Bad Romeo (Starcrossed #1)(35)
Author: Leisa Rayven

He stands in front of me, and when I hug him, he squeezes me tight.

“I can’t believe Ethan Holt’s screwing things up for me, even when he’s not here.”

The mere mention of his name makes my chest tighten.

I pull back and run my fingers over frown lines, trying to get them to loosen.

“I’m sorry,” I say. “I know it’s a total cliché, but it’s absolutely not you. It’s me.”

He laughs. “Oh, I know that.” His expression softens. “Still, I hope you get closure one day, Cass. I really do.”

I nod and look at his chest. “Me, too.”

Then he kisses me, gentle and slow, and I nearly cry because I want it to feel so different.

Leaning his forehead against mine, he says, “And I hope that bastard realizes that letting you go was the stupidest thing he’s ever done.”

He walks me to the door and kisses me once more before saying, “See you tonight at the theater?”

I nod and say good-bye, and just like that, we’re back to being onstage lovers only.

It’s better this way.

As I leave, I vow not to inflict myself on innocents anymore. Get in, fuck, get out. No strings attached.

Love is weakness.

That’s not the only thing Holt taught me, but it’s the thing I remember most.

I almost fall off my chair as I jolt into consciousness.

My heart pounds furiously, fueled by latent guilt.

Jesus, what time is it?

I look at the clock. Ten forty-five. I’ve been asleep at my desk for an hour.

My mouth is dry, and when the room tilts, I’m reminded I drank a whole bottle of wine. I groan and push away from my desk, my whole body protesting as I get up and go into the bathroom.

I take a quick shower and brush my teeth as a pit of dread yawns in my stomach.

I e-mailed him.

I e-mailed him and said that we should talk.

I’m so not ready for that to happen. If he tries to excuse his behavior, I’ll end up punching him in the head. I know it.

I towel dry my hair and don’t even bother brushing it before I pull on my favorite pajamas and crawl into bed. I open a book and try to read, but my eyes are blurry. I rub them and sigh.

I’m tense, horny, and drunk. Damn, I need to get laid.

I can’t remember the last guy who gave me pleasure. Honestly, I have no idea what his name was. Matt? Nick? Blake? I know it had one syllable.

Whatever his name, he was an adequate lover, but he didn’t make me come. Few of them do. They feed my ego and make me forget for a while, but they never make me feel like Holt did. Then again, they never rip my heart out of my chest and shred it into a thousand pieces, either, so there’s that.

My phone rings. I know it’s Tristan wanting to tell me about the latest piece of delicious man-meat he’s discovered at the club.

I pick up the phone and jab the answer button. “Listen, dancing queen, I’m drunk, horny, and in no mood to hear about pretty men who aren’t going to fuck me. So for the love of my poor neglected vagina, order yourself another Cosmo and please fuck off.”

There’s a pause and an uncertain cough. “I’m more that happy to fuck off, but if it makes a difference, I wasn’t going to talk about dicks. I’m far more interested to hear more about your poor neglected vagina. How’s she been? We haven’t had a face-to-face in a while.”

Heat floods my cheeks. I shouldn’t have any shame left around him, yet I always seem to find just a little bit more.

“What do you want, Holt?”

“Well, considering you’re horny and drunk, I’d really like to be within groping distance. Failing that, I just want to talk. I got your e-mail.”

I rub my eyes. I have no patience for his charm tonight. “Yeah. Okay.”

“Saturday night would be great. Thanks.”

“Don’t thank me yet. There’s a strong chance we won’t make it through the evening without me throwing something at you, but I guess things can’t get much worse between us, right?”

He laughs. “I don’t know. There were times when we were less civil than we are now. Still, I appreciate the chance to clear the air.”

He goes silent, and so do I. We used to be able to talk on the phone for hours. Now, we’ve barely made it through a minute before the awkward sets in.

“So, was that all you called to say? Because you could have just told me tomorrow.”

There’s silence for a moment. Then he says, “I called to tell you something that couldn’t wait until tomorrow.”

A chill runs up my spine. “And what’s that?”

“I just needed to tell you … I’m sorry, Cass.”

I stop breathing and squeeze my eyes shut as a bizarre storm of emotions swirls within me.

Those words. Those simple, powerful words.

“Cassie? Did you hear me?”

“I don’t think so. It sounded like an apology, but in your voice.”

He sighs. “I know you didn’t hear me apologize nearly enough during our relationship, and I’m sorry for that, too. But before we spent one more day together, I had to say that. It was killing me not to.”

In my shock, I almost miss how slurred his speech is.

“Holt, you’ve been drinking, haven’t you?”

“A little,” he says.

“A little?”

“Well, a lot, but that has nothing to do with me apologizing. I should have done it the moment I saw you on the first day of rehearsal, but … you didn’t want to listen. And, well, you were scary.”

“You haven’t seen my hair since I got out of the shower. I’m still scary.”

“Bullshit. I bet you look beautiful.”

He’s really drunk. He only ever compliments me when he’s lost feeling in his extremities.

“What are you drinking?”

“Whiskey.”

“Why?”

“Because … because of you. Well, you and me. And kissing. Definitely because of the kissing.”

I don’t tell him that I drank a whole bottle of wine for the same reason.

He sighs. “Jesus, Cassie. Kissing you?” He groans. “I’ve been fantasizing about it for three years, but none of my fantasies compared to what happened today.”

His voice lowers so much, I don’t know if he’s even talking to me anymore. “I’ve missed kissing you. So much.”

Goddammit. I can’t hear this.

“Holt, please…”

“I know I shouldn’t say any of this, but I’m drunk, and I miss you, and … did I mention being drunk?”