14. June
JUNE
Perfect for You - A New Brain
Monday kicks off week three of Conservatory, and the day flies by.
Halfway .
At the end of this week, camp’s halfway over. An itch has been bubbling under my skin all day, and I can’t scratch it. It’s Nick, obviously. I’m self-aware enough to know that much.
He was with me during Acting While Singing, and we shared a piano bench for three hours this afternoon, but it’s still not enough time.
Sure, friendships and relationships get a little co-dependent at Conservatory.
We’re all with each other a minimum of ten hours a day.
But this is more than getting swept up in the passionate energy surrounding us.
Once he started opening up, being honest with me … it built real affection.
Why did he listen when I asked him for truth that Friday at Shaker’s, damn it? Now, he’s not just a hot face and a pair of sexy as sin hands. He’s funny, and kind, and passionate, and a hundred other things that give me goo-goo eyes.
And it took me until the Fair to realize it.
I turned my biological clock off a long time ago, or maybe mine was never on to begin with, but the countdown to the end of camp ticks away in my chest. We’ve only kissed once, and it was for show.
Not that it’s been easy to find time alone. We’re always surrounded by people—it’s hard to slip away without being super obvious about why. But we’re rehearsing our cabaret number tonight. Alone. In a practice room. A soundproof practice room.
Did I hoe up my outfit this morning with a light-blue corset tank-top that makes the girls pop? Duh. I threw a white shrug over it for classes so as not to frighten the youths, but I plan to comment on how hot the practice room is so I can take it off when we’re alone.
Too keyed up after dinner, I go for a stroll around campus and run into Hannah as she exits the administrative building. “Hey!” I call, waving.
She looks around before waving back, like she doesn’t think I meant her. Her flowy sundress catches in the breeze as she makes her way over. “Hey, June.”
I can’t help but sneak a peek at her ring finger. Bare. She wiggles her hand when she notices my gaze.
“Please tell me you sold it and made some extra cash.”
“No,” she laughs. “I took the high road and gave it back.”
“The high road’s for suckers.”
“Sometimes. But I wanted Shaw to know I’m better than him.” She crosses her arms, a determined set to her jaw.
“Go off, Miss Petty.”
“Plus”—Hannah’s mouth wobbles as she shifts on her feet—“he might need the money since Shelley asked him to leave.”
“What?!” I shriek, then slap my palm over my mouth. “When did this happen?”
“Literally just now.” She tilts her head toward the admin building. “She asked to speak with me personally, to let me know I’m welcome, and she doesn’t expect me to leave as well.”
“And I’m the first person to get the tea? I feel … I feel honored.” I splay a hand over my heart.
“Yeah, well …” She shrugs, a wavering smile crossing her features.
“Hey.” My hands go to her upper arms, holding her steady. “You’re going to be okay.”
Hannah blows out a breath, nodding. “I will. I will . Beginnings are just … scary.”
I sling an arm around her shoulder, well, I try, but she’s a good five inches taller than I am, so I give up and circle my arm around her waist, steering her to DPAC. “This is the right move. And I’m glad you’re staying.”
“Me too.” She throws her arms around me when we hit the side entrance. It’s awkward as hell, but I lean in. “I’ve got some family members to update, but I’ll talk to you later.”
“Great.”
“Oh, and June? Would you mind keeping this to yourself for now? I don’t know if I’m ready for everyone to know yet.”
I can’t help myself, I hug her once more, quickly. “Whatever you need, babe.”
“Just time,” she answers, then walks away.
I slip into DPAC, content to wait on the couches in the lobby until Nick finishes up his lesson.
Hannah and Shaw occupy my mind, and I might literally combust if I can’t tell anyone.
I need a distraction. My phone buzzes with an incoming call.
Thank you for the distraction, universe . But it’s my agent, Helen.
I nearly drop the damn thing.
There’s an open practice room at the end of the hall, so I head inside. I haven’t heard from her in months, and I feel safer having this conversation in a soundproof room.
