FIFTEEN
GREEN-EYED MONSTER
Two Weeks Later
Westchester, New York
The Grove
I look at my hands, too nervous to face him but knowing from the heat at my back that he’s there.
“You shouldn’t be here,” he says. “If you believe the stories about me, I’m a killer. An animal not worthy of love or human kindness.”
“I know. I’ve heard people talk. They’d sooner string you up and dance at your funeral than for one second open up their mind and let in a little reason. They’re not happy unless they’re miserable, and seeing other people’s flaws helps them overlook what they hate about themselves.”
“But that’s not you?”
“No.” I take a deep breath to calm my runaway pulse and look him square in the eyes. “I may not be the cleverest girl in this town, or the prettiest, or the richest, but I know people as well as anyone can. And though folks speak of your evil, I’ve never seen it. All I’ve seen is a man who’s looking for a second chance but is too proud to demand he gets one.”
He swallows as he brushes the backs of his fingers over my cheek. “You can’t be saying things like that to me, girl. It makes it impossible to not kiss you.”
“That’s what I was going for.”
Then he’s kissing me, slowly, warm lips and soft hands. For a moment I’m confused, because his lips feel different, and his taste is all wrong, but I know those are Cassie’s thoughts, not Ellie’s.
When we pull apart, there’s a huge round of applause as the scene ends. I blink and take Connor’s hand as we face the audience.
Tonight our class is performing script excerpts that have been chosen and directed by the third-year students, and even though it was weird to be paired with Connor instead of Ethan, I did my best to make it work. Our director, Sophie, is in the front row clapping and jumping up and down, so I figure she’s happy with what we’ve achieved.
Connor and I bow and exit the stage, and he gives me a brief hug while the next pair is introduced.
“So, I don’t want to brag or anything,” he says. “But we just kicked ass out there.”
I nod and smile. “That screaming applause was the sound of our awesomeness.”
He laughs as we walk toward the backstage crossover. “I just need to get my shirt, then we’ll head out to watch, okay?”
“Sure.”
“See you back here in a few minutes.”
I’m grateful, because there’s someone I really need to see. As my eyes adjust to the darkness, I can make out Holt near the lighting cage, pacing and mumbling.
Tonight he’s performing an excerpt from Glengarry Glen Ross with Troy and Lucas, and because we’ve been rehearsing in separate groups all week, I’ve barely seen him.
I walk over and smile. He barely looks at me.
“Hey.” I’m playing nonchalant really well, considering all I want to do is drag him into the shadowy lighting cage and kiss him all over. “How’s it going?”
“Hey.” He keeps pacing, taking deep breaths as he goes.
“You okay?”
“Yep. Great. You?”
He’s being short with me. Avoiding eye contact. I kind of expected a warmer reception, considering our time apart. I think I know what’s wrong, but if I’m right, then he’s being ridiculous.
“Holt—”
“Look, Taylor, I have to warm up, so if you don’t mind…”
He turns away and rolls his neck. It cracks loudly.
I decide not to push. He’ll be going on stage soon, and he needs to focus.
“Do you want to”—I lean in so no one can hear—”you know, snuggle? Or I could give you a foot massage if you have time.”
He sighs but doesn’t turn around. “Nope. I’m fine. I’ll see you later, okay?”
I look around. Apart from Miranda, who’s watching Aiyah and Jack onstage, there’s no one else who can see us, so I wrap my arms around him and hug his back. Then I lay my cheek against his shoulder and inhale.
He smells so damn good, I almost moan.
His body tenses as he whispers, “Cut it out. People can see.”
I squeeze him tighter. “I don’t care. I’ve hugged everyone else tonight. Why shouldn’t I hug the one person I really want to? I’ve missed you.”
For a second he doesn’t say anything, but then his shoulders slump and he places his hand over mine and intertwines our fingers. “Dammit, Taylor … I’ve…” He sighs. “Me too.”
He steps away, but the way he’s looking at me gives away that he’s missed me every bit as much as I’ve missed him.
Maybe more.
I hear footsteps, and Connor appears next to me. Holt’s posture is immediately tense.
