Bad Romeo (Starcrossed #1)(47)
Author: Leisa Rayven

I make it just in time.

I’m rinsing my mouth when there’s a knock at the door.

“Cassie? You okay?”

Pause. “Not really.”

“Can I come in?”

“If you have to.”

As bathrooms go, this ones pretty classy. Very clean. High-end fittings. Fresh flowers.

He comes in and closes the door as I finish up washing my hands.

“I used to be the one with the barf nerves,” he says.

I dry my hands with paper towels, then throw them in the trash. “Now, it’s me.”

“Feeling better?”

“A bit.”

He goes to touch my shoulder, but I instinctively move away. Being comforted by him is not something I can handle right now.

He drops his head and sighs. “When I rehearsed this night in my mind—and let me tell you, I rehearsed it a lot—I was a whole lot smoother. There was very little vomiting involved. Now, not only have I made you sick, but I can’t remember any of the things I needed to say to you.”

I turn to check my reflection. I look like hell. No, not even that good. I look like hell after it’s gone through an atomic winter and the zombie apocalypse.

I’m contemplating trying to fix the damage with makeup when Ethan takes a step forward and brushes my hair over my shoulder. It makes goose bumps shiver up my spine.

“Jesus, Cassie,” he whispers. “Even when you’re sick to your stomach, you’re still the most beautiful woman I’ve ever laid eyes on.”

I freeze as he stares at us both in the mirror.

“Ethan, you can’t say stuff like that.”

“Why not? Look at us. We’re perfect together.” He grazes his fingers over mine. I close my eyes and inhale. “We always were. No matter how fucked up things got behind the scenes, we always looked like we were made for each other. And we are.”

“Ethan…”

I turn to face him. He leans forward, but I put my hand on his chest to stop him.

He exhales and clenches his jaw. “Touching me right now is probably not a good idea. Not unless you want to shatter my cool, calm demeanor.”

I remove my hand and lean back against the vanity. It does nothing to ease the pull I feel to him. It’s filling every corner of this tiny room.

“How is it after all this time, you still affect me like this?” he asks, inching forward.

“Like what?” I know exactly what he means, but I want to hear him say it.

“Nervous and calm at the same time. Crazy and serene. Feral and civilized. Just having you near me makes me forget about all the crap with been through and just…”

“What?”

His expression turns hungry. “Just bury myself inside you and forget about everything. Make our past go away.”

If only it were that easy.

“I’ve missed you so fucking much, Cassie. You have no idea. You really, really don’t.”

I hesitate. The cautious side of me whispers that I’m about to put on those damn shoes and smash my head into a wall. It warns that I really can’t eat lobster. It screams that I’m about to fall into a giant patch of poison ivy.

I consider my impending fall for about three seconds before putting my arms around his neck and pulling him into a hug. He wends his arms around me, and as he pushes his head into my throat, he lets out a shuddering sigh.

True to form, I start to itch.

Six Years Earlier
Westchester, New York
The Diary of Cassandra Taylor

Dear Diary,

It’s opening night, and it’s been a week since Holt and I made our bet about keeping our hands off each other. Since then, things have been … weird between us.

Well, weirder.

Our dynamic has been off, even while acting. Because we’re both determined to win this ridiculous bet, our kisses have been restrained, our embraces false. A sanitized version of our filthy animal lust.

Erika has felt it, too. She thinks she’s over-rehearsed us and made us stale. But it’s not her fault. It’s ours. And apart from jumping Holt’s bones, I really don’t know how to fix it.

Add to that the sick squirming of opening night nerves, it’s fair to say that I’m kind of terrified. (And when I say “kind of”’ I mean “absolutely.” And when I say “absolutely” I mean it will be a miracle if I make it onstage without experiencing an epic freak-out that involves screaming and/or crying and/or clinging desperately to the wing curtains as the stage manager tries to drag me onto the stage.)

Please, God, let me get through tonight without making a complete fool of myself. Let me be good.

I’m begging you.

As I walk to the theater, I puff on a cigarette. I’m getting better at smoking. Not sure if this is a good thing, but it takes the edge off my nerves.

The show opens at seven thirty. It’s now three o’clock in the afternoon. I’m hoping that being in the theater will help me focus and loosen the tightness in my chest.

That’s the plan, anyway.

Things to do over the next few hours: yoga and tai chi, walk around the set, get in Juliet’s head, place my opening night cards and presents in the dressing rooms, get dressed, try not to barf, enter stage without being coerced by a cattle prod, be amazing.

Simple.

Things not to do: obsess about Holt, barf, run screaming from the theater.

Not so simple.

When I get inside, I go straight up to my dressing room.

Most of the dressing rooms are behind the stage, but there are half a dozen on the mezzanine level. Erika has assigned them to the lead actors. I’m in a room with Aiyah and Mariska, and Ethan is sharing with Connor and Jack.

I unpack my bag and lay out my makeup and hair accessories. Then I pull on some leggings and my lucky Tinkerbell T-shirt before making my way down to the stage.

It’s dark, and the dim glow from the work lights casts long, ominous shadows around the set.

Great. What I need is even more fear pumping through my body, ’cause really, I’m not wound tight enough.

I take a deep breath and walk around the set. Run my hands over the Styrofoam stone and canvas wood as I look out into the rows and rows of empty seats. I try to ignore the goose bumps that rise on my arms when I feel the glow of several hundred pairs of phantom eyes.

I want to be great tonight.

I want Holt to be great.

The whole play kind of hinges on us getting our crap together. I have zero idea how to do that.

I stand in the middle of the stage and breathe while going through several of my yoga poses. Stretch my muscles. Focus my mind.