“Hi, Helen.” My voice is too bright, chest heaving.
“Hiya, hon. Sorry I haven’t been in touch, but I got a call from a casting director with an interest and availability check.”
I blink fast, my head spinning. I’d forgotten how it feels when she calls.
In less than thirty seconds, she upends my mood, hell, my entire day.
I open my mouth to ask the date, then shut it.
If I tour, I can’t audition for Natalia’s show.
Not that I’ve got a guaranteed slot for it, but I’m enjoying getting to know her.
“Actually, I’ve been meaning to talk to you about auditioning for that straight play in the fall. ”
“That again? Hon, if you really want to branch out, we’ll talk later. But this is a national tour, and I have a good feeling.” Her tone is brisk, professional.
I want to trust her.
But I’m not sure I do anymore.
She must sense my hesitation on the other end. “It’s just an interest and availability check. Why turn it down at such an early stage?”
“That’s true.” I gnaw on the corner of my lip. “When is it?”
Helen rattles off the date and that seed of doubt sprouts roots.
It’s my birthday. And the day of the big gala for the end of Conservatory.
I drop onto the piano bench in the practice room because I’m light-headed.
Kinney Run isn’t the real world. Conservatory will end.
I have to go back to the city, and my job.
And my dreams. “Yeah,” I rasp. “I’m in.”
“I’ll email you details if anything comes of it.” Helen hangs up, not one for pleasantries.
I run my hands over the piano keys, breathing deep and relishing the feel of them beneath my fingers.
Interest and availability checks don’t guarantee an audition.
The director’s probably reached out to dozens of actresses.
And if they have someone in mind already, and that actress is available, the director might not even hold auditions for anyone else.
It’s ridiculous to decline at such an early stage.
Right?
This is my life, this is any actor’s life, changing or dropping plans when an audition comes up.
But until this summer, I never had to take plans or people into account.
I’ve been putting work first for so long that everything else has fallen away.
Without work, without performing, what would I have?
Suddenly, the silence in the soundproof practice room presses on my shoulders. I need to get out. The hallway’s empty, but a door is cracked to one of the other practice rooms, and someone’s playing the piano.
Shit, maybe Nick isn’t done. I creep toward the door, curious what he’s like during a lesson. Of course he’ll be great with kids, and no, thank you, I will not examine why that thought twinges behind my ribcage.
But there’s no talking, just playing. A melody, beautiful and haunting, washes over me. I can’t place it, which is rare, given my thorough musical education growing up. And while it feels familiar, I haven’t heard it before.
I sneak a peek through the sliver of the open door and stifle a gasp.
Nick’s alone.
It’s an original song, it has to be. He wrote this.
I thought I recognized it because the emotion, the longing—those feelings are inside me, too. Nick’s singing voice is almost a whisper, making the lyrics even more intimate.
The melody might be the thread, but his words are the needle, joining everything together. He sings about a sunset over a river, the golden light and waves flowing like locks of hair through his fingers. But the water cuts cold as a knife, and that golden presence doesn’t reach his depths.
He stops to mark something on his sheet music, startling me. The song had carried me away. I lean on the door handle, and it squeaks as it slides open a few more inches.
Nick turns around, eyes wide behind his glasses. His shoulders are rigid, like he’s bracing for something.
All I can do is stand here, arrested by his lyrics, his music, him . My mind stitches this new piece of him into the fabric I’ve already woven.
“Nick.” I infuse all my feelings into that one syllable.
“Hey.” He turns to the piano, packing up sheet music.
“That was incredible, Nick. I’ve never—I’ve never heard anything like that.” I approach on hesitant feet, having interrupted something deeply personal.
“Yeah?” He glances over his shoulder, sliding to the end of the bench in invitation.
I sit, eyes burning, unable to hide the way his music made me feel. “Yeah.”
He looks at the inch of space between us, swallowing thickly. “Thanks.”