“Hey, Ethan. Cassie, ready to go out?”
“Yeah, sure,” I say, even though I’d really like to stay with Holt a little longer. “So, Ethan, uh … you … do good, okay?”
I eye-roll my epic lameness.
Holt gives me a halfhearted smile, and I hate that he looks so sick. I’m hoping it’s nerves and not me and Connor, but I’m betting it’s a little of both.
“Have a good one, man,” Connor says and pats Holt’s shoulder. “See you after the show.”
As we walk away, I’m sure I hear Holt mutter, “Not if I see you first, asshole.”
A few minutes later, his group is introduced, and as soon as he walks onstage, I’m mesmerized. Lucas and Troy infuse the scene with the sort of machismo-fueled rivalry that it needs, but it’s quite clear from his energy that Holt is the alpha male. He also looks completely edible in his suit and tie.
Their scene ends to huge amounts of applause, and after several more group performances, the show’s over. Erika comes onto the stage and makes a speech congratulating us all on a great collaborative effort before wishing us a good weekend.
As Connor and I head backstage to get changed, he puts his arm around me, as usual. It shouldn’t make me feel weird, because he’s always been physically affectionate, but with things being the way they are with Holt me, I feel guilty. It’s bad enough I’ve spent all week kissing Connor for our scene.
It’s not like I have feelings for Connor beyond friendship, but part of me wonders what it would be like to go out with a boy who isn’t afraid to show affection in public. Hell, I wonder what it would be like to go out with a boy. What Holt and I are doing could hardly be defined as “dating.” Mostly we hang out at my place. On the rare occasion we do go out, it’s to parties with the rest of our class where we spend the whole night avoiding each other. Then when he drives me home, we paw at each other frantically until someone orgasms.
He hasn’t once asked me out on a proper date. He hasn’t even invited me over to his apartment.
“See you at the party?” Connor says as we go our separate ways. I nod and wave. I’d like to think that Holt plans to take me, but the only consistent thing about him is his unpredictability.
When I finish getting changed, I grab my backpack and head to his dressing room. I step inside to find him sitting on the couch unlacing his shoes. He’s still wearing his suit pants, but his shirt, tie, and jacket are slung over the chair, and all he’s wearing on his upper half is a white tank.
Oh. God.
I stand there in a state of debilitating lust, watching his arms flex as he tugs at his laces. He looks up and catches me.
He frowns as he pulls off his shoes and socks. “You okay?”
“No.” Pretty sure I’m slack-jawed and drooling.
He stops what he’s doing. “What’s wrong?”
“What’s wrong?” I gesture to his shoulders and arms. “That’s what wrong, mister. All of that! I don’t see you for five days, then you show up wearing that?!”
He rests his elbows on his knees as he looks down at himself. “Taylor, you’ve seen my arms before.”
“Not recently. And it’s not just your arms. It’s your shoulders. And your neck. And that little bit of hair on your chest. And all of it together, wrapped up in that … that ridiculous piece of clothing you’re wearing.”
“My tank?”
“Yes! It’s like wrapping up the very definition of the word ‘sexy’ in a layer of irresistible lust.” I grunt in frustration and whisper, “It does strange things to me, Ethan. It makes me want to do strange things to you, too.”
He stares at me for a second before trailing his gaze down my body, then up again. “What sort of things?”
“You don’t want to know.”
“I think it’s safe to say that I really, really do. Show me.”
“It’s too embarrassing. You’ll judge me.”
“Taylor, you haven’t touched me in five days. Do you really want to keep discussing this, or do you want to do something about it?”
He has a point. “Uch. Fine.”
I walk over and kneel between his legs. He watches me with wary eyes as I put my hands on his thighs.
“Flex your bicep,” I order quietly. He looks confused. “Just do it.”
He shakes his head before clenching his fist and curling his arm, causing the muscles to contract and bunch in ways that makes me bite my tongue to keep from making an embarrassingly wanton sound.
I lean forward and press my lips against the bunched muscle. Holt seems confused.
