Acting Lessons

by Adele Buck

  The cat regarded him through slitted eyes, but deigned to lift her head to give his scratching fingers better access to her jaw. A reluctant, rusty purr emerged after a couple of seconds and James lifted his gaze to Freddie, who had started forward when Miranda fled, then leaned against her doorframe again, an enigmatic smile playing at the corners of her mouth.

  James climbed the last few stairs and tried to hand the cat over to Freddie, but Miranda hooked her claws into his shirt and butted the top of her head up under his jaw.

  “Another female seduced by James Martin.” Freddie reached out and tickled the cat’s fur, seemingly unfazed by her pet’s defection. “I guess you better come in.”

  James carried the purring feline into a tiny living room with an open kitchen built into one wall. He smelled freshly brewed coffee and his mouth watered. His hand stilled as he looked around at the whimsical art posters in frames on the walls and Miranda bumped him again with her head. “Fine,” he said to the cat, resuming his exploration of her soft fur. “I suppose I should make it up to you after keeping Freddie out all night.”

  “Have a seat,” Freddie called from the kitchen. “I made coffee. And my mom sent me some of her Lavadores. You want?”

  James sat on the loveseat in the little living room, continuing to stoke Miranda’s purr with his fingers. “Those the lemon cookies she always made?” She nodded and he grinned, remembering their tangy sweetness. “Then yes, please.” He regarded her with curiosity as she poured coffee into two mugs. What had happened to the massively pissed-off Freddie? The Freddie who had thrown on her clothes and stomped out of his room in a righteous ball of furious rage?

  That Freddie was nowhere in evidence as she brought him his coffee and a plate of cookies and folded herself into a cozy little IKEA armchair set at a right angle to the loveseat.

  Letting Miranda settle onto his lap, he sipped and scratched, not wanting the cat to head-bump hot liquid all over him. Freddie gave him a long look over the rim of her mug as she drank her coffee, her normally humorous eyes solemn and a little tired.

  “So. What brings you to the lair of the spinster cat lady?” she asked, crunching into a cookie.

  “Spinster cat lady?” James chuckled. “That doesn’t exactly fit with the images I have from last night.” His breath caught in his chest as some of the images in question played in his mind.

  Freddie shrugged and sipped her coffee, her casual gesture belied by the rosy glow in her cheeks and the darkening of her eyes. He wondered if similar pictures were running through her brain. If they hadn’t argued, he might have asked. As it was, he sipped and continued to stroke Miranda, who had stretched out on his lap and was flattening herself into a warm puddle of fur.

  “She likes you.” Freddie’s eyes were warm with affection for the cat. “But I’m still not sure why you’re here.”

  “I’m surprised you let me in,” James admitted. “But you left your earrings on my nightstand. And they’re your favorite ones. Or they used to be.” He looked down at the cat, who sighed and inexplicably relaxed even further. He wondered if her bones were melting. “I’d give them back to you, but I’d have to disturb her to dig into my pocket and she might be the only female in the room who isn’t mad at me.”

  “I’m not mad at you,” Freddie said so softly he wondered if he had heard her right.

  “You’re not mad?” James set his cup carefully on the coffee table to snatch a cookie, earning a green glare from Miranda as his movement shifted her. “Sorry, Miss Kitty.”

  Freddie looked into her cup and shook her head slightly. “No. I mean, I was.”

  “Um. Yeah. That much was obvious.”

  Freddie chewed on her lower lip, her eyes focused on the cat. “I may not be at the point in my career where you are, but I have moved on in two years. I can make my own decisions. And if I want advice, I ask for it.” Her jaw set and her eyes raised to meet his again, steely determination in her expression.

  James nodded, taking in a long breath. “Okay. I’m sorry for giving you unsolicited advice.”

  Pursing her lips slightly, Freddie nodded. “And I’m sorry for storming out on you. That wasn’t exactly my most mature moment, which is a little ironic, all things considered.”

