Act Fourteen
Baylee Wright
I open my bedroom door to the unknown.
Music grows louder, and Luka—I see him instantly. He rummages through cupboards in the kitchenette while dancing to Nori Amada’s song.
Luka’s body absorbs the beat like he’s a visceral extension of the music, his rhythm natural and the kind most would envy.
It’s mesmerizing and tempts me to join. To dance right alongside him.
If we didn’t have those contracts over our heads, I’d already be in his arms.
Luka flips a glass in his hand, and I near the bar counter. As soon as I put my knee to the stool and elbows to the counter, he sees me fully. And his drop-dead gorgeous smile stretches across his angelic face.
I smile off of his smile and try to suppress the giddy-factor, which is way too high. “You shouldn’t look at me like that.”
“Why not?” He sets the glass aside and edges close. Placing his palms on the counter, his hands are right beside my forearms. An inch or so away, and the hairs on my neck rise, apprehensive but eager. So eager.
His chest rises in a deep inhale.
My lungs expand just as much. “What would your girlfriend think?” Yeah, I just threw that out there, and I have no regrets. My curiosity is winning out.
Luka searches my gaze for more. Answers to why I’d ask this. Wondering if I care about him completely, entirely, wholeheartedly.
I do. I wish I didn’t.
I wish I could let go. Because an underlying pain sits beneath every word. Every glance. The pain of knowing nothing can truly happen.
Knowing there is no us at the end of the desire and the longing.
Luka leans closer to whisper, “I don’t have a girlfriend.”
“Friends-with-benefits,” I add.
“None of those either.”
I nod a few times, my eyes burning as I restrain so many sentiments at once. “I should go.” I step off the stool and head towards…well, nowhere yet.
Luka sprints over and blocks my path. “Wait, Bay.”
I’m rigid. Uncertain.
He reaches a hand out to me but wavers too. His arm drops. “We’re allowed to be friends.”
“At work.” We’re not exactly at work right now.
Luka runs his fingers through his hair, and then we both go completely still. Not because someone entered the suite. But because the song changes to the score of Infini.
My mom’s music.
Luka licks his lips. “It’s on shuffle. That wasn’t intentional, I promise.”
I believe him, and I listen to the one drop drum beat and snares that hark back to rocksteady, a genre that originated in Jamaica, the predecessor of reggae. I even pick out a little bit of soca. Infini’s score isn’t exclusively Caribbean—there’s some American jazz and Latin influences—but I think the soul is Jamaican.
Just like my mom.
I shift my weight, and I try to shake off every sentimental and emotional feeling that wrings the air. Stay professional. “Do you know why AE cast you in Infini?” Why would they ever give us room to move towards one another?
It’s dangerous.
Luka shakes his head. “No clue.”
Our eyes graze each other again. Head-to-toe. We unconsciously inch closer. Our fingers toy with the idea of actually touching. Outside of work. We’re outside of work.
He dips his head, really looking at me. Into me. And as he opens his mouth to speak, the suite door blows open.
And we blow apart.
I act like I’m headed to the fridge.
Luka acknowledges his older brother who enters. “Hey, Nik…I needed to ask you about dinner.”
I avoid Nikolai, grab a protein bar, and I aim for my bedroom. All the while, I sense the heat of Nik’s gaze scouring me up and down.
“You couldn’t text me?” Nikolai questions.
“No,” Luka says firmly. “Don’t spin this into something it’s not, please.”
At this, I disappear into my bedroom, shutting the door closed. Not flooded with relief. If anything, my stomach hurts. My heart hurts.
And I’m more conflicted than before.