Chapter 1 #2
The guy was tall. Over six feet, his frame wiry yet graceful in a black hoodie sweatshirt, a black band T-shirt, and faded black jeans.
He was older, probably early thirties, and beautiful.
A single thread of silver glinted in his short, messy dark hair, and grooves ran from his nose to his narrow but sensual lips.
“It’s fine. Just be careful.”
He pushed up his sleeves and walked away.
Hope and Eden were loitering at the threshold of the dressing room, taking it all in, and Hope jerked her head impatiently toward the loading dock and the party.
But I wasn’t ready to let this man leave. There’d been something in the way he looked at me, a glimmer. I’d call it recognition, but I didn’t think we’d ever met.
“Yeah, about that?” I called. “Being careful? Not my thing. Is it yours?”
He halted. Turned. And — victory! — took a step in my direction. Even though his body was tense, as if there were a million other places he needed to be. His arms were gorgeous, lean and muscled, swirling with tattoos.
Unexpected smile lines fanned out from his amber eyes. “Sometimes.”
This was definitely the lighting designer who’d taken over from Dominic, the shadowy figure I’d seen on the catwalk earlier. It was his voice I’d heard, its power bottled up. Last week, Rachel had introduced him to the cast and crew. But I’d been watching Corey, and I’d missed this man’s name.
“I’m looking for my watch.” I held out my arm. “Have you seen it?”
His gaze lingered on my wrist, my lone tattoo. A cursive quote, Shakespeare again: Whate’er the course, the end is the renown.
“It’s gold with a square face and an inscription on the back.” My breath caught. In his silence, I felt compelled to share. “It’s from my dad.”
“Haven’t seen it. I’ll keep an eye out.”
“Thanks.” I held his gaze a second too long.
A spark flared in his golden irises like a struck match. As if he hadn’t looked at anyone, or been looked at closely, in a long time.
“See you around?”
He gave a curt nod and strode down the hall.
Eden emerged from the dressing room with Hope and nudged me. “Okay, girl. That was cute.”
I linked arms with them and we swept in the opposite direction, passing the old set pieces, the scene shop, and the costume shop.
Hope snorted. “Really? I think he’s a grouch.”
“Everyone’s tired by the end of tech rehearsal,” Eden pointed out.
“He’s the new lighting designer, right?” I asked. “Anyone remember his name?”
They shook their heads.
“Jorie, seriously?” Hope tucked a strand of dark hair behind her ear. “You want him?”
“What’s the problem? He’s gorgeous.”
“He’s old,” Eden said under her breath. “Like, thirty. He’s not even affiliated with Hawthorne. Rachel knows him from somewhere.”
“And you think he’s gorgeous?” Hope asked. “He’s just this weird skinny dude who’s eerily quiet. I asked him about his T-shirt during the last break, but he wouldn’t bite.”
I shrugged, my heart still hammering from the eye contact. “Maybe he needs time to warm up.”
“Don’t try to climb that tree,” Hope warned. “You know how Rachel feels about on-set romances. And trust me, he doesn’t want to be here. He’s looking down his nose at us.”
Eden laughed. “Literally. From the catwalk.”
We crossed the stage to the loading dock, where the crew had already pulled up the aluminum doors to a picturesque evening of starlight and concrete.
By the table of chips, dips, and drinks, Gretchen gave a speech about how we usually saved cast parties for the end of the run, but after the disasters that had plagued the show, we could use a dose of good cheer.
Music filled the theater, flooding into the open air beyond the dock where the cast and crew smoked cigarettes. They funneled back inside to swarm the tables, the energy high and crackling, while Rachel and other faculty chatted near the wings.
“God, I’m starving.” Hope went ahead to get snacks.
The insistent beat of “Bad Habits” surrounded us, propelling the chatter and laughter. A few people danced nearby. I found myself scanning the dock for Lights Guy.
“Are you looking for him?” Eden whispered. She could read me all too easily, except what I chose to hide.
“I doubt he’d grace us with his presence at this bohemian event.”
“You made him smile.” Eden bumped my hip. “He talked to you. The Jorie effect is at work.”
I rolled my eyes. I knew what she meant. I’d grown up with a mother who told me constantly that my face and body were a gift I should use.
Look how pretty you are, she’d say, holding my face beside hers in the mirror. We’re two peas in a pod. That face is going to take you places.
It was easy for me to attract men; impossible to keep them.
“I’m sure he thinks we’re all tiny babies,” I muttered. “I’m no exception.”
“Don’t sell yourself short.” Eden squeezed my shoulder. “He seems sad. You could cheer him up.”