When I trail my teeth over the soft skin and press into the hardness underneath, he frowns. I close my eyes and suck on the thick muscle. He makes a strangled noise, and when I look at him, I notice he’s panting and his pupils are huge.
I give his bicep one final suck before my mortification wins out, and I pull back.
“That’s the sort of thing it makes me want to do,” I say as I sit back on my heels. “Now, aren’t you embarrassed you like someone who’s so obviously disturbed?”
He lowers his arm and blinks. “You have no idea, do you? You literally have no clue.”
“About what?”
“About how insanely fucking sexy you are.”
He wraps one arm around me and pulls me forward as he splays his fingers across my cheek and kisses me, sudden and passionate. His mouth is warm and insistent. I react by making more noise than is probably wise considering I can hear my classmates moving around outside the dressing room door.
“Sshhh,” he whispers as he pulls me against him.
I’m dizzy, and I clutch at his shoulders as he kisses down my jaw and onto my neck.
“Wow,” I say, breathless. “If this is how you react when I suck on your bicep, imagine the fun we’re going to have when I get to other parts of your anatomy.”
He immediately freezes.
And there it is. The reaction he always has when I imply I’d like to take him in my mouth.
“You know,” I say, trying to loosen his arms so I can pull back and look at him, “most men have a completely different reaction when a girl offers to pleasure them orally. Are you afraid I won’t do it right, because I have no experience? I can assure you, I’ve watched enough porn to know my way around a penis. I mean, I don’t know if I’ll be able to take it all the way in like some of those girls, but I’m sure, with enough practice that I could—”
“Fuck me, Taylor…” He lets me go and slumps back against the couch. “You just … you can’t go around saying that kind of stuff.”
“Why not?”
“Because…” He rubs his eyes, then looks at me, pained and turned on. “I’m trying not to let things get out of control with you, and if you keep saying that stuff, it’s going to be fucking impossible.”
“Fine. I won’t talk.”
I push up his tank and kiss his stomach before moving down to the waistband of his pants. A long, tortured groan pours out of him.
“We can’t,” he says, his voice cracking. “Someone could walk in any second.”
“So?” I unlatch his belt buckle. “I’m sure it’s not the first time drama students have been caught pleasuring each other backstage. We’re a very horny bunch, or haven’t you noticed?”
I stroke him through his pants, and even though his accompanying moan sounds like a protest, he doesn’t stop me.
“You’re killing me, Taylor. You know that, right? Every time you touch me, you kill me a little more.”
There’s a rush of running feet outside, and Holt springs off the couch and refastens his pants right before the door bursts open, and a naked Jack Avery streaks into the room.
“Pre-party nudie dash!” He does a quick lap of the room and exits.
“Jesus. I did not need to see that.” Holt strides toward the open door. “Why don’t these goddamn doors have locks? Hide your shame, Avery!”
He slams the door and slumps back onto the couch.
“Actually,” I say, “nude Jack has nothing to be ashamed of. Who knew the geek was packing that larger-than-average lightsaber in his Star Wars underoos?”
Holt rolls his eyes, and I laugh as I sit beside him and stroke the back of his neck.
“You were really good tonight,” I say, running my fingers over his ear.
He raises his eyebrows. “Yeah?”
“Yeah. I love watching you onstage. You’re so … sexy. And talented. In fact, I think you’re sexy because you’re talented. I mean, you’re also ridiculously handsome, but so are soap actors, and they do absolutely nothing for me because they’re terrible actors. So yeah, I find your talent a turn-on. Is that weird? Should I stop talking now?”
He smiles and leans forward. “Yes.”
He takes my face in his hands and kisses me gently. I grip his arms to steady myself as my heart kicks into overdrive.
He pulls back and sighs. “You’re talented, too. Way too talented in too many ways.”
“So,” I say as I take his hand and stroke his fingers. “Did you see my scene with Connor?”
He tenses. “Uh … yeah. I saw it from backstage.”
A hint of agitation creeps onto his face, and I can almost hear his brain whispering things that aren’t true.
“And what did you think?”
“You were good.”
“Uh huh. And Connor?”
