Roommate Romance Page 11

  I would wake up, my heart pounding, my entire body damp, and sit up on the couch. Each time, I stared at her closed door, wondering what she would do if I came inside, slipping into the bed next to her, stripping off my clothes and then hers before hauling her up against my naked body and giving her the pleasure I knew she wanted.

  But I didn’t. Instead, I tried to go back to sleep. Tried to ignore my throbbing cock and the lumpy mattress and the memory of Allie coming against my mouth.

  ALLIE

  The weeks before our first preview went by in a blur. Sets were constructed, the crew trained and puppets repaired. Everything was running smoothly by the time we got to tech week, when we began running through the show with all of our technical cues, costumes, props and set pieces. This was where I took over. Reagan was still in the audience, giving notes and feedback, but I was the one running the show.

  Our final run-through went about as horribly as one could expect. Actors flubbed their lines, props were in the wrong place, sets took too long to load, and our last lighting cue blew out the fuse for the whole theatre. All in all, it was a complete disaster.

  I wasn’t worried.

  “Better that it happened tonight than tomorrow,” I told Reagan and Joanna, who were both drowning their sorrows in the bottle of expensive wine Joanna had in her desk.

  “It could happen tomorrow, too,” Reagan wailed, putting her head in her hands.

  “Final run-throughs are traditionally the worst.” I remembered a producer had once told me that. “You know, it’s actually good luck if the run-through is bad.”

  “Ridiculous.” Joanna took a long drink. “That’s like telling someone that getting shit on by a pigeon is good luck.”

  Both Reagan and I stared at her. Hearing the word “shit” out of Joanna’s proper mouth was like seeing a dog walk upright on its hind legs. Surprising and amusing at the same time. Though she didn’t seem to find the humor in it.

  “Oh, stop.” She waved her hand at us. “Focus on the problem at hand. The problem being that if we have another night like tonight, our opening night might as well be our closing night. And then the three of us will have much bigger problems than a missed cue or forgotten prop.” She pointed to Reagan. “You’ll probably end up in a podunk town teaching high-school theatre.”

  “Hey!” Reagan made a half-hearted attempt at being offended before finishing off her glass of wine.

  “I’ll have to crawl back to my parents,” Joanna shuddered. “And admit that they were right, when I’d rather set myself on fire. Or wear brand names.” She pointed at me and I braced myself for my fate. “And you, well . . .” She regarded me seriously. “You’ll probably be fine.”

  I stared at her, surprised.

  “Unless we drag your reputation down with us,” Joanna said casually, as if she were deciding on her dinner order. “Which is very possible.”

  I let out a sigh.

  “Cheers, ladies.” Joanna downed her glass.

  Reagan groaned and poured herself and Joanna more wine.

  I shook my head. Wallowing in this kind of defeatist attitude was going to help no one. And it was stressing me out. “We had a bad night,” I reassured them. “Everyone is tired and nervous, but they know what they’re doing. And once you put them in front of an audience, everything is going to flow perfectly.”

  “How are you so calm?” Reagan demanded. “I feel like I’m one glass of wine away from running screaming through Times Square.”

  Joanna shuddered. “There’s not enough wine on earth to get me to go to Times Square.”

  “Snob,” Reagan teased her.

  “Kook,” Joanna shot back without venom.

  “Elitist.”

  “Oddball.”

  “Prig.”

  “Enfant terrible.”

  Reagan snorted. “Enfant terrible? You can’t even insult me without proving my point.”

  Joanna lifted her chin snootily and Reagan burst out laughing. The sound was so contagious that in a few moments I was giggling, and even Joanna had a smile playing around the corners of her mouth.

  I lifted my glass. “To a terrible final run-through.”

  Reagan and Joanna raised their own glasses.

  “And to a great first preview,” I said and clinked my glass against theirs.

  My nerves didn’t kick in until the next day, when I woke up with a slight hangover and stumbled out of the bedroom, looking for Advil and instead ran smack dab into Shane’s perfect, and wonderfully bare, chest. Oh god. It was hot and hard beneath my hands, and before I could help myself, I was tracing his six-pack abs. I didn’t get very far before he stilled my fingers.

  “Hey,” he said, putting his hand under my chin, lifting my gaze upward.

  “Hi.” I felt my skin heat from just that simple touch.

  “You’ve been busy,” he noted, his hands sliding down to my shoulders.

  I became intimately aware that I was only wearing a pair of panties and an oversized shirt. He was only in a pair of tight black briefs.

  “Mmmhmm,” I managed, lost in his blue eyes. “You too,” I pointed out.

  He nodded. “Too bad.” His voice dropped to a husky whisper. “I was hoping to see more of you. Not less.”

  His gaze swept my body and I knew exactly what he meant by seeing more of me. Because I felt the same way. I would definitely like to see more of him. Lots more. Especially whatever was under those black briefs.

  I could see the heat in his eyes, and I leaned into him, my face tilting upwards as his mouth came down . . .

  But before he could kiss me, the alarm on my phone, which I had set as a back-up, began going off in my hand.

  “Dammit,” I muttered, and he let out a low laugh.

