Chapter 22
Chapter
Six inches. The door’s cracked open six inches, and that’s all I need for a clear view of Adam’s bare back.
He’s shaving in front of the mirror, hair damp, pushed out of his face, and he’s wearing a towel around his waist. Holy hell.
This isn’t like night one, when I was afraid the mere sight of him would blind me; this time I indulge, and can confirm he’s even more in shape than he used to be.
Through each stroke of his razor, back muscles twitch that I didn’t even know existed on a human.
I fight the urge to open the door and pick up where we left off. It’s been over twenty-four hours since our kitchen rendezvous, and subsequently, he’s seen me half naked in the bathtub and I’m now being taunted by the flex of his torso.
We haven’t discussed the other night, and it feels like we’re playing a wicked game of cat and mouse.
I’d be lying if I said Adam hasn’t been in the back of my mind all day…
or the past five years. But how does one enter the next phase of their relationship with their estranged best friend turned roommate and now co-homeowner?
“Hey, how did it go?” Adam’s looking at me through the mirror, and I wonder how long I’ve been standing here. Surely over thirty seconds and yet, I still don’t move.
“Oh, it was, um…” It seems like I’ve lost the ability to walk and speak. He turns around and pushes the door open a little bit, so I now see his whole body. I clear my throat, collecting myself. “It went well. A little surreal to be singing again, but now we wait.”
“I wish I could’ve heard.” He cleans the remaining shaving cream off his face and puts away his razor. I try not to analyze the ripple of every muscle on his body, how soft his skin looks, each freckle on his chest, and that damn V-line. “What song did you sing?”
“?‘On My Own,’?” I say.
He smiles to himself while wiping off the counter. “You always killed that one.”
It’s actually comical how distracting he is, adjusting his towel and pushing his fingers through his hair.
“Were you done in here?” I ask. “I was going to take a shower before tonight.”
“Yeah, just need to do one more thing.” He fills the space between us and gently puts his hand on my jaw.
Our eyes meet for a brief moment, like he’s confirming this closeness is okay.
He then tips my chin toward his and places his mouth on mine.
It’s soft and brief, unlike the other night.
I surrender to his touch and that we’re doing this.
We’re casually giving each other kisses in the bathroom.
“That was nice.” I smile.
“It was.”
“Missed you,” I say, and my heart twists because he has no idea what those words mean to me, what it means for me to give him those words.
I should be scared, terrified. But that shield of armor I had over my heart cracks and splinters more and more as each moment in this house passes.
The words moving too fast cross my mind, yet how can this be too fast when it feels like we’re just picking up from where we left off?
“Me too,” he says softly. He gives me another kiss, a few seconds longer but just as gentle.
“How was work?” I ask.
“A little stressful. Just a lot going on.”
“Anything I can do to help?” I offer.
“Have you ever worked prep?” he asks. “One of our guys is out sick this week.”
“Anything else I can do to help?” I laugh.
“I’ll think of something.” He shifts, and I notice his aggressively defined abs.
“Are you excited for tonight?” I lean my head against the bathroom door, looking up at him.
Adam’s eyes have a few more lines around them, but they’re still warm even after all these years.
His hair is still that same dark shade of brown and his smile makes me feel like nothing else matters.
Looking at Adam is like watching one of my favorite comfort movies—Ialready know every line like the back of my hand, so now I look for the smallest details I may have missed the first time around.
“I am,” he says. His eyes travel down to the slit of skin in between my sweater and my jeans that he’s grazing with his thumb. “Are you?”
Despite how our first week started off, I’m not a cold person.
How I felt was unsettling, and nothing about how I acted made me feel good.
But now, after these past couple of days, I feel like I’m able to let my guard down.
I’m able to really see what’s in front of me, and I’m starting to feel something new. I feel safe.
“I’m more excited for afterwards,” I boldly say. It’s new for me to be talking like this, especially to Adam, but it feels natural. I trace my finger along his collarbone, down to his chest.
“Oh yeah?” He raises an eyebrow. Adam has to stop by the restaurant again before the gala, and it makes me a little sad we can’t arrive together.
“Maybe by then, you’ll think of ways I can help relieve that stress.” My finger moves lower. He lets in a sharp inhale, and his hand moves down to my ass. “In the meantime”—I stand on my toes and reach to bite his earlobe—“I need to take a shower.”