He shrugs and stands. “He was all right. He made some obvious choices, but I guess they worked.”
He strips off his pants, giving me a very nice view of his butt in dark gray boxer-briefs before he pulls on his jeans.
“So … you don’t want to talk about anything else to do with the scene?”
He grabs a V-neck sweater and yanks it over his head. “Nope.” He pushes up the sleeves and runs his hand through his hair.
“You don’t care that I kissed him?”
He sits on a chair opposite me and pulls out his boots and socks from under the bench. “I care. I just don’t want to talk about it.”
“Why not?”
“Because,” he says as he pulls on a sock, “talking about it … even thinking about it, makes me irrationally fucking angry.”
Wow. He’s admitting something. This is epic.
“Holt, you know you have nothing to be jealous of, right?”
He pushes his foot into his boot and tugs roughly at the laces. “Don’t I? You looked pretty into that kiss. And it’s been obvious from day one that Connor wants to get into your pants.”
I walk over and stand in front of him as he laces up his other boot. “I don’t think he does anymore. Ever since that first party when I stopped him kissing me, I think he’s known that … well…”
He finishes with his laces and looks up at me. “He’s known what?”
I focus on the tiny frown line between his brows. “Even back then, he’d figured out that I … you know … liked you.”
He leans back in the chair and sighs. “Yeah, well, that doesn’t mean he stopped liking you. He just started hiding it better.”
“He’s hiding it pretty well. During our entire week of rehearsals, he didn’t make a single pass at me.”
“Apart from all that time he spent sucking your face, of course.”
I blink. “Uh … yeah. Apart from that.”
He stands up and takes a step toward me. “Did he use tongue?”
“A little.”
“How little?”
I cup the back of his head and pull his head down. “Kind of like this.”
I kiss him slowly, then take his top lip between mine and suck on it gently before repeating the move on his bottom lip.
He makes a noise and pulls back to glare down at me. “Jesus, Cassie, he kissed you like that?!”
“Uh … sort of.”
“Sort of?!”
“Well, yeah, but … it was different because it was our characters, and … it wasn’t you. And that made it all wrong.”
He drops his head. I’m not explaining myself well, but I don’t know what to say to him.
“He and I didn’t have any of the chemistry you and I do.”
“From where I stood, it looked like you had plenty of chemistry.”
“It was just acting. Did you see the love scene between Miranda and Jack? It was hot as hell, but it’s not like Miranda has traded in her lesbian card and wants to jump Jack. It just looked that way.”
He walks around me and grabs a hanger from the rack before hanging up his suit and zipping it into a garment bag.
“Ethan, come on.”
“I believe you,” he says as he shoves it onto the rack. “Logically, I know you did what was needed in order to make the scene work. But…”
“But what?”
He puts his hands in his pockets and blows out a breath. “It made me feel sick, seeing you kissing him.” He looks at me, and even now he doesn’t seem entirely well. “It made me crazy, Taylor, and I’m not just saying that as hyperbole. I truly felt unhinged. Like I could have beaten the shit out of him for touching you.”
“Like you did to Matt when you found out about him and Vanessa?” I ask.
He laughs bitterly and shakes his head. “Jesus, is there anything my goddamn sister hasn’t told you?”
I walk over and put my hands on his chest, then stroke him through his sweater.
“Ethan, I wouldn’t cheat on you with Connor.”
He looks down, seeming more vulnerable than I’ve seen him for a long time. “I know that.”
“I’d never cheat on you, with anyone.”
“Yeah, well, technically, you can’t cheat on me, because I’m not your boyfriend.”
His words at first hit me like a sucker punch, but I have to remember who I’m talking to.
“The funny thing is, you sound a lot like my boyfriend.” I run my hands up his neck. “My extremely hot, jealous boyfriend.”
I pull his hands out of his pockets and wrap them around my waist. His trademark flicker of fear sparks in his eyes, before he shakes his head and strokes my lower back.
“Taylor, you have sucky taste. There are guys who would be far better boyfriends than I would be. I’d bet Connor would be a fucking spectacular boyfriend. He’d be one of those sickening idiots who’d bring you flowers in the middle of the cafeteria or hire a barbershop quartet for your birthday.”