  “Saved by the bell again.” He drew a finger along my jaw.

  “I have to go,” I told him regretfully, realizing that for a moment, I had completely forgotten what today was. And how important it was that I stayed focused. That startled me. I never took my eye off my end goal. Never. What was going on with me? But I didn’t have time to answer my own question because my alarm went off again.

  I quickly turned it off, telling myself that in the future I only needed to set two alarms in the morning. Not five. Five was definitely overkill.

  Shane was still smiling down at me. “So I’ll see you around.”

  “Uh-uh,” I managed, once again transfixed by his gaze.

  I leaned upward and . . .

  My phone went off again.

  “Goddammit,” I swore, quickly canceling the rest of my alarms.

  Shane chuckled. “Let me guess,” he teased. “You were a Girl Scout.”

  I shook my head. “They weren’t organized enough.”

  He shook his head and I bit my lip, wanting him so much that I could hardly stand it. But I also knew that if he kissed me, or I kissed him, there was absolutely no way I would make my train in time. Luckily, Shane stepped away, clearing my route to the bathroom. Reluctantly, I passed him, telling myself not to look back. But of course I did, and was rewarded with the very satisfying sight of a hot, half-naked man checking out my ass.

  Chapter 18

  ALLIE

  In my favorite pair of black jeans and black long-sleeved shirt, I arrived at the theatre and began walking through the set and backstage, making sure everything was where it was supposed to be. This was my favorite time—the quiet and calm right before a show. When I was alone in the theatre, but I could feel the anticipation and excitement in the air. I knew that Joanna and Reagan were probably somewhere being nervous, but at that moment, I felt completely at peace.

  I had my list of things that I needed to do. Going through them and marking them off calmed me. Because everything was where it was supposed to be, everything was ready.

  The show had been well rehearsed. The actors were skilled and prepared, the crew was focused and ready. We had a good production waiting inside of each of us, and tonight would be the first chance to show tha
t to an audience. A theatre full of people would make all the difference to a cast and crew that had practiced as much as they could. And they had me. Tonight I was going to get behind the wheel and I was more than ready to take this bad boy out for a spin.

  “I shouldn’t be surprised that you beat me here,” Reagan’s voice came from behind me.

  I turned to find her standing at the stage door with a smile. She looked nervous, but not nearly as nervous as she had looked last night. It seemed that her upbeat outlook had returned, and I was glad for it.

  “You know I have to be here early,” I reminded her.

  “First to arrive, last to leave.” She winked at me. “I know.”

  “It’s what makes you a good stage manager,” said Joanna, coming up behind her. She too, looked calm, though the stress was always harder to read on her. But her look was different tonight, her usual stern white suit replaced with a slim, soft black dress.

  “Nice look,” Reagan noted.

  “I thought I’d show my solidarity with the two of you.” Joanna lifted a shoulder.

  As usual, Reagan was in black, a dress as well.

  “It looks good on you,” I told Joanna, though I think we all knew that pretty much anything would look good on her.

  “I feel so goth. Do I look goth?”

  Reagan patted Joanna’s arm.

  “One of these days I’ll have to explain to you what goth is,” she said.

  “Several important critics are here tonight,” Joanna informed us, ignoring Reagan’s comment. “New York Times, Village Voice and TimeOut all decided to check out our first preview.”

  “Great,” I said, feeling calm and confident. The checklist never failed me. “They’ll get a great show.”

  Joanna stared at me for a moment. “I’d love to get a whiff of whatever you’re smoking.”

  “Me too,” added Reagan.

  “Don’t worry.” I put my arms around them. Even if I told them the power of a good to-do list, I had a feeling they wouldn’t believe me. Just like Shane hadn’t believed me. Because while spontaneity was well and good in his world, I had no place for it in my theatre. “The show is my responsibility now. All you need to do is sit in the audience and enjoy the performance.”

  Joanna shook her head. “Oh yeah, she’s definitely on something,” she said to Reagan, who nodded in agreement.

  I waved them away, sending them to the front of the house where their nervousness wouldn’t affect the cast, who would be arriving soon. Then, the empty theatre now mine again, I took a breath and prepared to face the night ahead. Bring it on, universe. Bring it on.

  Sitting in the sound booth, I watched as the house manager gave the standard “please turn off your cell phones and don’t be that asshole that talks during a live performance” speech. Once she stepped off the stage, I adjusted my headset and felt myself settle into the zone.

  “Actors standby. House lights go,” I ordered, watching the theatre lights go down. “Actors places.” I counted down in my head, knowing that in the dark, the cast was assembling on the stage. “Harry standby,” I whispered, knowing the assistant stage manager on the other end of the headphones would indicate to the actress playing Harry, who would be entering when the lights went up. “Lights,” I said, and the stage came into view, everyone in place. The show had begun.

  Two and half hours later, I leaned back. Down on the stage, the cast had gathered for their curtain call, to an audience that was on its feet applauding wildly. I glanced over at the sound and lighting board operators who were in the booth with me and we all exchanged a thumbs up. The show had gone amazingly. Even better than any of the rehearsals. Who knew that an all-female, puppet version of The Iceman Cometh would be such a hit?