Adam grips my hips and I let out an uncontrollable gasp. He lifts me and we switch spots, me now in the bathroom and him by the doorframe.
“It’s all yours.” He closes the door behind him with a wink. I’m left standing in the middle of the bathroom, wildly turned on and already counting down the hours until tonight.
Set up across the entrance of the Plaza hotel is a step and repeat, with an already significant crowd taking photos and other actors doing press interviews.
Manhattan for Theater is one of the biggest nonprofits dedicated to supporting the arts in North America, so tonight is a big deal for the Broadway community.
Someone opens the door of my Uber and I step out, smoothing my dress—it’s a deep emerald green, floor-length, with one long sleeve and one side sleeveless.
I flip my loose curls over my shoulder—the look took over an hour of blowing out to achieve, but thankfully was worth it.
A group of people on the other side of the gate with Playbill s and printed headshots patiently wait for performers far more well-known than me to arrive.
“June!” My head turns, but I don’t see anyone I know. Then I hear my name again. “June Wood!”
Behind the gate, a group of girls in their early twenties starts jumping and waving their hands when I notice them. As I walk over, they hold out their pamphlets and a pen. I’m floored to discover they all have Playbill s from my run in Rent.
“Wow, nice to meet everyone.” I take the pen and start signing. It’s hard for me to recall the last time I did this, probably at the stage door after one of the Rent performances.
“Would we be able to take a picture with you?” one of the girls asks.
Me? I want to say.
“Yes, of course!” I take her phone from her and pose in a selfie style with the four girls behind me. Everything happens so fast. If this were anywhere else, I’d want to talk to them, but I’m called to the carpet and before I know it, I’m posing in front of flashing lights.
I’m not, and never was, looking for fame.
If that were the case, I would’ve taken Shivani’s advice and started a TikTok account years ago.
The validation of having those girls want to meet me isn’t some satisfaction of being famous, it’s knowing that I was really good at one point.
I used to be really good at what I did, and I lovedit.
After mindlessly posing, I’m ushered inside the hotel lobby, and I hear a familiar voice from across the way.
“June!”
Theo is in a killer black suit with a plunging neckline and nothing underneath. Her dark hair is pin-straight and tucked behind her ears. She’s taking her time walking toward me, because Theo does not rush for anybody.
“Oh my God, fancy meeting you here!” I give her a hug. “You look so good.”
“Are you fucking kidding me? Look how hot you are, June. What is happening?” She holds my arm up and steps back, eyeing me from head to toe.
“Ouch?”
“Oh shut up,” she laughs. “You know you look good.”
She is right. Not to toot my own horn, but when I took a final glance in the mirror, I was caught off guard by how the last-minute look had come together.
“How was your flight?” I ask.
“Awful,” she says, and rolls her eyes. “I barely slept last night so I’m pretty much dying right now.”
“But you look good doing it.”
She takes an hors d’oeuvre from a server passing by while I politely decline. “How has New York been?” she asks. “I feel like it’s been years since I’ve seen you.”
“You know, I’ve really missed it,” I say.
“I mean, you better get used to it because if all goes well—”
“Theodora!” I grab her arm. “Don’t jinx it!”
She stops and looks at me, all joking aside. “You really want it, don’t you.”
“Why are you so surprised?”
She shrugs. “I’ve just never seen you excited about anything. Sometimes I’ve wondered if you even really want to be in TV or film.”
Theo is not only my agent of five years, but my friend. She’s the only person in the world who knows how hard working in LA has been and how many times I’ve had to hear rejection after rejection. So, she’s not wrong. There have been times when I’ve wondered if I still want to be an actor.
“This is different,” I say honestly. “I want this.”
“Speaking of.” She takes a bite of her crab cake. “I know who they cast as Valjean.” My posture straightens and she nods in response. “Philip Summers.”
“Philip Summers?!” I whisper. Philip Summers is a voice I’m no stranger to. He’s a Broadway veteran who played Marius in the 1996 run of Les Misérables in London. “Are you serious?”
“He just signed the contract this afternoon,” she says.
“Wow, okay.” I take a deep breath in, trying to be as casual as possible. But for obvious reasons, I’m freaking out on the inside.
“Shit, I have to go say hi to a few people.” Theo moves her head next to mine and gives me an air kiss. “I’ll see you inside.”