“So are you telling me I should date Connor instead of you?”
“He’d be better for you than I would.”
“Oh, in that case, I’d better go find him.” I turn to leave, but I only take three steps before he spins me around, presses me into the door, and kisses me, all open mouth and soft tongue.
For the life of me, I can’t remember what we were talking about thirty seconds ago.
When he pulls back, we’re both breathless.
“So, I’m not sure if you got my subtle subtext there,” he says, “but I’d really like it if you stayed the fuck away from Connor, okay?”
My heart is pounding overtime. “If Connor knew you were my boyfriend, he’d know I’m not available. I don’t understand why we can’t just go public.”
He leans his head against mine. “Cassie, I’ve had high-profile relationships. When things go wrong, it just makes it that much harder to deal with.”
“I understand that, but you’re working on the assumption that something will go wrong with us. Maybe it won’t. Maybe we’ll be perfectly happy and never fight.’”
He laughs. “You have met us, right? We fight all the time.” He tightens his arms around me and pulls me more firmly against him. “I just want to keep it between us for a little longer. Okay?”
I nod. “I guess I just … I don’t want to feel like you’re ashamed to have people know you like me, or whatever.”
“I’m not ashamed.” He cups my face. “Well, actually, I’m a little ashamed of my constant erection, but that’s beside the point. I just don’t want people judging and talking behind our backs. I’d prefer we keep it private.”
I sigh and run my fingers across the stubble on his jaw. “Okay. We can keep it on the down-low for a while longer, but what do I say if someone straight out asks me about us?”
There’s a babble of voices in the hallway, and he immediately steps away and shoves his hands in his pockets. “Lie.”
“And if Connor asks?”
His eye twitches. “Tell that fucker we’re engaged.”
Present Day
New York City
The foyer of the Majestic Theater is packed with performers, producers, sponsors, and avid theatergoers, all coming together for one of the largest fund-raisers on the Broadway calendar. Each audience member has paid several hundred dollars to see excerpts from some of the best shows currently playing in the theater district, with all proceeds going toward the Variety Performers of America Benevolent Fund.
Holt and I performed a short excerpt from our show as a preview prior to opening, and judging by the audience reaction, our show’s going to be a bona fide hit. Even now, as we move through the foyer, people keep stopping us to tell us how much they’re looking forward to seeing it. I spy Marco across the room, beaming. It feels good to know that the buzz is positive. It makes my growing anxiety about opening night a little more bearable.
With his hand at the small of my back, Holt steers me to an alcove at the side of the foyer. It houses a particularly bad fake-marble statue of a man with an abnormally small penis, but as least it’s free from the noise and crush of the rest of the room.
“Sorry for rubbing up against you,” he says. “It was unavoidable in that crowd.”
“Yeah, that’s what I thought the first three times you did it. Then it was just gratuitous.”
He looks shocked. “Taylor, are you implying that I rubbed up against you on purpose?” He moves forward so my back is against the pillar. “That’s just insulting. I would never stoop to something so low. If I was going to sexually harass you, I’d be all subtle about it, like this.”
He gives me a ridiculously sexy face and presses me into the wall, and although I want to laugh at his antics, the truth is, having his body pressed against me ruins my ability to do anything but breathe.
A loud laugh nearby jolts me back to reality, and a prickle of nervousness runs up my spine as I realize we can still be seen.
“Okay, Sir Humpsalot, cut it out.” I push against his chest until he steps back. “There are reporters here. We don’t want them getting the wrong impression.”
“What, that I enjoy rubbing myself on you? Because that’s not the wrong impression. That’s an indisputable fact. How do you not know this by now?”
“What I mean is, they might think that we’re … well … you know…”
His smile fades a little. “No. Why don’t you tell me?”
I sigh and stare at him. “They might think that we’re … together. And we’re not.”
A flicker of disappointment registers on his face, but he hides it quickly. He puts his hand on the pillar behind my head and leans down.
“You know, it would be really good publicity for our show if we were together. I mean, just think of it, ‘Real-life Couple Plays Lovers Onstage.’ The press would eat it up.”