  Shrugging, James looked down at Miranda, who now appeared to be asleep. “You needed some space. It’s understandable.” His stomach clenched as he went on. “So… where does all of this leave us now?”

  Panic jolted through Freddie’s body at James’s question. His large frame seemed to fill up her little apartment, taking up all the space, all the oxygen. “What do you mean?”

  His eyes caught and held hers. “Well, where do we go from here? Just friends? Friends with occasional benefits? Lots of benefits? Back to where we were two years ago?”

  The panic surged again, making her jittery. She really hadn’t considered anything except…except what? She had certainly fallen into bed with him easily enough. Did she want to keep doing that? What did she want anyway?

  “Um. I don’t know what I want, to be totally honest.”

  “Okay…” He looked at her and then down at Miranda. “Should I get out of here? Give you some space?”

  Absurdly, the panic surged again, this time at the prospect of him leaving.

  Make up your mind, fool.

  Struggling for a cool she didn’t feel, she shook her head. “Miranda might never forgive me if I made you leave now. She doesn’t grace just every lap with her furry presence, you know. She’s very selective.”

  James leaned forward and picked up his cup again, appearing careful not to disturb the cat. “Well, if that’s the case, can I take you for breakfast when she stops using me as her personal mattress? I’m starving and I’ll bet you are too, despite the cookies-for-breakfast routine.” He drank his coffee and stroked Miranda, the weird familiarity of his presence reasserting itself.

  Freddie blinked. “Um. Yeah. That would be nice.” Maybe they should have some non-charged, non-sexytimes, non-whatever-yesterday-was time together. She got up and retrieved the coffee pot, refilling her cup and his before retreating to her bedroom to dress. Pulling on a sweater and a pair of jeans, she grimaced as she remembered that she still had to call Michael and accept the job. Shoving her feet into boots, she took a deep breath and walked back into the living room. James was still quietly stroking Miranda and sipping coffee, regarding the cat with a quizzical expression. She noticed the Lavadores were gone, though. James had always loved her mother’s cooking, and Mom had always loved fussing over and feeding him.

  “So… I need to make a phone call before we go,” Freddie said, butterflies starting her stomach trembling.

  James’ eyes slid over to her and his mouth tightened. “The job?”

  Freddie’s hands clenched into fists. “Yes.”

  He looked at her for a long moment, his eyes scanning her body, pausing at her tensely bunched fists. “Okay. Make your call and we’ll go get pancakes.”

  Freddie took a shuddering breath and nodded. “Be right with you.”

  James finished his coffee and continued to run his fingers over Miranda’s soft fur as he tried not to listen to Freddie making what he thought might be the biggest mistake of her still-fledgling—well, it wasn’t exactly fledgling, but it wasn’t exactly established either—career. He could hear her voice from her bedroom, but not the actual words. He squeezed his eyes shut, suppressing the surge of defensive emotion the thought of her taking this job brought out in him.

  Dude. Recalibrate.

  He reminded himself that it wasn’t two years ago, Freddie wasn’t the relatively inexperienced young woman he had befriended, then slept with, then… everything else. Their relationship then had been a combination of shared discovery and delight, overlaid with a patina of James’ protectiveness. Freddie had been uncertain back then, making her way. She had really needed him. Or at least she had responded well to his he-man act.

  She had been uncertain in the bedroom back the
n too. But look at her now. James breathed deeply, the memory of her confident assertion of what she wanted last night sending blood surging to his groin. Miranda shifted and glared at him as the tone of Freddie’s voice sounded like the call was wrapping up.

  Freddie’s got this. Let her do this. Also, let’s not get inappropriate around the wrong pussy.

  He continued to breathe slowly, deeply, and carefully until Freddie came back into the living room. Her face looked set, hard.

  “So. It’s done?” he asked.

  She nodded briefly. “Yes.” A deep breath. “I’m now the stage manager for the off-Broadway musical, Anyone Can Dance.”

  James set his jaw and nodded. “All right then. Let’s get you some pancakes.”

