Bad Romeo (Starcrossed #1)(26)
Author: Leisa Rayven

I wrench my wrist free.

“You’re disgusting,” I say before walking away.

“So that’s a no to the hand job then?!” he calls after me.

I get away from him as fast as I can, and when I turn the corner, I see him still standing where I left him, his head bowed and his hands in his hair.

I walk home on trembling legs, and it’s only when I get inside my bedroom and slam the door that I realize my eyes are wet.

SEVEN

POINT OF NO RETURN

Present Day
New York City
Graumann Theater Rehearsal Room
Day four of rehearsals

I’m biting my fingernails. I’ve pretty much destroyed all of them and have moved on to the rough skin of my cuticles. It doesn’t help with my nerves, but it stops me from pacing.

Marco is talking to Holt. Taking him through the scene.

My stomach lurches with a combination of nausea and irrational anticipation. It makes me want to barf up my lunch.

Marco talks quietly, but I can hear every word.

“Sarah is here to confront you about why you’re pushing her away. Her mother has revealed she’s not the small-town girl you thought she was, and in the process, it’s made you feel like you’ll never be good enough for her. Deep down you’ve always believed this was too good to be true, and now all your doubts have been confirmed.”

Ethan nods as he frowns in concentration. His arms are crossed over his chest. Defensive stance.

He glances at me, then back to Marco, his face stone.

I’ve run out of cuticles. I need a cigarette, but I have no time.

“I want to feel that you think she’s better off without you, but it’s killing you. Understand?”

He nods and his leg judders.

He’s nervous.

Good.

“Cassie?”

My turn.

Marco comes over and puts his arm around me. “You’re confused by Sam’s behavior. You love him, and you don’t care how different your backgrounds are. He seems to have given up, but you want him to fight. Yes?”

I nod. It makes me dizzy. I want to sit down.

“This is where we feel your desperation. You haven’t seen him for days. All you want is for him to stay, okay?”

“Yeah. Sure.”

I sound more sure than I feel. He trusts me to do my job. I don’t want to let him down.

“Take a few minutes to prepare, then we’ll take it from Sarah’s entrance.”

Prepare? How the hell do I prepare for this? To feel these incredibly personal, relevant things? To kiss him?

I pace. I want to find my character, because she’s the insulation between fantasy and reality. But all I find is me. My hurt. My confusion.

I close my eyes and breathe. Long, measured breaths in through my nose, out through my mouth. I try to imagine a white sheet on a clothesline, blowing in the breeze. It’s my focus.

Today I can’t get it. The image is blurry and inconstant, like a TV channel I can’t tune.

My eyes are still closed when I hear footsteps. Then heat is in front of me, and I know he’s staring.

“What?” I ask, eyes still closed. I try to hold on to my focus. It shimmers like a mirage.

“Do you want to talk about anything?”

“Actually, yes. I have this weird burning sensation whenever I pee. What does it mean?”

I keep my breathing steady.

He sighs. “I meant about the scene.”

“I know what you meant.”

“Of course you did.”

“Let’s just get it over with and see what happens.” If I run screaming from the room, then I’ll deal with it.

“Are you sure about that?”

I’ve never been less sure of anything in my life.

I open my eyes. “Fine. What do you want to say?”

He shoves his hands in his pockets. “Where do I fucking start?”

I wait. I know he’s thinking, because he looks like he’s in pain. Some things never change.

“Cassie, don’t you think it’s insane that we haven’t spoken about any of the crap that’s gone down between us, and in just a few minutes I’m going to be kissing you?”

“No, you’re not,” I say.

“Yes, I am. It’s in the script.”

“What I mean, dumbass, is that Sam is going to be kissing Sarah. You and I will be elsewhere, right?”

He takes a step forward, and I resist retreating. I don’t do that anymore.

His body heat burns through my clothes. As much as I don’t want to look into his eyes, he doesn’t give me much choice.

“We both know it doesn’t work like that,” he says so softly only I can hear. “As much as we want it to be the character’s emotions, it’s still going to be my arms around you, and my mouth on yours. Now, I feel pretty weird about that considering all our baggage could fill a goddamn department store, but since you seem cool not discussing anything, let’s crack this fucking thing open and see what falls out.”

His ability to make me viciously angry within thirty seconds is remarkable. He wants to talk now because it suits him?

The only thing worse than his ability to make relationship decisions is his sense of timing.

“You had three years to talk,” I say. “But the only time you’d contact me was when you were drunk and unintelligible.”

“That’s not true. The e-mails—”

“Were full of mind games and pathetic attempts to get me to chase you … again. They were vague and self-pitying, and not once did you apologize, you arrogant bastard.”

“Is everything all right?” Marco calls to us. We plaster fake smiles on our faces and nod.

“We’re fine,” Holt says, voice tight. “Just workshopping some ideas.”

“Excellent. Let’s get started, then.”

Holt turns back to me, but I’m done with this conversation.

“Let’s just get it done,” I say, not in the mood to be in the same room with him, let alone play a love scene. “Grab your script, and let’s go.”

He laughs, but the sound is hollow. “I don’t need a script for this scene.”

“No, I don’t suppose you do.”

We take our starting positions on opposite sides of the space.

Marco claps his hands to silence the room. “Okay, when you’re ready, Cassie.”

I enter the space, more angry than I should be at this point in the play, but fuck it. I’ll take the anger and make it work.

We play the scene, strong words and bitter emotions parrying between us. I circle him. He keeps his distance. Hurt and evasive.