“Cheers!” Hope and Gretchen brought red plastic cups filled with sparkling water. We clinked them together.
Someone cranked the music louder, until the bass reverberated the floor.
I sat near the edge of the dock, my feet dangling over the side. The night breeze blew in my face, cooling the heat of the crowd behind us. I laughed and talked with the other girls, though fingers of ice spread out from the phone in my pocket.
If I didn’t look at it, I could pretend the messages hadn’t come through. And I wouldn’t have to deal with them until I chose to.
“More bubbly, ladies?” Gretchen waved a bottle of sparkling water.
“We’re saving room for the real stuff at the Mug and Trencher.” Hope rose and tossed her cup in the trash. “Except Ms. Law-Abiding Eden, who’ll be sipping on a Shirley Temple.”
“Hey, I love Shirley Temples,” Eden protested. “And I’ll be twenty-one in a few months.”
I swiveled around to peer at the noisy, laughing crowd on the dock. A blue haze of cigarette smoke drifted through, blurring the familiar faces, filling my nose with its ashy-sweet smell.
There was no sign of a tall, lean, black-clad man with the faculty, nor was Lights Guy mingling with the cast and crew.
He seemed like the type to avoid parties.
His job was basically done once tech rehearsals were over and the lights were set.
If he’d finished checking all the wiring and positioning today, I might never see him again.
But he’d intrigued me. Stuck in my mind like a beautiful burr.
Draining my cup, I took it to the overflowing trash can. I didn’t need to lust after an uninterested, disapproving older man. I had enough problems.
As I turned to rejoin my friends, a head of sandy hair and a booming voice caught my attention. Corey, holding court in the midst of a tight group, his arms looped around two girls. He gestured, a drink in one hand.
As always, he was the center of attention. The unspoken leader of the Hawthorne theater department. Ready with a joke, a clever comment, a hug and a backslap for everyone. People followed his cues, let him make the decisions. Right now, they hung onto every word of his story.
As the chuckles died away, his summer-blue eyes met mine.
Corey made a last remark and walked off. Uproarious laughter followed him. Tipping his head ever so slightly toward the stage door, he strolled out.
I knew what would happen. I’d go, as I always did. Corey’s charming shell would shatter, leaving him rough and crude. I’d consider it a privilege that he shared his secret self with me. He’d fuck me, degrade me, and make me forget myself for a few merciful moments.
I needed that right now — the oblivion of sex. And other than a few times last year when I’d had to, I’d never ignored a summons from Corey.
I didn’t want to think about what would happen if I did.
Yet I checked the dock one more time for Lights Guy. For a glimpse of his strong shoulders, his tall, slightly hunched posture. His sweet, surprising smile, breaking free of his grumpy exterior.
But he was gone, as if he’d never been here.
Being an actress had its perks. When I wanted to be noticed, I was noticed. When I chose to be invisible, no one saw me.
“Be right back,” I murmured to my friends.
They nodded distractedly.
I slid along the back curtain like a wraith and flitted out the stage door.
In the parking lot behind the theater, the scent of burning leaves filled the cold October air. There wasn’t a soul in sight.
As I rounded the building, a hand grabbed my arm and dragged me into a dark alcove. Our meeting spot, blocked off by dumpsters.
Corey’s breezy cologne washed over me, helping me tune out the sour smell of trash nearby. His face loomed close, and for half a heartbeat, I expected his kiss.
But no, we didn’t kiss. We never kissed, except in those rare, desperate moments when he sensed I was about to break free of this twisted thing we had. Corey always found a way to hook me back in.
His shirt was open. Underneath it, he wore the sleeveless white undershirt he’d sported onstage as Stanley. Corey had the right build for the role: solid, muscular, medium height.
I stared at his red lips, then his eyes.
He looked away.
I’d gotten lost in a role before, but tonight, it was too real.
“Who are you?” I whispered.
“Shut up.” He whirled me and pushed me against the concrete wall.
This was what I wanted. Corey’s callousness, his lack of regard. His needs crowding out everything else, so I didn’t have to think.
Leaves crunched under our feet. Roughness scraped my palms. Hands pawed at my breasts, my throat. My cheek was pressed against the cold wall, my jeans unzipped. My cheetah coat hid my exposed skin from the world. Fingers yanked at my panties and pushed inside me.
We didn’t speak. All the words we had for each other were used up on stage.
The day I met Corey Young, in our first acting class at Hawthorne, I was done for. He was handsome and charismatic, with hair the color of wheat and eyes like a cloudless sky. His talent was a never-ending well. I could have drowned in his gaze, but he rarely fucked me face-to-face.