Bad Romeo (Starcrossed #1)(28)
Author: Leisa Rayven

“Fudging corksucker!” I launch my diary across the room, and it hits the door with a loud thud. I flop back onto my bed and throw my arm over my eyes.

It’s no use. I can’t write in my diary anymore. He’s ruined the ritual of it, because I can’t get past the terror that he’ll read it again. The one thing that helped me make sense of my ridiculous feelings for him is now unavailable, and that sucks beyond all words.

“Cassie?” There’s a knock at the door, and Ruby’s head appears. “You okay?”

“No,” I say before rubbing my face and sighing.

“Holt?”

“Yes.”

“What happened?”

“He’s playing Romeo. I’m Juliet. We got into a fight.”

“About the diary?”

“Among other things.”

“Still no apology?”

“Of course not. Plus, he practically demanded I give him a hand job.”

“That’s not cool. He should have at least said ‘please.’” She walks over and sits on the edge of the bed. “You know he likes you, right?”

“I don’t care.”

“Yes, you do. You like him back.”

“I don’t want to.”

“Sometimes liking someone has nothing to do with what you want and everything to do with what you need.”

“Ruby, he’s a dick.”

“You’re passionate about him.”

“We’d be terrible together.”

“Or wonderful.”

I exhale and sit up. “So what are you saying?”

“I’m saying you should make a move.”

I rub my eyes. “God, Ruby, no. We just don’t mesh. It’s like we’re oil and vinegar. No matter how much we shake each other up, we’re never going to blend.”

“Cassie,” she says, giving me her best heed-the-pearls-of-wisdom-I’m-about-to-impart expression, “you forget that even though oil and vinegar don’t blend, they still make delicious salad dressing.”

I narrow my eyes. “Okay, that makes zero sense.”

She sighs. “I know. I’m sorry. I had nothing. Still, salad dressing is delicious. My point is this: You should fuck Holt. It’d be yummy.”

I look at her in shock. “What?! I should … what? I mean … I can’t even comprehend—”

“Don’t you dare tell me you’ve never thought about jumping that boy’s bones, because I know you have.”

I slump and pout. “Okay, fine, I’ve thought about it. Doesn’t mean I’d actually do it.”

“Need I remind you that you dry-humped him shamelessly when you were drunk? And from all reports, he wasn’t complaining.”

“That doesn’t count.”

“You rubbed your girl flower on his love muscle, Cass. It counts.”

I pull my hair over my eyes and groan. “Ruby…”

She parts my hair and glares at me. “Cassie, you’re obviously hung up on this guy. You’re going to have to deal with whatever’s bubbling between you before you both have a complete meltdown. You can’t go on with all this unresolved sexual tension. It’s not healthy. I vote for fucking him until you both can’t stand, but hey, that’s just me.”

I grunt in frustration and flop back onto my bed.

She stands and walks over to the door before turning back to me. “You know, a wise man once said, ‘Love cannot be found where it doesn’t exist, nor can it be hidden where it truly does.’ Think about it.”

“That’s deep, Rubes. Is that out of your Philosophy Quotes 101 book?”

“Nope,” she says with a smile. “David Schwimmer. Kissing a Fool. Terrible movie.”

I laugh.

“’Night, Cass.”

That night, I dream of Holt, and thanks to Ruby, the rating is definitely X.

The next day, as I walk to our first day of rehearsal, I’m still unsure how I’m going to deal with him.

When I turn the corner to the drama block, he’s there, leaning against the railing outside the theater, sunglasses on, a cardboard cup in each hand. As I get closer, he sees me and stands up straight. I stop in front of him.

“Hey,” I say.

“Hey.” He looks down at me and chews on the inside of his cheek.

We stand there for a few seconds before he thrusts one of the cardboard cups at me and says, “Oh, shit. This is, uh … this is for you.”

I take it and hold it up to my nose.

“What is it?”

“It’s an I’m-a-dick-achino.”

I try to stop the smile that lifts the corners of my mouth. “Huh. Smells like plain old hot chocolate to me.”

“Yeah, well, it turns out they were out of dick-achinos. I offered to make some more, but they said I was overqualified.”

“They were right.”

We sip our drinks in silence, and I figure a hot chocolate is about as close to an apology as I’m going to get from him. For the moment, I’m okay with that.

“So,” I say. “You know your lines?”

He nods. “Unfortunately. Shakespeare really could have used a good editor. Dude was wordy.”

“Found any love for Romeo yet?”

He looks down at his cup and fiddles with the edge. “No. The more I worked on the lines, the more clear it was how fucking stupid this casting is. I can’t play this role, Taylor. I really can’t.”

“Erika thinks you can.”

“Yeah, well, Erika’s deluding herself. She thinks I’m someone I’m not.”

“Or maybe she has faith in the someone you could be.”

He shakes his head. “She can have all the faith in the world. All I’m capable of giving her is a bad Romeo.”

“Maybe that’s what she wants. A perfect Romeo is boring. It’s more interesting to watch him struggle with his emotions. You know, triumph over his insecurities.”

He studies his cup for a few seconds before saying, “And if he doesn’t triumph? What happens then?”

I’m wracking my brain for an encouraging answer when Erika arrives. We file past her and throw our empty cups into the trash as we enter the dim theater. After we dump our bags in the auditorium, we join Erika onstage.

“How are you guys feeling today?” she asks.

Holt and I mumble something vaguely positive, then the small talk is done.

“I don’t want to scare you,” Erika says, looking at each of us, “but the success of this whole production hinges on you two and the believability of your relationship.”