  Freddie lifted her chin at the cat. “You sure you want to disturb the other woman in your life?”

  James lifted the cat from his lap and deposited her on the sofa cushion next to him, earning another glare as she stretched, her back arching, then curled into a furry disk, sighing.

  “She’s too much of a drama queen. Anyway, I have my hands full with one woman at a time. Let’s go.”

  As they exited her building, Freddie realized she was waiting for James to take her hand like he had done the night before. But his arms hung loosely at his side and he didn’t reach for her at all. She felt hyperaware of his every motion and started lifting her hand when he lifted his, only to drop it when she saw that he was digging in his pocket.

  “Here,” he said, extending his palm.

  She looked down and saw her earrings glinting in the morning sunshine. Embarrassment heated her face.

  “Oh, thanks.” Taking the little gold hoops, she pushed them through the holes in her ears as they started to walk again.

  Take my hand. Take my hand.

  James continued to walk, pulling out his cellphone and looking at Yelp! for restaurant recommendations. Freddie smacked his arm and pointed down the street.

  “Put that away. There’s a diner two blocks down that makes outstanding pancakes, since that’s what you want.”

  Take my hand.

  James shoved his phone in his back pocket and kept walking, apparently immune to telepathic suggestion. She thought about the night before, how his obvious interest and their shared history had made her bold. Now she was mousy Freddie of two years ago again, afraid to demand what she wanted. Afraid even to ask.

  She hated that.

  But his face had lit up when she made her desires known last night, his brown eyes crinkling appreciatively when she said those hot, filthy words. Maybe the trick worked here too. Maybe if she let him know what she wanted, that warm look would return to his face. Swallowing hard and ignoring the butterflies rampaging in her stomach, she reached out and slid her hand into his. He paused, turning to look at her, and glancing down at their joined hands.

  He didn’t turn away, didn’t pull his hand from hers. Instead, he squeezed her fingers and his expression softened into something that was both approving and warming.

  Huh. Maybe the handsome, assured, successful James Martin has some insecurities of his own.

  Making the short walk to the diner, James managed to hold the door for her while not letting go of her hand. When she slid into a booth, he slid in next to her instead of across from her.

  I had forgotten he did that. Sunny memories of meals in the diner in sleepy little Churchill, Connecticut flooded her. Their first breakfast he had sat across from her. After that, he had slid into the chrome and naugahyde booth next to her every single time. And that booth had been incredibly similar to the one they sat in now.

  Don’t dwell on it. It’s not significant. As if the décor in American diners was so varied.

  Still, the memory and the way it resonated in their current circumstance made her toes curl.

  “Ready to order, sir?” The waiter came from behind them and looked surprised when he came around James and saw Freddie. “Oh, sorry—didn’t see you there, you little thing! Need a booster seat?” To add insult to injury, the guy winked.

  Freddie’s jaw tightened. She opened her mouth to respond when James said, “That’s uncalled for. You don’t treat an adult woman like she’s a child.”

  The waiter’s pale cheeks turned a dull red. “Sorry,” he mumbled, looking down at his pad.

  Mouth snapping shut, Freddie looked up at James’ face. His expression was expectant, eyebrows raised, a slight smile beginning at the corners of his lips. Did he want her to thank him for compounding the situation? For defending her automatically and making her look even weaker?

  “Fred, more coffee? Or something else?” James tilted his head at the waiter, whose pencil was poised over his pad, waiting for her drink order.

  Flustered, Freddie ordered coffee and tried to sort through her conflicting feelings as James added his order to hers and the waiter moved away from them.

  “What’s the problem?” James asked, handing her a menu. “Your chin’s going to poke me in the eye out if it juts out any further.”

  Freddie exhaled, her breath gusting out of her nose. “I could have handled that on my own, you know.”

  James blinked and his eyes slid sideways to look at her, wary. “What do you mean?”

  “The waiter. Being a jerk. I was just about to say something myself.” The laminated menu slid in her sweaty fingers.