“Ethan…”
“Of course, we’d have to do lots of publicity. I’d have to take you out to high-profile restaurants and make sure the paparazzi were watching when I kissed you … and sucked on your neck … and put my hand between your legs under the table.”
The juncture of my thighs lights up at the thought.
I lean more heavily against the pillar.
“If you really want our show to be a hit,” he says as his gaze flickers between my eyes and mouth, “then you’d agree to let me kiss you. Right now. In front of all of these people.”
He stares at me, and all I can do is gaze at his lips while my lust wages war with my fear.
“Just say yes, Cassie. Don’t overthink it.”
His mouth is close. Almost too close for me to deny him anything.
“Ethan…”
“No, not ‘Ethan.’ ‘Yes’. Or better yet, ‘Yes, please, God, kiss me before we both go insane.’ Either works for me. ‘Fuck, yes!’ with an accompanying fist pump is also acceptable.”
I have to smile.
God, I love him.
I gasp.
Whoa.
So not ready to face that reality yet.
He reads the panicked expression my face and drops his head in defeat. “Okay, fine, no kissing, but let me tell you, it’s a wasted opportunity. Alcohol?”
“Yes, please.”
“Oh, so you can say ‘yes, please’ to booze but not to me? Nice. Taylor, if our show tanks, just know it’s because you didn’t get on board with my make-out-with-Ethan-as-often-as-possible publicity plan. I hope you can live with that decision.”
I laugh and slap his arm. “Vodka cocktail, please.”
“Yeah, whatever.” He fake-sulks as he makes his way through the crowd toward the bar, and as soon as he leaves my side, I miss him.
I step out of the alcove and take a deep breath.
As beautiful, and patient, and hilarious as he’s being, there’s still a shard of something inside me that twists and burns without reason or warning, and it terrifies me, because sometimes it makes me feel like the specter of our past will always be hanging over us, making me push him away even when I want him closer.
I feel a hand slide around my waist, and I flinch in surprise as I turn to see a familiar face.
“Connor!”
Oh, God, Connor.
“Hey, Cassie,” he says and leans in to kiss my cheek. “How have you been?”
“Really well. You?”
What’s he doing here? Leave. Please, leave now.
“I’m great. Just about to open in the new production of Arcadia down at the Ethel Barrymore Theatre.”
“I heard! That’s fantastic. I can’t wait to come and see it.”
“Well, let me know when you want to come, and I’ll get you house seats.”
“That’d be great.”
I’ll never come and see it. He knows that. I’ve ruined our friendship.
I’m a fucking terrible person.
We lapse into silence and just look at each other for a few seconds as awkwardness settles between us.
“You look beautiful,” he says, and I glance down because I really can’t look him in the eyes anymore. “As usual.”
“Connor…”
“How’s the play going?” he asks, changing the subject. “Must be weird working with Ethan again, huh?”
I look over and see Holt at the bar, waiting to be served.
“Yep.” I tuck my hair behind my ear and push down my rising panic. “Weird is one word for it. Does he know you’re here?”
He shakes his head. “No. I wanted to see you first. Say hi. I … I wasn’t sure how much you’ve told him about us. I didn’t want things to be awkward.”
I sigh. Awkward seems to be where I live these days. Right there on the corner of Freak-Out Avenue.
“I haven’t told him anything,” I say, wishing Connor would leave before Holt comes back, “and I’d really appreciate it if you didn’t mention it. We open in a week, and I don’t want to cause drama.”
“Don’t tell me you’re back together?” he asks, his face turning dark.
“No. We’re not. We’re just … we’re trying to be friends.”
When I look over, Holt’s walking toward us, and I feel like I’m going to have a stroke, my heart’s beating so fast.
Connor follows my gaze as a wry smile settles on his face. “Well, I guess some things never change. I can’t believe that after what he did to you, you’re still completely in love with him.”
I look at him sharply. “That’s not true.”
“Oh, please, Cassie. Even when you claimed to hate him, you were so fixated, you couldn’t see other options that were right in front of you.”
