I’m always fighting to be with him, while he’s fighting to push me away.
“Fine,” I say. “You’re right. I shouldn’t have feelings for you. You’re obviously not worth it.”
I hate that he looks hurt when he says, “Obviously.”
Feeling too drained to argue, I walk toward the theater door. Just before I pull it open, I turn back to him.
“Holt, there aren’t many people in the world who connect like we do, for whatever reason, and saying that we shouldn’t feel it isn’t going to make it go away. One day you might figure that out, but by then it’ll be too late.”
I turn my back on him and close the door behind me.
“Okay, Miss Taylor, let’s take it from ‘What’s here.’”
We’re rehearsing the death scene. Holt is lying in front of me, motionless. Romeo has poisoned himself.
Idiot.
As Juliet, I’m distraught, seeing the love of my life dead on the ground. Killed by his own hand because he couldn’t go on without me. He didn’t know I was just sleeping. You’d think he would have checked for a pulse, right?
I try to pull his body up and hug him, but he’s too heavy, so I’m resigned to lying across his chest. Too shocked to cry, too emotional to not. I run my hands over him as if the force of my need will bring him back to life. Save him from himself.
But there’s no saving to be done. His rash decision has killed us both, because without him in my world, I’m dead inside, even though I still have the illusion of life.
With the acceptance of death in my heart, I just need to find the means.
I run my hands down his arms and discover him clutching a small vial.
“What’s here?” I say, my voice hoarse with emotion. “A cup, closed in my true love’s hand?”
Holding it under my nose, I sniff, then groan in anguish. “Poison, I see, hath been his timeless end.”
I look inside, needing just a remnant, but it’s empty. Furious, I hurl it away.
I grab Romeo’s head and scold his still, beautiful face as the tears spill over.
“O churl! Drunk all, and left no friendly drop to help me after?”
His lips are parted, and I lean over and close my streaming eyes as our foreheads touch.
“I will kiss thy lips. Haply some poison yet doth hang on them … to make me die … with a restorative.”
I gently press my lips against his. Still so soft. How can he be dead and still feel so alive?
I suck at them gently, desperate to find any trace of the poison. Holt tenses beneath me.
“Thy lips are warm.” I sigh against his mouth.
He tenses even more.
I swipe my tongue along his bottom lip, and he grunts as his body twitches.
“Stop there!” Erika calls out.
Holt sits up and glares at me.
“Well, Juliet,” Erika says. “It seems your lips have miraculous healing properties. If only Shakespeare had written Romeo’s dramatic recovery in the way Mr. Holt has just improvised, there’d be a whole lot less tragedy at the end of this play and people could go home whistling a happy tune.”
“She licked my lips,” Holt protests.
“That’s totally what Juliet would do,” I say. “She’s trying to ingest his poison. You’re lucky I didn’t stick my tongue in your mouth and swirl it around like a toilet brush.”
“Oh, because that’s what Juliet would do, right? Not you.”
“Yes.”
“Bullshit.”
“Oh, my God would you two just fuck already!” Jack Avery calls from the auditorium.
There’s a huge laugh from the rest of the cast, and Holt and I exchange embarrassed glances.
If only it were that simple, Jack.
Erika urges the cast to quiet down. “Mr. Holt, what Miss Taylor did seemed perfectly acceptable to me. Perhaps you just need to modify your reaction. You’re dead. It shouldn’t matter if she licks your entire mouth and starts on your tonsils. You don’t move. Understand?”
Holt shakes his head and laughs bitterly before turning to glare at me.
My smile couldn’t be smugger if I bought it from Smuggy McSmugster at the Smug Store in Smugville.
He rolls his eyes.
“Now, Miss Taylor,” she says, looking at me, “when you grab the knife to stab yourself, I want you to straddle him.”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Holt mutters.
Erika glances at him. “Mr. Holt, when Miss Taylor collapses on you, I don’t want you both looking like you’ve been gunned down in a gang war. You need to die as you’ve lived—like lovers.”
I’m taking in everything she’s saying, but my brain is fixated on two words. Straddle him.
Legs akimbo. Parts pressed against other parts.
Oh, boy.
Holt is rubbing his face and groaning.
Erika smiles at us. I think she enjoys our mutual discomfort.
“Let’s go back to the kiss, and let’s see if we can get through to the end, okay? Can I have the rest of the cast involved in the end of this scene in their places side stage please?”
