Broken Juliet(53)

That would be nice but I’m not there yet.

“You okay?” he says, still in the doorway.

I stand and go to look through my costumes. It doesn’t take long. I only have three. Still, I graze my hands over all the seams, suddenly nervous. Some of it has to do with him and some with the realization that in three days, we’ll be performing in front of a preview audience. Either way, I’m terrified of disappointing someone.

“I guess,” I say. “Feel a little bit like I’m going to vomit.”

“Me too.”

“You’re hiding it better than I am.”

“I think I’m just more used to it by now. Want to snuggle?”

His question catches me off guard. My hand freezes on the sleeve of my dress.

“Uh…”

I feel him behind me before he runs his finger along my costume, just above my frozen hand. When he speaks, his breath is warm against my ear. “It used to help, remember? Both of us. Plus, I think I’ll go insane if I don’t touch you. Strictly platonic, of course.”

I can’t look up. Can’t even touch his finger.

“Cassie?” He touches my hair and smoothes it back over my shoulder. “I’m not asking you for sex. Or even a kiss. I just want to hold you.”

It’s not just holding. It never was. It’s intimate.

I’m saved from turning him down when Elissa appears at the door.

“Hey, you two. We’re about to start the tech run. Can I get you onstage in costume, please? Be prepared to be patient. Marco likes to take his runs nice and slow.”

She disappears, and I step away from Ethan. He sighs and hands me my costume.

“This is what you’re wearing for Act One?”

I nod.

“No wonder I fall in love with you.”

He gives me a smile that’s part affection, part patience.

For some reason, it makes me bristle and feel way too vulnerable.

He leaves, and I try to shake off the negativity. I don’t need it today. I need to be focused and cool.

In control.




“Now, unbutton his shirt. Good. And put your head where it would be if you were kissing his chest. Okay, great. And hold that.”

Ethan tightens and releases his hold on my hips as I keep my lips millimeters away from his chest. Marco’s muttering instructions to the lighting designer, complaining that the spotlight’s too shallow and the sidelights are too far forward. He wants the sex scene to be shadowy and moody, but apparently the only thing in the theater that’s moody right now is him.

This tech rehearsal is moving at a snail’s pace. I’ve never worked with a director who’s so hung up on lighting and positioning. It’s like he’s doing stop-motion animation.

I focus on the smattering of hair on Ethan’s chest and try to block out how much his scent is affecting me. It’s not easy. Right now, I’m wound tighter than a Swiss watch, and he’s trying so hard to respect my personal space, I want to punch him.

“Cassie?”

“Hmmm.”

“I’m going to ask you something, and I want you to promise you’ll answer honestly.”

I’m immediately wary and look up at him.

“Cassie! Put your head back down. Lance is focusing the specials. Don’t move!”

Holt groans. “Fuck this f*cking tech rehearsal.”

I stare at his chest again.

“Move your head closer!”

I dip my head. My lips accidentally graze skin. Ethan swears.

“What’s your question?” I ask.

“Did you happen to have a psychotic break recently and decide to slowly murder me? Because I swear to f*cking God, having your mouth hovering over my chest without actually kissing it is a cruel and frustrating version of hell I’d rather not be a part of.”

He’s so whiny when he says it, I laugh.

“Fuck,” he says and exhales. “And now you blow air across my nipple? If I’m not dead already, then please, kill me now.”

“Okay, Ethan, take off her shirt.”

He sighs. “And the torment keeps coming.”

He unbuttons my shirt and pushes it open. Then he closes his eyes and whispers, “Please, God, let Marco tell me to freeze with my hands on her boobs. Please.”

“That’s not in the blocking for this part.”

He glares down at me. “Quiet, woman. I’m conversing with a higher being. Don’t distract him with unhelpful logic.”

He’s slowly raising his hands to my chest when Marco calls out, “Okay, Ethan, pick her up.”

“Goddammit.”

He wraps his arms around me and lifts me, and I lock my ankles behind his back. It feels weird doing this in disjointed sections. Also, without the kissing. He migrates his hands down to cup my ass cheeks. I raise an eyebrow.

“Just getting leverage,” he says, deadpan. “It has nothing to do with me wanting to grope your ass.”

“And yet, you are groping my ass.”

“Well, semi-groping. Please note my hands are over, not under, your skirt.”

Please note, my body wants him to be under the skirt, fingering the elastic of my panties. Distracting me from all the conflicting emotions I’m too much of a coward to deal with.