Bad Romeo (Starcrossed #1)(71)
Author: Leisa Rayven

“Like you did to Matt when you found out about him and Vanessa?” I ask.

He laughs bitterly and shakes his head. “Jesus, is there anything my goddamn sister hasn’t told you?”

I walk over and put my hands on his chest, then stroke him through his sweater.

“Ethan, I wouldn’t cheat on you with Connor.”

He looks down, seeming more vulnerable than I’ve seen him for a long time. “I know that.”

“I’d never cheat on you, with anyone.”

“Yeah, well, technically, you can’t cheat on me, because I’m not your boyfriend.”

His words at first hit me like a sucker punch, but I have to remember who I’m talking to.

“The funny thing is, you sound a lot like my boyfriend.” I run my hands up his neck. “My extremely hot, jealous boyfriend.”

I pull his hands out of his pockets and wrap them around my waist. His trademark flicker of fear sparks in his eyes, before he shakes his head and strokes my lower back.

“Taylor, you have sucky taste. There are guys who would be far better boyfriends than I would be. I’d bet Connor would be a fucking spectacular boyfriend. He’d be one of those sickening idiots who’d bring you flowers in the middle of the cafeteria or hire a barbershop quartet for your birthday.”

“So are you telling me I should date Connor instead of you?”

“He’d be better for you than I would.”

“Oh, in that case, I’d better go find him.” I turn to leave, but I only take three steps before he spins me around, presses me into the door, and kisses me, all open mouth and soft tongue.

For the life of me, I can’t remember what we were talking about thirty seconds ago.

When he pulls back, we’re both breathless.

“So, I’m not sure if you got my subtle subtext there,” he says, “but I’d really like it if you stayed the fuck away from Connor, okay?”

My heart is pounding overtime. “If Connor knew you were my boyfriend, he’d know I’m not available. I don’t understand why we can’t just go public.”

He leans his head against mine. “Cassie, I’ve had high-profile relationships. When things go wrong, it just makes it that much harder to deal with.”

“I understand that, but you’re working on the assumption that something will go wrong with us. Maybe it won’t. Maybe we’ll be perfectly happy and never fight.’”

He laughs. “You have met us, right? We fight all the time.” He tightens his arms around me and pulls me more firmly against him. “I just want to keep it between us for a little longer. Okay?”

I nod. “I guess I just … I don’t want to feel like you’re ashamed to have people know you like me, or whatever.”

“I’m not ashamed.” He cups my face. “Well, actually, I’m a little ashamed of my constant erection, but that’s beside the point. I just don’t want people judging and talking behind our backs. I’d prefer we keep it private.”

I sigh and run my fingers across the stubble on his jaw. “Okay. We can keep it on the down-low for a while longer, but what do I say if someone straight out asks me about us?”

There’s a babble of voices in the hallway, and he immediately steps away and shoves his hands in his pockets. “Lie.”

“And if Connor asks?”

His eye twitches. “Tell that fucker we’re engaged.”

Present Day
New York City

The foyer of the Majestic Theater is packed with performers, producers, sponsors, and avid theatergoers, all coming together for one of the largest fund-raisers on the Broadway calendar. Each audience member has paid several hundred dollars to see excerpts from some of the best shows currently playing in the theater district, with all proceeds going toward the Variety Performers of America Benevolent Fund.

Holt and I performed a short excerpt from our show as a preview prior to opening, and judging by the audience reaction, our show’s going to be a bona fide hit. Even now, as we move through the foyer, people keep stopping us to tell us how much they’re looking forward to seeing it. I spy Marco across the room, beaming. It feels good to know that the buzz is positive. It makes my growing anxiety about opening night a little more bearable.

With his hand at the small of my back, Holt steers me to an alcove at the side of the foyer. It houses a particularly bad fake-marble statue of a man with an abnormally small penis, but as least it’s free from the noise and crush of the rest of the room.

“Sorry for rubbing up against you,” he says. “It was unavoidable in that crowd.”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought the first three times you did it. Then it was just gratuitous.”

He looks shocked. “Taylor, are you implying that I rubbed up against you on purpose?” He moves forward so my back is against the pillar. “That’s just insulting. I would never stoop to something so low. If I was going to sexually harass you, I’d be all subtle about it, like this.”

He gives me a ridiculously sexy face and presses me into the wall, and although I want to laugh at his antics, the truth is, having his body pressed against me ruins my ability to do anything but breathe.

A loud laugh nearby jolts me back to reality, and a prickle of nervousness runs up my spine as I realize we can still be seen.

“Okay, Sir Humpsalot, cut it out.” I push against his chest until he steps back. “There are reporters here. We don’t want them getting the wrong impression.”

“What, that I enjoy rubbing myself on you? Because that’s not the wrong impression. That’s an indisputable fact. How do you not know this by now?”

“What I mean is, they might think that we’re … well … you know…”

His smile fades a little. “No. Why don’t you tell me?”

I sigh and stare at him. “They might think that we’re … together. And we’re not.”

A flicker of disappointment registers on his face, but he hides it quickly. He puts his hand on the pillar behind my head and leans down.

“You know, it would be really good publicity for our show if we were together. I mean, just think of it, ‘Real-life Couple Plays Lovers Onstage.’ The press would eat it up.”

“Ethan…”

“Of course, we’d have to do lots of publicity. I’d have to take you out to high-profile restaurants and make sure the paparazzi were watching when I kissed you … and sucked on your neck … and put my hand between your legs under the table.”