There’s a bit of shuffling as people take up their positions. Holt is scowling at me.
I give him my most innocent smile.
He looks at me with an intensity that would be scary if I wasn’t enjoying his frustration so much.
“Lie down, lover,” I whisper sexily. “I have some straddling to do.”
He curses under his breath and lies down.
Methinks the gent doth protest too much.
“Okay, here we go. Thank you, Miss Taylor.”
I start the scene again. When I get to the kiss, I purposefully make it as erotic as possible. I can feel Holt breathing heavily as a small sound escapes him.
Uh uh uh. Play dead please, hot corpse.
He exhales and stays still.
Good boy.
There are voices offstage, and I look toward them. Juliet is running out of time.
“Yea, noise?” I say, panic coloring my voice as I look around in desperation. “Then I’ll be brief.”
I spot the knife, and after throwing one knee over his middle, I straddle Holt’s groin as I grab the prop dagger he has strapped to his hip
“O happy dagger,” I say as I pull it from the scabbard and bring it up to my chest, “this is thy sheath.”
I push the collapsible blade into the center of my chest and cry out, face contorting in pain. To the audience, it looks like I’ve just fatally wounded myself.
“There … rust.” I groan and fling the knife onto the floor as I clutch my chest. I fist Holt’s shirt and tenderly kiss my Romeo once more before whispering, “And … let me … die.”
I collapse onto Holt. My face presses into his neck, one hand on his chest, the other in his hair. If someone took a snapshot of us, we’d look like a young couple sleeping in an intimate embrace.
Other characters rush onto the stage and continue the scene, lamenting our deaths and breaking down the series of events that led to them. I can feel Holt tense beneath me, trying to control his breathing. His groin is pressed hard against me, and I feel it getting gradually harder. I try to ignore it. My vagina has other ideas. I try to explain to her she’s dead and therefore has no further need for Romeo’s impressive erection, but she’s finding it difficult to suspend her disbelief.
I slow my breathing and listen to the scene playing out around me. The archaic language and its rhythm has a sedating effect. Soon I’m concentrating on Holt’s heartbeat beneath my ear. It’s hypnotic, so strong and steady. As my muscles soften and my heart rate slows, my body sinks into him, and I have a brief moment of thinking I must be very heavy, before his smell and warmth lulls me into a half daze.
Before I know what’s happening, a hand is shaking my shoulder. I open my eyes to see Jack standing over us with several other cast members behind him.
“Wow. Glad to see you guys so excited by our performances,” he says with a smirk. “Maybe next time you could try not to snore.”
I sit up quickly and look down at Holt. He’s bleary-eyed and confused. His eyes come into focus when he registers me on top of him. I take the hint and climb off, but my muscles are loose and weak.
Jeez, who knew straddling cuts off so much circulation?
Jack grabs me around the waist and helps me upright. There’s laughter as my legs give out again, making me stumble against him.
“Whoa! Steady there, Cassie. You’ve been dead for a while now. You’d better take it easy.”
I steady myself as Holt gets to his feet. He glances at Avery’s arms around me before looking away.
“Mr. Holt, Miss Taylor,” Erika says as she climbs the steps to the stage, “can I assume your final positions were comfortable?”
I step away from Jack and smooth down my hair, trying to distract myself from my rising blush.
“It was okay.”
People laugh under their breath. I’m beyond embarrassed. I’ve kissed Holt in front of these people. Hell, I’ve had fake sex with him. But what I just did? Snuggled him? Melted into him and fallen asleep? That’s more intimate than anything else I’ve done.
We sit on the stage as Erika gives us notes, but generally she seems pleased with our progress. Jack’s sitting next to Holt, whispering and snickering. Holt grabs the front of Jack’s shirt and hisses something in his face. Jack goes pale and shuts up immediately. When Holt releases him, Jack moves away while muttering under his breath. Holt runs his hand through his hair before glancing over at me.
He looks furious.
When Erika calls an end to rehearsal, conversations fill the air as everyone packs up the stage and props. Miranda and Aiyah invite me to go to dinner with them, but I’m not in the mood. I thank them for the offer and hug them good-bye. The rest of the theater slowly empties as I pick up the dagger and take it over to Holt. He still looks angry as he takes it from me.
“You okay?” I ask as he unclasps the scabbard from his belt.
“Fine.”
“What was with you and Avery?” I ask.
