Bad Romeo (Starcrossed #1)(36)
Author: Leisa Rayven

I laugh, because like this, he’s my friend again. But I know that it’s not real and it won’t last.

“Go to bed, Ethan.”

“Okay, pretty Cassie. ’Night. And don’t forget how sorry I am. Please.”

I smile despite myself. “You know you’re going to have a giant hangover in the morning, right?”

He chuckles. “Has anything I’ve said tonight made you hate me any less?”

“Maybe.”

“A little or a lot?”

“A little.”

“Then it’ll be worth it.”

NINE

FAKING IT

The next day, Holt’s apology is still echoing in my brain as I walk to rehearsal. I thought him apologizing would give me some sense of closure, but it hasn’t. Instead it’s given rise to a strange, simmering anxiety.

I blow out a breath and pull back my shoulders.

What’s the worst that could happen? He says he didn’t mean it?

No, my conscience whispers, sounding annoyingly like Tristan. It would be worse if he said he did mean it, because then you’d actually have to decide to either let him in or let him go. Realistically, both options scare the hell out of you.

I grind my teeth.

Conscience Tristan is as annoyingly right as Real-life Tristan. Who knew?

As I reach the theater, I contemplate today’s rehearsal. We’re supposed to block the sex scene, then do the morning after. I shudder as images of Holt running his hands over my body hijack my mind.

Lord.

Just thinking about him sexing me up, pretend or not, is enough to make my vagina start slow-clapping in anticipation.

I take a deep breath and pull open the door. When I walk into the room, Cody, caffeine angel extraordinaire, hands me my coffee. As I dump my bag and sip the coffee, Holt appears in front of me, looking way too good for someone with a monster hangover.

“Hey,” he says quietly.

“Hi.”

We just stand there for a few seconds in awkward silence.

“So…” he says, looking down at his hands.

“Yeah, so … you look like shit this morning,” I say out of spite.

“Thanks. Seems I can’t drink nearly a full bottle of Jack like I used to.”

“That’s a shame. Didn’t you list that on your résumé as a special skill?”

“Yeah. Never had to use it for a role, though, but I’ve done it a lot for research.”

“Oh, yes. Very important, drunky research.”

“Yep.” He smiles, the kind-of-cute, one-sided smile that’s annoyingly endearing.

“Listen,” he says. “How much of an ass did I make of myself last night? Feel free to lie and say none at all, because I have a feeling it was bad.”

I nearly drop my coffee. “You don’t remember?”

He swallows and pauses before saying, “No, I remember, I just … I don’t know how much you laughed about it after we hung up. I wouldn’t blame you if you did.”

“I didn’t laugh at all,” I say, trying honesty on for size. “I was too shocked by you apologizing to do anything but convince myself I wasn’t dreaming.”

He nods. “Yeah, I realize I have issues with that. It’s one of the things I’ve been working on.”

“Too bad you didn’t work on it when we were together.”

I feel bad for the hurt that crosses his face, but what can I do? It’s not like I can stop being a bitch to him overnight.

Marco sweeps into the room, and there’s a flurry of activity as set pieces are moved into position. There’s a bed in the middle of the rehearsal room, and it’s raised on an angle so the audience can see us when we’re lying down.

My mouth goes dry just looking at it.

I sneak a glance at Holt. He’s taking large, even breaths, either warming up or settling his nerves. I follow his lead. My heart is beating way too fast.

Five minutes later, Marco has placed us into the most awkward position two ex-lovers could ever find themselves—Ethan is between my legs, his hands framing my face, his mouth just above mine.

He kisses me, soft and sweet, as his hips rock back and forth, and then he lets out a quiet moan as he closes his eyes.

“Look at me, Sam,” I whisper.

He opens his eyes.

So beautiful. Full and complicated. Always.

“Kiss her again,” Marco calls out. “Kiss her mouth, then go down to the neck.”

Ethan looks at me, hesitating for a moment before obeying, his lips soft but closed.

I lie there, too frozen to kiss him back but aware I should.

He pulls back and looks at me, confused.

Dammit, I need to start thinking like Sarah.

He’s Sam. He and Sarah have a happily-ever-after. I’ve read the script.

He kisses me again, and I respond awkwardly.

“You need to make some noise, Cassie,” Marco says, sounding frustrated. “Nothing you’re doing is reading from out here. Make it bigger.”

I unfreeze and try to do my job.

I start by wrapping my arms around him and groaning loudly while lifting my hips and arching my back. It’s fake and porny, but at this stage I have no idea what the hell I’m doing.

I grab his ass and push him against me. He whispers, “Fucking hell, Cassie,” before exhaling hard against my shoulder.

“I believe the line is, ‘Oh, Sarah, I love you,’” I say, before moaning and kissing his neck.

Instinctively, I reach over his shoulders and grab his T-shirt. I tug it over his head and toss it on the floor.

“So we’re talking my clothes off now?” he whispers. “I thought we were just marking this through.”

“What can I say? Apparently nothing I’m doing is reaching the audience. I’m guessing getting you naked will reach them.”

It feels good to be aggressive. It helps me disconnect.

More fake noises pour from my mouth, but as his muscles ripple under my fingers, all thoughts of Sam fly straight out the damn window.

Semi-naked Ethan.

He feels incredible. More incredible that he used to, if that’s possible.

I’m so distracted by his bare chest, I suddenly have no idea what the hell I’m supposed to say. Sarah’s gone bye-bye.

I run my hands down his stomach before reaching around to his back and fingering the waistband of his jeans. He mumbles something that sounds vaguely like “Jesus motherfucking Christ.”

He drops his head onto my shoulder and the sheets on either side of my head bunch as he curls his hands into fists. All of his muscles tense, and I don’t think he’s breathing.