Chase Me (Broke and Beautiful #1)(16)

Her soft laugh puffed warm air against his neck. “That’s the second time you’ve made me laugh today under impossible circumstances.”

Oh man, that made him feel good. Really good. Ten-feet-tall good. “That’s something, isn’t it?”

As they walked back out into the living room, a plan began to form in Louis’s mind. A bad plan. The perfect plan. He wasn’t sure. If he offered to loan her money until she got back on her feet, he risked his nut sack being torn clean off his body. But he would do what was necessary to keep Roxy out of another dangerous situation. If there were selfish reasons involved, too, such as wanting her to himself, he couldn’t help that.

No one was going to make her feel vulnerable again.





Chapter 6



ROXY’S JUNIOR YEAR in high school, she registered late for classes and got stuck with theater as an elective. Emoting in front of strangers sounded about as appealing as a full body cavity search, especially when her modus operandi included hiding in the back of lectures to sleep, then copying her friends’ notes the day before a test. Until the fateful day she was stuck with the dreaded elective, the sum total of her high school education had consisted of how to smoke cigarettes in the girl’s bathroom without getting caught. She’d seen the theater kids around campus before. They ate lunch on the grass outside the auditorium in a big circle, making jackasses out of themselves. As if they were on stage at all times. Throwing themselves into fits of dramatic laughter, twirling around like hippies after a B12 shot.

The theater coach took one look at her this-is-my-personal-hell expression and made her a prop designer, which suited her down to the ground. She sat backstage and painted trees while the geeks worked themselves into states of euphoria doing readings on stage for each other. When they settled on The Chocolate Affair for their spring production, Roxy was beyond indifferent. Just give her a paintbrush and f*ck off until the bell rings, please. One afternoon she got a little cocky about breaking the rules, and the theater coach caught her smoking in the bathroom. Her punishment was to sit in on student auditions for various parts in the play. She sunk down in the back row, intending to text throughout the whole ordeal, when a monologue caught her attention. Really, that was an understatement. The monologue, given by the character Beverly, grabbed her by the throat and shook her like a bottle of salad dressing.

When it ended, she was shocked to find tears rolling down her cheeks. Those words—words about monotony and self-loathing—had woken something dormant inside her. Something she normally kept at bay by acting out. Showing she didn’t care. Not about her parents’ lack of interest in her life. Her own void of talent, direction, or purpose. The continuous way she fell into bad relationships with guys, only to have her heart trampled on. No. Those words understood her and she understood them. They took away her permission to be indifferent, because now she was aware of other people experiencing the same feelings. She suddenly couldn’t wait for an outlet to express herself. The use of other people’s words made it easier for someone with the emotional maturity of a kindergartner.

The next afternoon, the theater coach allowed her to audition after everyone left, understanding her need to test herself without anyone bearing witness to it. What if she failed? What if the twirling hippies laughed at her? At least this way, she would only have to blind one man if she blew chunks. Miraculously, she didn’t. Those long hours she’d spent rehearsing her monologue the night before paid off. She was finally good at something.

He’d already cast the play, but the coach named her understudy for Beverly, much to the astonishment of every geek in the vicinity. Funny enough, as she learned over the next few weeks of rehearsals, those geeks turned out to be kind of fun. They lived life like no one and everyone was watching at the same time. They lived for life after high school.

Her moment came one week into the play’s run. The lead actress broke her leg while horseback riding and Roxy had to step in. As she stood at the edge of the stage, waiting for the lights to go on, she debated running. Just running away and never coming back. There would be an auditorium full of pissed-off folks, but who cared, when her spleen wanted to jump out of her throat? So she’d channeled Marisa Tomei. Marisa didn’t take no shit from anyone. She was a badass from Brooklyn who owned the screen whenever she was on it. That was the push Roxy needed to climb out on stage, but as soon as she got there, she became the character, Beverly. The play passed in the blink of an eye, as if it had been performed in under a minute. She wanted to do it again. And again. An addiction of sorts.

Now, as she walked back toward the living room, back toward a room full of men she’d disappointed by not getting naked for their enjoyment, she called on Marisa once more. Louis’s reassuring arm around her was just a crutch, and a confusing one at that. She needed to face this herself and walk out of here with her chin up. Otherwise it would become a recurring nightmare that played whenever she closed her eyes. No way in hell were these f*ckers going to feel bad for her or make her feel guilty. If she tried hard enough, she could own this moment and then file it away like it never happened.

The group of men came into view, quieting when they saw her. Not surprisingly, the groom she’d been sent to undress for looked more than slightly disappointed. Like he’d paid for a show and hadn’t gotten one. It gave her an idea.

She shrugged off Louis’s arm. After a tiny struggle, he let her go, even though, based on his scowl directed at the other men in the room, he wanted to hustle her out of there under a blanket. “Listen, gentlemen. I apologize. I’m officially the worst stripper ever, right? Don’t recommend me to your friends all at once.” They laughed uncomfortably. Deep breath. You got this. She held eye contact with the groom, not caving in to the urge to look away. “Well. I guess congratulations are in order for your upcoming nuptials. She’s certainly a lucky lady.”