“Nick.” This time his name is a question and answer all at once.
His head still tilts down, but his eyes flick to mine. My hand moves slowly, giving him every opportunity to pull back, but he doesn’t. So I stroke my fingers across his jaw, watching his eyes darken. Blood rushes in my ears, and my heart pounds behind my eyes. Words aren’t enough anymore.
I press my lips to his.
Nick freezes, his body tensing.
Uncertainty squeezes my heart. I rack my brain for a way to walk back my feelings. I thought, I hoped, he wanted this.
But I move less than an inch when Nick’s hand shoots out to frame my face, drawing me in for a rough kiss. I whimper against him, and his tongue slips past my lips, sweeping into my mouth with a sure and possessive stroke. His hand glides over my body, trying to touch all of me at once.
Need rushes through me, leaves me gasping, but I can’t come up for air. He crushes my body to his, and my hands claw at his shoulders, his back. My leg swings over him, seating myself in his lap with a desperate ache to be closer.
And I feel the hard length of him straining against his zipper, evidence of how much he wants me. Nick stills, and his hand eases back, letting me call the shots.
Sense trickles back in. We’re faculty members, in a practice room, in DPAC, where anyone could walk in. But Nick feels so good, solid and warm, his touch lighting me up, and I’m not ready to stop. Not yet. Not ever.
I slip off my white shrug, hot in earnest, burning up for this man.
Then I slide up onto my knees, but Nick releases me.
Does he think I’ll back away? Like fucking hell I will.
I grind myself down into his lap, drawing a deep groan from his throat.
He palms my ass with greedy hands and rolls my hips against him, before pushing his glasses up his forehead.
I slip them back down. “Leave them on.”
“Yeah?” His brows shoot up over the dark rims.
“Oh, yeah,” I pant, as his mouth slides from my jaw to my throat, teeth scraping against my pulse point. I shiver, skin erupting in goosebumps.
“Need to taste you,” he murmurs, tongue darting out to lick and suck at me.
“Please.” I weave my fingers through his hair, down his neck, beneath the collar of his T-shirt, wringing another groan of pleasure from him that reverberates across my skin.
He slips a finger under the strap of my tank top and tugs it down my arm, running his mouth over my bare shoulder. “This is pretty.”
“I wore it for you.” Breathless, I lay out the whole truth. No point pretending I’m not completely gone for this man when my body betrays how much I want him. “I wanted to tease you.”
He growls at my admission, an animalistic noise that I wouldn’t have believed he could make, but there’s more to Nick than he’s let me see. And I want it. More of his mouth, his body, all of him. “You wanted to distract me? So I’d stare at your perfect tits?”
“The mouth on you,” I moan.
Nick knocks over the piano bench as he stands, lifting me with him. He kneads my ass with one hand, as the other reaches up, stroking me over my tank top. His thumb brushes my breast. “Wait ‘til you see what my mouth can do.”
I shudder against him, arching my back in a dare. That mouth follows, teeth grazing where his fingers had been. The rough fabric scrapes my sensitive nipple, sending bolts of lightning through me.
I bend back farther to give him better access, but as I move, the music rack digs into me and my butt hits the piano keys. A cacophony of wrong notes echoes around the room, replacing our desperate noises. Our eyes meet and hold, but I can’t stop the giggle from bubbling up.
Nick’s whole body shakes with laughter. I duck my head into the space between his neck and shoulder, letting out another chuckle, then sighing.
It takes all of my resolve not to nuzzle into him further and pick up where we left off before my ass decided to write a chaotic song, but we have to talk.
I need to be sure he knows this is real for me.
And we need to figure out where this thing between us is going.
He releases me slowly, lets my body slide down until my feet hit the floor. I hold onto him, though, worried I’ll topple over the second I let go. I don’t want to let go, either. Nick smooths my hair and pulls my tank top back into place before stepping away to right the piano bench.
With a deep breath, I say, “We should talk.”