“Connor—”
“I would have never hurt you like he did. But I guess it’s all just history now, huh?”
He shrugs it off, but I know how much damage I did, and that knowledge makes me feel like garbage.
“I just hope you know what the hell you’re doing, because if he hurts you again…” He shakes his head. “You deserve to be happy, Cassie. That’s all I’m saying.”
I nod. Things might have been so different if I could have made things work with Connor. But I couldn’t. I tried. We both know I really tried.
“Hey, Connor!” Holt hands me my drink and then shakes Connor’s hand. To his credit, he looks genuinely pleased to see him. I, on the other hand, am on the verge of two worlds colliding and am about to pass out. “I heard you were doing Arcadia, man. Congratulations. The cast looks awesome.”
Connor plasters on a smile. “Hey, Ethan. Yeah, it’s great. Bookings are going well, so we’re hoping for a nice, long run.”
Holt smiles and gestures toward the bar. “Can I get you a drink? They have some decent imported beer. Or if you want to live dangerously, I could get you one of these pink monstrosities Taylor’s drinking, although I’m pretty sure it’s made from just vodka and sugar.”
Connor looks at me and smiles, but there’s sadness in his eyes. “Yeah, well … she always did have questionable taste.”
Something shifts in the air, and when I look back at Holt he’s staring at Connor, his smile fading. Suddenly I think it’s really important that Connor leaves.
As if he senses the building tension, Connor says, “Well, it’s been great seeing you guys but I’ve got to get back to the rest of my cast. Hope you can come down one night and see the show.” He looks at both of us as he says it, but I know he’s only talking to me.
“See you, Ethan,” he says, his voice less than friendly. Then he kisses my cheek and whispers, “Take care of yourself, Cassie. Please.”
He leaves, and even though the room is full of people chattering and laughing, all I can focus on is the absolute silence surrounding Holt. He takes several mouthfuls of beer and pretends to look at something across the room, but I can see that his eyes are glazed and unfocused. He’s not looking at something as much as he’s trying not to look at me. I squirm because I know, without a shadow of a doubt, what he’s about to say.
“You slept with him, didn’t you?” he asks quietly. He doesn’t sound angry, or even hurt. Just … resigned.
When I don’t answer, he looks at me, and I can see that he’s struggling to hold in everything he’s feeling. His lips are pressed together and hard, and my heart is pounding so loudly I can hear it in my ears.
“Ethan…”
“Just tell me, Cassie. I’m not going to make a scene. I just need to know.”
“You already know.”
He huffs in frustration. “I need to hear you say it.”
I take a deep breath and push down a wave of nausea. “Yes. We slept together.”
He blinks but doesn’t stop staring at me. “When?”
“You know when.”
“After graduation.”
“Yes.”
“Straight after I left.”
“Yes.”
“For how long?”
“Three months.”
“Three months?!” He laughs, but it’s a bitter sound. “Three fucking…” He nods and takes another swig of beer, his expression intense. “So you two were … what? In a relationship? Dating?”
“No. I mean … kind of. He wanted to, but I just … I couldn’t. I didn’t feel that way about him. It was just sex.”
He laughs again, and he’s looking everywhere else but at me.
“Ethan … I was angry and hurting. He was there. You weren’t.”
He swallows more beer, his jaw clenching and releasing.
“You can’t be upset with me for something that happened after you left. That’s not fair.”
“I know,” he says, his voice low. “I know I shouldn’t want to smash in Connor’s fucking face, but … Jesus, Cassie, three months?!”
He takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly before looking at me.
“I know you were with other men after I left,” he says. “I overheard you and Tristan talking about it the night I came to your apartment. And as much as it fucking killed me to hear that, I coped by telling myself they were just nameless, faceless guys. One-night stands that fulfilled some urge for you. That didn’t mean anything—”
“They didn’t mean anything. Nothing has meant anything for longer than I can remember.”
“Connor meant something.”
“No.”
“Cassie, you can’t tell me you had sex with him for three months without it meaning something. It’s one thing to fuck someone you pick up in a bar and never see again. It’s another thing to have sex with someone you care about. At the very least, he was your friend, so you had to have some feelings for him.”