  He leaned back, hurt flickering across his features. “Oh.”

  One part of Freddie felt like apologizing. She knew he meant well. But another part of her was still angry, echoes of the morning’s fight reverberating through her all over again. The booth and James beside her now felt claustrophobic instead of cozy.

  Taking a deep breath, she tried to keep her voice calm and level. “Don’t you get it? You just told that guy off for treating me like a child. And in the process you treated me like a child.”

  Chapter 5

  James’s head reared back as if Freddie had slapped him. Blood surged in his face and his eyeballs felt tight in their sockets.

  “I can’t do much right today, can I?” he snapped. A small piece of his brain was encouraging him to remain calm, even acknowledging that even though he didn’t see it yet, she might have a point. The larger mass was swamped with frustration.

  Freddie’s jaw jutted forward and her large eyes narrowed. “Don’t play the good guy card with me right now.”

  “What does that even mean?” James felt his temper running like a stream, unrestrained. He was the good guy, dammit. The waiter had been a jerk. He had put the guy in his place. End of story.

  “It means…” Freddie clamped her jaw tight, her eyes locked on his. “You just gave that guy grief for treating me like a kid, but by charging in like a white knight instead of letting me handle the situation, you treated me like a kid. And now you want cookies for it. And I’m sorry, but I’m fresh out of cookies.”

  “Cookies? What the hell do cookies have anything to do with anything?” Confusion widened the anger stream to a torrent and James took a deep breath, trying to retain the barest semblance of control.

  “Miss? Is everything okay?” A thunk of stoneware as the waiter put their coffee mugs down on the table. James turned and saw concern and…was it fear in the man’s expression? He was looking at James as if he was going to do something unpredictable.

  The blood drained from James’ face as the realization of how this must look crashed over him. The way he was sitting next to Freddie instead of across from her, his evident anger… James rubbed a hand across his face and took a deep breath.

  “I’ll just sit over here. That okay with you, Fred?” He didn’t wait for Freddie’s reaction to swing himself around and seat himself in the banquette opposite her.

  “Thanks,” she said to the waiter, pulling one of the cups toward her, confusion mixing on her face with her earlier irritation. “We’ll be ready to order in a minute.”

  The waiter looked at her for a moment longer as she added cream and sugar to her cup, then gave Jam
es a quick glance before he walked away.

  “What…what just happened?” Freddie asked as she stirred her coffee, her eyes dark and direct as she looked at James.

  “I think maybe our waiter misread the situation,” James said, trying for nonchalance, but realizing his hands were shaking, the coffee nearly sloshing out. He set the cup down again and tried to take a deep breath.

  Freddie frowned, her eyebrows drawing together. “How?”

  “Like maybe this was an abuse situation.”

  Freddie stared at him for a few beats of his thudding heart, her expression going stricken. “How could anyone see you that way?”

  James’ teeth ground together. “Well, I was obviously frustrated and angry. Which must have looked scary. Apparently.”

  Freddie nodded, her lips pinching together, her focus on her cup. “For the record, you’re not scary and that guy was a jerk.”

  “Can we get back to that subject if I promise to come to it without the anger and frustration?” he asked, impressed with how calm his voice sounded, even though his pulse was thudding in his ears.

  “Sure. If you’ll listen.”

  James set his cup down in front of him and looked at her. “Yes. I will listen.”

  Freddie’s heart thumped uncomfortably. She shifted on the hard vinyl seat of the booth and blinked. Between James’s previous frustration and the interference of the waiter, she felt like she had exactly one opportunity to get this right. She had never seen James this off-balance.

  She took a deep, shuddering breath. “Two years ago, I couldn’t defend myself. I didn’t know how. Susan was awful to me and you—you stepped in. It felt good, safe. I loved it.” James’ head tilted up, his gaze searching her face. “But since then, I’ve had to learn to stand up for myself. I’ve learned how to stand my ground and what battles to pick. I’ve done it professionally. I’ve done it in my personal life.”