Bad Romeo (Starcrossed #1)(62)
Author: Leisa Rayven

“Shit!” Jack gasps. “Sorry, man. Total accident.”

Jack grabs a dishtowel and tries to dry Holt’s shirt as he mumbles more apologies.

“It’s fine,” Holt says and forces a smile. “I really don’t care. Got a spare T-shirt I could borrow?”

Jack nods. “Yeah, upstairs in my closet. Wear anything you like.”

Holt slaps him on the shoulder a little too hard as he passes and mutters, “Thanks, buddy.”

He pushes through the crowd and strides up the stairs, and it’s all I can do not to follow him.

“You know,” Jack says. “I’ve never seen anyone be a happy-angry drunk before, but Holt somehow pulls it off.”

I nod. “It’s a rare and special gift.”

He picks a beer up off the counter and sips it thoughtfully. “I should jump online and see if there are any reviews of tonight’s performance out yet. I heard the reviewer from Online Stage Diary was there. I wonder if he had anything nice to say.”

I get a sudden knot in my stomach. “He was there?”

“Yeah. Him and about four others. One from the Broadway Reporter.” He looks at me and quirks an eyebrow. “You never know, Taylor. In the morning, you could be a star.”

“Yeah, right. Or they could hate me.” I laugh, but seriously, if they hate me …

Just the thought of it makes me prickle with nervous sweat.

“I’m sure they’ll say awesome things about you,” Jack says, putting an encouraging hand on my shoulder. “And if they don’t? Well, there’s still half a keg of beer left. You could drink until you forget about it.”

He grabs his beers and wanders off.

I stand there for a few seconds, contemplating my possible impending public humiliation, and I realize there’s only one thing that can help me stop freaking out, and he’s upstairs, maybe shirtless.

I push through the living room before climbing the stairs and heading down the hall to Jack’s room. The door is open, and as I peek around the corner, I see Holt seated on the bed, bare chested, his sodden shirt on the floor, his head cradled in his hands. He grips his hair and sighs, raw frustration emanating from him like an aura.

“Hey,” I say, and take a tentative step inside the room.

He looks up sharply before pushing off the bed and striding over to the closet.

“Hey.” He swings the doors open wide and flicks through Jack’s impressive range of T-shirts. “Some party, huh?”

I can’t look away from the muscles in his naked back as they move and flex. Well, that’s not true. I could look away, but I don’t want to.

“You okay?” I ask, coming closer.

“I’m great.” He holds out a shirt that says, To Err Is Human. To Arr Is Pirate. “Does Avery actually wear this out in public?”

“Holt…”

“Or what about this one?” He brings out a shirt that says, Here’s to nipples. Without them, titties would be pointless.

“Listen…”

“I mean, seriously. Did he buy these or were they paying people to take them away?”

“We need to talk.”

“No, we really don’t.” He replaces the hanger and flicks roughly through the rest of the rack. “Does this guy own nothing but goddamn joke shirts? Nothing sporty? Or, God forbid, plain?”

He keeps flipping through the hangers, his posture becoming more and more tense.

“Ethan,” I say and place my hand in the middle of his back.

“No.” He spins around and steps away from me. “Just fucking … don’t, okay?”

“Why not?”

“Because you touching me never ends well. Because when you touch me, I … fuck, I think stupid thoughts and want stupid things, and … so … just … don’t…”

I take a step forward, and he presses his back into the closet door. When I place my hand in the middle of his chest, he inhales sharply and clenches his jaw.

“I don’t know what you’re so scared of. I’m not Vanessa.”

His expression hardens. “What the fuck do you know about Vanessa?”

I take a deep breath. “Elissa told me about her. And the other girls. And Olivia.” He sighs heavily, and I step a little closer. “Don’t be mad. I forced her.”

His fists clench by his sides. “She still had no goddamn business telling you.”

“I wanted to know.” I bring my other hand onto his chest where I can feel the frantic thrumming beneath the surface. “And now I understand a little more about why you’re so hesitant to date again. What Vanessa did to you was horrible. But I’m not her. I’m nothing like her.”

He looks down at me with less anger, but it’s replaced with tired resignation. Like he’s already had this conversation in his head, many times.

“You don’t get it,” he says. “It doesn’t matter that you’re nothing like her. Some part of me thinks you are, and it’s just … waiting … for everything to go to shit again. It’s not logical, but I can’t help it. And as much as I’m afraid of you hurting me, I’m more afraid of hurting you. What happened with Olivia? I can’t do that to someone again, especially not you.”

He thinks he’s trying to protect me, but as someone who’s been so afraid of being wrong all my life, I finally know, without a shadow of a doubt, that I’m right for him.

“Ethan, no relationship comes without out its risks, and even though you think you can keep pushing people away forever, I’m here to tell you that you’re absolutely going to fail.”

I graze my hands up his forearms, his biceps. Skim across his warm, soft skin.

“The thing is,” he says, looking at me as he tentatively cups my cheek, “as much as you frighten the living fuck out of me, and as much as I know one of us, if not both, is going to absolutely regret it … I want to fail with you.”

We stare at each other for long moments, and as I look into his eyes, I see the exact second he makes his decision. I stop breathing as his fingers tighten in my hair. Then he leans down, his mouth lingering just above mine, sweet warm air fanning over my face as time stops.

“Looking at me like that isn’t fair,” he whispers. “Not even a little bit fucking fair.”

Then the space between our lips is gone, and he’s kissing me, hard and needy. A sharp inhale from both of us sounds incredibly loud in my ears. We kiss each other desperately, lips connecting and pressing, fitting together like it’s their purpose, then parting to make way for low moans.