“Obviously whatever I felt for him wasn’t enough. Nothing was ever enough for me after you.”
When he looks at me, I can tell he’s angry. But beneath the anger is hurt, so deep and raw that I can’t look him in the eyes, because his pain echoes inside of me.
“Do you think I don’t know this is my fault?” he asks as he leans forward. “I know that, all right? And it fucking kills me. And what’s worse is that I could have lost you to someone like Connor. Someone who would never treat you the way I did.”
I glance over to where Connor is across the room. He’s looking at Holt and me with concern. He can tell that we’re fighting.
Holt is shifting from one foot to the other, struggling to stay in control.
I don’t know what to say to him. His jealousy is pointless. It always was. As if he’s ever had anything to be truly jealous of.
“Why couldn’t you make it work with him?” he asks and places his beer bottle on the bench next to us before looking at his feet. “You said he wanted more. Why didn’t you?”
“I’ve asked myself that question so many times, I’ve lost count.”
“And what’s the answer?”
I take a breath. “I don’t know. Connor thinks he never had a chance with me because I was still in love with you.”
He searches my face, then licks his lips before asking, “And what do you think?”
I fight to keep my voice steady. “I think he’s probably right.”
He looks at me for a long time, the wheels of his brain processing my words, noting I’d said “was” in love. Not admitting to how I’m feeling now.
I pray he doesn’t ask me, because I know I can’t say it. Not yet. That would be like cutting open my chest and handing over my heart all over again, and I’m not anywhere near ready to do that.
“So where does that leave us?” he asks, his brow furrowed. “Judging by the way Connor was looking at you, if you said one word to him, he’d walk out of here with you right now.”
“And would you let him?”
He stares at me for long seconds before answering. “If that’s what you wanted. If you thought he could make you happier than I could.”
I take in an unsteady breath and put my hand on his chest, the first voluntary contact I’ve made for days. He blinks in surprise.
“So, if I said I didn’t want you, and didn’t love you, and needed Connor in my life instead of you, you’d stop fighting for me? You’d just … let me go?”
He tightens his jaw and places his hand over mine before pressing it into his chest. “No.”
“Why not?”
“Because you’d be lying.”
I let out a shaky breath. “Yes, I would.”
Suddenly his hands are on my face, and before I can even get out one word to protest that we’re in a room full of people, he’s kissing me. My breath catches as his lips move gently against mine, and I’m so devastated by the sensation that I cease to care that Connor, and Marco, and members of the Broadway press club are standing around us.
My stomach coils and flips as he tilts my head and kisses me deeper, his breath loud and shallow as he half groans, half sighs into my mouth. His hands are on my face and my neck, pulling me closer and stroking me in a way that makes me lose track of time and place and just melt into him as if we’re two highly combustible chemical compounds that ignite when they come in contact.
Part of why I could never get over him is because only he can make me react like this. Every other man was like a match, igniting vague passion, but brief and unremarkable. Ethan is like a volcano. A never-ending series of ecstatic, bone-deep eruptions.
He presses me against the pillar, hands cupping my face, and that’s when it becomes too much. He’s too important, and the feelings I’m having are too big for my stitched-up heart. I push him away and grip his shirt, dizzy and unsteady.
“I’m sorry,” he says, breathless. “But … well … Jesus, Cassie, you can’t just say that you want me and expect me to not completely lose my mind. I know you can’t give me all of yourself right now, but I just needed to have one small part of you. A piece that wasn’t Connor’s, or the other guys’ you’ve been with. Just mine. And I hope Connor, and every other man in the room, saw that fucking spectacular kiss, because anyone who witnessed that could not deny that we’re meant to be together, especially not you.”
I step back and lean against the pillar, panting and trying to calm myself.
He’s right. That kiss pretty much destroyed any doubts I had about wanting him in my life again, but that doesn’t mean I’m ready to make out with him in front of a roomful of my peers.
I’m so caught up in the moment, I don’t even notice how many people have their camera phones trained on us.