“He’s an asshole.” He shoves the dagger into the scabbard.
“Why?”
“He kept asking if I was fucking you.”
“What did you tell him?”
“I didn’t answer.”
“And?”
“And he assumed I wasn’t.”
“Which is true.”
“Yeah, but then he thought it was okay to tell me how much he’d like to fuck you.”
“And what did you say to that?” I ask and take a step forward.
His gaze runs the length of my body before he says, “I told him if he went anywhere near you, I’d cut off his balls and feed them to my Rottweiler.”
“You have a Rottweiler?”
“No, but he doesn’t know that.”
I touch his belt buckle. It’s a rectangle with what looks like some sort of crucifix. Strange that he’d be wearing God’s symbol when he’s in league with the devil.
“So, let me get this straight,” I say while running my fingers over the cool metal. “You don’t want to be with me, but you also don’t want other guys to be with me?”
“He’s not other guys. He’s Avery. If you slept with him, your IQ would automatically drop forty points.”
“Have you stopped to analyze why you’re so jealous?”
“I’m not jealous. I just don’t want that fucking mouth-breather touching you. That’s just common sense.”
“What about Connor? Am I allowed to sleep with him?”
His expression turns stormy. “Do you want to sleep with him?”
I curl my fingers into his T-shirt and resist tearing it off. “If I did, would that be okay with you?”
He looks feral. “Fuck, no. Too vanilla.”
“What about Lucas?”
“Too stoned.”
“Troy?”
“I think he’s gay.”
“And if he’s not?”
“Too ambiguous.”
“And you say you’re not jealous.”
“I’m not.”
“Then give me a name,” I say. “You tell me who I’m allowed to sleep with.”
He throws up his hands. “Why the fuck are you so obsessed with sex?”
“Because I haven’t had any! And if it were up to you, I never would!”
He swallows and drops his head. “What the hell do you want from me, Taylor? Huh? Do you want me to fuck you? Or are you just looking for some random cock to pop your cherry? I’ll buy you a damn vibrator if that’s all you want.”
“That’s not all I want, and you know it.”
“Then we’re back to the reason we need to stay away from each other. You want what I’m incapable of giving. Why do you have so much trouble understanding that?”
“What I don’t understand is how you can feel this,” I say as I step into him and put my hands on his chest, “and just pretend it doesn’t exist.”
He doesn’t even blink as I run my hands over his pecs. “Haven’t you noticed? I’m really good at pretending.”
I shake my head and sigh. “So that’s it. You decide we can’t be together, and that’s just the way it is.”
“Pretty much.”
“And you think you can abide by your own rules?”
“Do you mean, can I stay away from you?”
He leans down, his lips just above mine, so close I can taste his breath, all warm and sweet.
“Yes,” I whisper, wanting nothing more than to rise up on my toes and kiss him.
His exhale is slow and measured. “Taylor, I think you underestimate my level of self-control. Apart from my slip during the sex scene, I’ve shown the restraint of the fucking Dalai Lama around you. Our first kiss? That was initiated by you. Today in the death scene? All you. Right now? You.”
“So your theory is,” I say, “that if it wasn’t for me jumping you, then you would have never had laid a finger on me.”
“Exactly.”
“Bull.”
“Please note that your hands are currently all over me, and mine are by my sides.”
I look down as I absently stroke his abs. I immediately step back.
God, he’s right.
It’s me.
Everything has been initiated by me.
“Okay, fine,” I say, and step back farther. “I won’t touch you outside of the show, unless you ask me to.”
“Do you think you’re capable of controlling yourself?” he asks, and I swear he’s putting some sort of sex mojo into his voice that makes me want to lick him. “Should we make it interesting?”
“What, like a bet?”
“Why not?”
I think for a second. “Okay, then. The first one to touch the other in an intimate way loses and has to give the winner an orgasm.”
He laughs and runs his hands through his hair, but I don’t miss how he rakes his gaze over my body. “That kind of defeats the point of the bet.”
“Not in my mind. We’d both end up winners.”
He grabs his bag and slings it over his shoulder. “Go home, Taylor. Have a drink. Try to stop thinking about me.”
“The bet is about touching. I can think about you in a hundred different sexual positions if I like, and there’s nothing you can do to stop me.”
He drops his head and sighs, and I know I’ve won the round.
“See you next week.”
“Yes, you will.”
Then he’s gone.