  I waited for the actresses to leave the stage and then ordered the house lights up. The audience slowly began shuffling out, their excited murmurs following them out into the lobby. I let out a breath of air and took off my headphones.

  “That was amazing!” Reagan’s head popped up next to the light booth, scaring the crap out of me. She was unnervingly good at sneaking up on people. She reached over, grabbed my arms, and gave me a shake. “It went so well!”

  I smiled at her, my heartbeat returning to normal. “I told you it would.”

  “And I will never doubt you again,” Reagan said, beaming. “I guess I should go backstage. Congratulate our amazing cast.”

  “I’ll meet you back there,” I told her, patting my binder. “Just a few things to do first.”

  “What would we do without you?” she asked.

  “Not a hell of a lot,” I joked.

  She laughed and disappeared from sight. I released our sound and lighting board operators and settled back to make some notes about the performance and cues I thought we could tighten up. None of them were things that would have been noticeable to an audience, and I doubted even Reagan noticed them. But I was paid to pay attention, and pay attention I did.

  After I was done, I headed backstage and soaked up the excitement of the cast, who were all cheering and hugging each other. It was like the locker room after a sports team win. Or so I imagined. I was a theatre kid through and through, so all I knew about sports were the bits I had learned from my brother, and barely any of that had stuck.

  Anna was literally leaping from one end of the room to the other, making everyone around her laugh. She grabbed my hand and swung me around, giving me a big kiss on the cheek before moving on to our sound designer, a shy guy named Kevin who blushed furiously as she hugged him tightly.

  “Great show,” Joanna said, coming up next to me. She was still as cool and collected as usual, but I could see the gleam of pride in her eyes. There was even a small smile on her face.

  “Now do you believe me about having a terrible run-through?”

  “Not for a moment,” Joanna told me, and she gave me a genuine grin.

  “You should do that more often,” I said, startled by the way it completely transformed her face. She was already beautiful, but when she smiled, she was luminous.

  “Do what?”

  “Smile.”

  Apparently it was the wrong thing to say, because her expression immediately returned to her usual stoic stare. She smoothed an invisible loose hair back, turned and left the dressing room. I could only watch her retreat, wondering what had upset her so much about what I had intended as a compliment.

  The next hour went by in a frenzied blur. Reagan went around the room, kissing everyone, myself included. Some of the actresses claimed that they had been able to spot the reviewers from the stage and were convinced that they were going to get shout-outs in various publications. People started pairing off and heading out to bars or clubs to work off their excess energy. Once the actors had cleared out, the crew and I reset everything for the following night’s performance, and once they were gone, I went through the theatre, checking and double-checking everything one last time. By the time I left, it was almost midnight and downright chilly. I walked out of the theatre and was heading towards the subway when a man in a black suit called out to me.

  “Are you Ms. Lawson?” he asked, and I nodded. “Ms. Millet hired me to drive you home. As a thank-you for tonight.” He gestured to the town car he had gotten out of.

  “Oh.” I was surprised, but grateful. I hoped it was an indication that Joanna wasn’t offended by my comment to her. I hoped she hadn’t taken it as a slight. I liked Joanna a lot. She might have had about a billion walls up around her, but she could be very kind and generous when she put her mind to it. Already, her realtor had found several apartments for me to look at, which I planned to do on my day off. And on top of that, she was a great producer to work for.

  I climbed into the town car, leaning back against the luxurious, plush seats, glad I wasn’t sitting on the subway tonight. Because the last thing I wanted was to be soothed. While most of the actors and crew seemed to get a rush of energy immediately after the performance ended, my adrenaline didn’t kick in u
ntil I left the theatre.

  So by the time we pulled up in front of the apartment, I was practically buzzing. I got out of the town car, handed over a generous tip to the driver and stood on the sidewalk, trying to decide what I was going to with all my excess energy. On the road, I had always ended up back in my room, shaking my booty to some Katy Perry and Taylor Swift. A good solo dance party always relieved me of any residual adrenaline, and it was a pretty decent workout. I would dance until I was sweaty and tired. But tonight . . .

  The lights were on in Shane’s workshop. Smoothing my hands down the side of my coat, I headed towards it. I still wanted to get sweaty, but a solo dance party didn’t sound quite as appealing as it usually did. In fact, there was only one thing I wanted to do with all this energy. Or rather, only one person I wanted to do. And luckily he was only a few feet away.

  Chapter 19

  SHANE

  I was burning the midnight oil again, hard at work on a bench that had been promised to one of my favorite clients—an Upper East Side couple who had just moved into their first place together and were eager to fill it with furniture from my shop. After spending some time with the extremely affectionate newlyweds, I was pretty sure that I’d be building them a cradle in no time.

  The thought gave me a strange tug in my chest. After all those years putting my own needs aside and taking care of Megan, I had been so sure that I’d be more than eager to hit the bars and pick up where I left off in terms of dating. I had imagined lots of one-night stands in my future. But every time I thought about doing that, about going home with a stranger, I found myself strangely uninterested. In fact, the only person that had grabbed my attention in months was Allie.