Chapter 4
“This song always reminds me of—”
“Of what?” Gabe asks.
My eyes find her across the living room. She’s talking to her mom, but I swear I could feel her looking at me a moment ago.
“Dude, what does it remind you of?” Gabe pushes.
“Oh… uh, I don’t remember what I was going to say.”
Her. It reminds me of her.
After essentially hiding in this black box theater for the last year and a half, she finally found me. I have a hard time comprehending the visceral reaction my body had when I saw her for the second time today. I had dropped a few of the class syllabuses, stooping down to pick them up, when the door to the small theater opened. By the time I got back up to my feet she was there. Big brown eyes staring at me, looking just as shocked as I felt.
My first thought was that maybe something was wrong—the apartment was on fire or she was finally ready to declare her undying love for me—but the look on her face indicated that she definitely was not expecting to see me. I knew she wouldn’t want to be called out for knowing me, so I played dumb, and to my surprise she actually is signed up for my course. It was right there on the roster—something I never even think to look at because it’s not like anyone I know would willingly sign up for my class.
Being the teacher’s assistant for a few of the intro classes over the past few years means that I am pretty much running the show, left alone to teach how I want to. Professor Callahan usually introduces himself during the first class and then leaves me to it.
It really has been a blast, which has been a new experience for me as far as school goes. I barely scraped by in undergrad, spending entirely too much time drinking and partying—mostly as an avoidance tactic because I was smart. I am smart, but nothing could ever hold my attention long enough for me to be successful.
I think most people were shocked when I actually graduated on time.
Iwas shocked when I actually graduated on time.
Acting was something I got involved with in high school as a way to piss my father off. He was a typical washed up jock, trying to compensate for the fact that he lived off my mom’s family money and wanted to relive his high school hero days vicariously through me. Theater to him was for “little pussies,” which was some real bullshit, so I signed up. They loved me because if you’ve seen a high school theater program, you know there aren’t many guys signing up to star in their production of Les Miserables. Little did I know that I would end up loving it. My theater teacher encouraged me to audition for college programs and the rest is history.
After undergrad, I went to the city and did the audition thing for a bit before coming to the conclusion that I did not pay enough attention in my college courses, and though I had gotten by my entire life on good looks and charisma, that was not going to work in the real world. One existential crisis later and I realized there would need to be some major life changes before I was ready to pursue an actual career.
I reached out to my parents for help, but Gabe was the one who dragged me back to Sassafras—he wore a homemade “Get Your Ass Back to Sassafras” shirt and everything—and convinced me to apply for my MFA back at Hawthorne so we could live together again.
I think he really missed me, the big softie.
The flash of Bex’s curls out of the corner of my eye brings me back into this classroom. I don’t even have time to process her being here as I continue to talk through the syllabus, trying not to look her way.
The first day of class is always quick. This semester there is a good mix of freshmen wanting to get into the acting program and people like Bex, I’m assuming, who just need the arts credit.
I wrap up and let everyone go early. Between that and Bex’s late arrival, we’ve only been in the same room for about ten minutes, but my skin feels like it”s on fire. I turn my back to gather my things and take a deep breath, avoiding the weird looks that Callahan is throwing my way.
Bex and I definitely need to have a conversation if she’s going to be in this class with me. What I should do is convince her to drop and find another arts credit.
I’m warring with this thought as I turn back around and see that she’s gone.
I come home to find Gabe in the kitchen making margaritas for Margarita Monday. I place our Chinese takeout—don’t ask—on the counter while he pours the mix into a glass, handing me the non-alcoholic version before adding a hefty dose of tequila for himself.
We’ve had the tradition of Margarita Monday since our first year living together, and when I decided to get sober, Gabe was willing to do whatever it took to continue the tradition, going so far as to say he would stop drinking too.
Everyone’s sobriety journey is different but I didn’t need him to stop just because of me. So now I drink this mediocre virgin margarita and eat takeout every Monday because it makes him unreasonably happy.
Tonight might get awkward, though, because I have to bring up Bex being in my class. Gabe is not an angry guy. In fact, he’s generally happy-go-lucky and just a giant goofball. However, he is extremely protective over the youngest, and only, Bardot sister. She’s a grown ass woman and can make her own decisions, but I also know that she’s had a rough go of things, and Gabe just wants her to be happy.
It’s understandable, albeit extremely inconvenient.
We were at a party one time when Bex showed up. She had to have been a junior or senior in high school at the time. She looked sexy as fuck—which is not a thought I should have been having. A guy walked over and started hitting on her and before he got a complete sentence out, Gabe was there knocking the guy’s drink out of his hand and grabbing Bex by the elbow to escort her out. Don’t get me wrong, I wanted to do the same thing, but I’m not her brother. The look on her face was priceless, but Gabe’s message was loud and clear: no one puts their hands near Rebecca Bardot without answering to the three elder Bardot brothers.
She has had a boyfriend since then, but I was in New York at the time and missed most of how the brothers Bardot reacted.
“Happy first Margarita Monday of the semester!” Gabe cheers, breaking me out of my thoughts.
“I’ll cheers to that. I’m so fucking ready to be done with school.” Our glasses clink and we each take a sip. I wait less than a minute before asking, “So… have you heard from your sister today?”
Real fucking subtle.
His brow shoots up. “No. Should I have heard from my sister today?” He starts to dig around in the takeout and hands me a fortune cookie.
“Well, lo and behold, there is someone who looks suspiciously like Rebecca Bardot in my Intro to Acting class this semester.”
The spit take he does would be comical if it weren’t for the fact that I think Gabe has always suspected that I had a thing for his sister. He definitely thinks it’s more of a “want to get in her pants” kind of thing versus a “imagine myself raising kids with her” kind of thing, though. But honestly, I would settle for anything I can get.
“Bex is in your class this semester?! So she’s, like, your student?” he asks, mouth falling open.
“I mean I am only the TA so I wouldn’t technically describe her as my student.” Though I should keep her firmly in that category because it means she’s even more off limits. Then maybe my dick will get the message.
Maybe.
I crack open the fortune cookie and take a bite while he processes. He thinks for a minute and then lets out what can only be described as a cackle. “This is amazing. Will she have to do a scene or something?” Gabe pretends he knows anything about what I do, when in reality his knowledge is extremely limited.
“The final project is typically a scene or a monologue, yes.”
“Can people come watch?! Oh fuck, Ben and Jules are going to lose it when they hear this.” He pulls out his phone and starts texting his brothers.
Snatching it out of his hand I stop him. “Wait a second, okay? If she didn’t tell you, she probably doesn’t want your, ahem, over-zealous brothers to know either. Really, the problem is just you and Ben—we all know Jules would be supportive.”
Pouting, he downs his margarita. “Look, I was just asking because she left before I got a chance to talk to her. I didn’t know if she wanted her classmates to know that she knew me, and really it’s probably best if she finds a different class to be in.”
“I’ll just text her then,” he replies.
“Actually…” Oh shit, am I going to do this? I’ve purposely not gotten her number in all the years I’ve known her just to keep the temptation away. “Can you send me her number? It needs to come from me. She doesn’t even know that you know.” I keep chewing the fortune cookie and glance down to read it, hoping I’m giving off a chill vibe that I’m definitely not feeling.
An unexpected relationship will become permanent. Weird fortune.
Looking up, I see Gabe narrow his eyes at me for a beat before turning back to his phone and typing something out. Next thing I know, my phone vibrates in my pocket. I pull it out and read a text from Gabe. It’s his sister’s contact and three ominous words.
Gabe
Off. Fucking. Limits.
Got it.