Bad Romeo (Starcrossed #1)(51)
Author: Leisa Rayven

“Taylor, calm down. We can do this.” His voice is remarkably peaceful.

“No, we can’t,” I say as I shake out my hands and roll my head. “There’s not enough time.”

“Just breathe.”

I walk over to the door and press my forehead against it as I drag in uneven breaths.

I can picture the audience, filing into their seats, flicking through their programs. Full of excitement and anticipation for a performance that isn’t going to suck. They’re going to be disappointed.

“I have to go,” I say as I grip the door handle.

“Where?”

“Away. I need to do … yoga … or something.”

I turn the handle.

He covers my hand. “Taylor, stop.”

I pull the door open, but he slams it shut.

“Holt! Open the door!”

“No. Calm down. You’re freaking out.”

“Of course I’m freaking out!” I say as I turn to face him. “The show’s starting in less than fifteen minutes, and I have no idea what the hell I’m doing!”

“Taylor—”

His hands are on my shoulders. I ignore them.

“It’s my first big role. Erika said directors and producers from Broadway are going to be in the audience.”

“Stop—” He frames my face with his hands. I ignore him.

“There are reviewers out there, for frick’s sake! They’re going to say I killed the show. Me. Killed it dead.”

“Cassie—” He strokes my cheeks. I ignore it.

“They’re going to print stuff about how terrible I am, then the whole world is going to see how much of a fraud I—”

Then he’s kissing me.

I can’t ignore that.

He pushes his weight against me and groans as he sucks gently at my lips. I draw in a noisy lungful of air as my whole body blazes to life.

I hear myself moan, then I’m kissing him back, frantic and desperate, trying to find solace in his delicious mouth.

He freezes before pulling back and staring at me in shock.

“Oh … dammit.”

We’re both breathing heavily, staring at each other.

“You kissed me.”

“I didn’t mean to. You were freaking out. I wanted to make you stop.”

“By putting your tongue in my mouth?”

“I didn’t use tongue.”

“I’m still freaking out a bit. Maybe some tongue is warranted.”

He sighs and looks down. His hands are still on my face, his body still pressed against me. “Jesus. I just lost our bet.”

“Yes, you did.”

“Fuck.”

“If you insist.”

He pushes away and runs his hand through his hair.

“Ladies and gentlemen, this is your ten-minute call. Ten minutes, thank you.”

Panic grips us again.

We have to do something. Now.

“I have a crazy idea,” he says.

“Does it involve your tongue?”

“No.”

“Damn.”

He grabs my arm. “Come here,” he says and pulls me over to the couch.

He sits and tugs me toward him. I understand what he’s trying to do and place my knees on either side of his hips. I sink into him and mimic our position in the death scene. As our bodies connect, we both expel groaning sighs.

I bury my face in his neck and just breathe, and all of a sudden, every ounce of panic melts away.

He makes a noise and tightens his arms around me.

“Best focusing exercise ever,” I murmur into his skin.

I push my fingers into his hair and massage his scalp. He moans and slumps down as his hips push into me.

“Fuck, yes.”

The churning in my stomach eases, replaced by tingling expectation.

He squeezes me tighter, and I marvel over how well we fit. He knows how to hold me, and I know how to soothe him. It’s instinctual. Our bodies talk to each other without us having to say a word.

It makes no sense for us to not be together. I wish I knew what keeps holding him back.

“Are you ever going to tell me about your ex?” I ask.

“Which one?”

“Any of them.”

“Wasn’t planning on it.”

“So you’re just not going to date ever again?”

“That’s the plan.”

“It’s a dumb plan.”

His arms tighten around me. “Better that than to inflict myself on someone again.”

“Nay, gentle Romeo,” I say, borrowing Mercutio’s lines, “we must have you dance.”

He strokes my back. “Not I. Believe me, you have dancing shoes with nimble soles. I have a soul of lead so stakes me to the ground I cannot move.”

The intercom crackles again. “Ladies and gentlemen, this is your five-minute call. Five minutes, thank you.”

We stay wrapped around each other for as long as we can, exchanging energy. By the time the next call comes, I feel like I’m a part of him.

I’m eerily calm.

“Ladies and gentlemen of the Romeo and Juliet Company, this is your call to the stage. Please take your places for Act One. Thank you.”

We silently unfold ourselves and stand. He takes my hand before opening the dressing room door and leading me downstairs.

Backstage, everyone is in their positions. Tension and expectation are thick in the air. A few people look at us as we pass, and they raise their eyebrows when they see Holt holding my hand.

I don’t care. I feel like an electrical transformer, buzzing with energy. I glance at Holt, and his face is calm but intense. He has the air of a superhero, all restrained strength and disguised power. Where his fingers are wrapped around mine, there’s a thrumming of energy, and I know we’re ready. Our characters are just lingering beneath the surface, waiting to inhabit us as soon as we walk onstage.

Then the lights change, and everything goes quiet as we hear the opening lines of the prologue.

“Two households, both alike in dignity, in fair Verona, where we lay our scene. From ancient grudge break to new mutiny, where civil blood makes civil hands unclean. From forth the fatal loins of these two foes, a pair of star-cross’d lovers take their life.”

As I exhale with excitement, Holt pulls me into a dark corner behind a curtain and turns to me, every inch my Romeo.

“Ready?” he asks quietly.

“I’m amazing,” I say with absolute confidence.

I hear the sounds of the Montague and Capulet boys fighting, and I know it’s almost time for his entrance.