Setting my wineglass down, I ran my fingers though my hair. “How do I look?” I whispered.
“Perfect,” she mouthed, winking at me. I rolled my eyes at her, because we both knew that perfection was far from my cutoffs jean shorts and long-sleeved T-shirt. I stroked my fingers along my neck, looking over my shoulder in what I hoped was a covert way to make eye contact.
Malachite eyes met mine, and I felt my mouth go dry when I saw the handsome man resting his weight on his elbows at the bar. It was Professor Bradley, and he was staring right at me.
His gaze swept down my body, his mouth twitching at the corners in that sexy way it did when he was trying not to smile. The smile dropped as he cleared his throat and quickly looked around the bar…probably checking to make sure we didn’t recognize anyone else from the program.
He pushed off the bar and crossed around some people sitting at the bar to take the empty stool next to me. “I thought it was you over here,” he said quietly. “How are you?”
I swallowed as the knot in my stomach doubled in size. “I-I’m fine.”
“You two know each other?” Rosa asked.
I nodded. It was the first time I’d seen him anywhere other than class since…well, since we’d been in the Champagne Room. The blood rushed in my ears, and my breath seemed to get caught in my chest. His look was more casual than it was when he was teaching. Instead of his usual button-down shirt and dress pants, he was in a light blue polo shirt and charcoal-gray jeans that hugged the thick muscles of his powerful thighs.
We sat there staring at each other in silence for several seconds before I felt Rosa lean forward, extending a hand. “I’m Rosa. Hazel’s best friend.”
His gaze dipped, head tilted curiously before he slowly looked up at me…then to Rosa, taking her hand. “Nice to meet you, Rosa… I’m Professor Cockhead, apparently.”
My face went searing hot, and I felt a sharp breath lodge in my throat. How did he know that? Oh, shit. No. No, no, no. I glanced down where my phone was face up, his contact info and number illuminated in front of us. “Oh my God.” I dropped my hand down over the phone, covering it even though it was too late.
Rosa’s inhalation morphed into a snicker. “Ohhh. So, you’re Professor Cockhead,” she said. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”
“I don’t even want to take a guess as to what you’ve heard,” he said. Though to most people it would sound like a joke, I knew better. The bartender came by with a tumbler of whiskey, delivering it to Reid.
There was another uncomfortably long pause, and Rosa shifted, tugging her phone from her pocket. With a very fake gasp, she stood and threw four twenty-dollar bills onto the bar. “Oh my gosh, I just realized I have a study group in ten minutes,” she said, grabbing her purse and slinging it over her shoulder.
Rosa was good at a lot of things… but acting was not one of them.
I snapped my head in her direction, glaring at her. “A study group on a Friday night?”
“Yep,” she shrugged and hopped off the stool. “One of the guys works almost every night but Friday.
“Funny,” I said through gritted teeth. “You didn’t mention that earlier when you invited me out tonight.” And by ‘invited,’ I meant barged in and forced me out.
She shrugged. “I totally forgot about it until now. But we just ordered this bottle of wine. You two should stay and drink it. Be a shame for it to go to waste.”
“A crying shame,” I repeated, glaring at my best friend, which she ignored like a pro, running out of the bar.
I sighed, looking at Reid. “You don’t need to stay,” I said, grabbing the cash she had tossed down and pulling it closer to me so no one would grab it while walking by. “I’m sure this is against some sort of school bylaw.”
He huffed a humorless laugh, swirling his whiskey. “Probably. But it’s not like we arranged this. We’re both employees of the school, and I assume you saw the flyer about the faculty discount, too?”
I nodded. “Guilty.”
He gestured to the bartender for another wineglass. “Then…since this is innocent, just two people who ran into each other outside of class, is there really any harm?”
Yes, I wanted to scream. I didn’t think Professor Dercy would see it his way if she walked in right now. This was a terrible idea. I could tick off all the reasons why, the main one being that we could both lose our jobs. And he could ruin his reputation. I opened my mouth to tell him no. To remind him of all the reasons we couldn’t sit here drinking together. But my heart—my stupid heart—betrayed me as I answered, “No, no harm,” with my traitorous mouth.
Chapter 9
Reid
“What date did Fiddler on the Roof open?” I asked her, splitting the last of the wine between our two glasses.
“September 22, 1964,” she answered with a smug grin. She barely got the date out between those petal-pink lips before she was drinking again. “It held the record for the longest-running Broadway musical until Grease surpassed its ten-year run.”
“Okay, that was too easy,” I said, racking my brain for a harder one. “Blood Brothers,” I said, narrowing my eyes at her.
She rolled hers in response. “That’s supposed to be harder? Come on. It opened April 25, 1993, and closed after 840 performances on April 30, 1995. But its debut performance was in Liverpool in 1981. I told you, I’m like a human Wikipedia when it comes to Broadway dates and facts.”
As she effortlessly rattled off these dates and facts, something kept nagging at my brain. I’d been looking at her transcripts and was shocked to find that she had failed last semester’s History of Theater course, taught by none other than Brandon, my best pal and husband to my ex-fiancé. “Can I ask you something? Something I maybe shouldn’t?”
She jerked her gaze to mine, dark blue eyes bright and curious. “Okay…against my better judgment, sure.”
“How can you know so much and remember all this information, yet fail your History of Theater class last semester?”
Instantly, her body language shifted. She shrugged, tugging her sleeves over her hands, slumping into her seat. “I fell asleep in class and missed my oral exam. Having a near eidetic memory doesn’t help when you’re exhausted from your night job.”
I shook my head. Yeah, that would do it. But I also knew Brandon pretty damn well… and he wasn’t exactly a stickler for rules. “I find it hard to believe that Professor Lewis wouldn’t allow you a makeup exam. Maybe for a letter grade off or something.”
With tight lips, she blew a breath out, leaning forward onto her elbows and circling the tip of her finger against the edge of her wineglass. “Oh, he would have allowed me to make up the grade,” she snorted. “So long as I spread my legs for him.”
“What?” I asked with a half-chuckle as her words took their time to sink in. My spine went rigid. I couldn’t have heard that right. Brandon had been my best friend for years—surely, if he was the type to harass his students, wouldn’t I have known that?
She turned to me, eyes wide and panicked. “Oh, fuck. I shouldn’t have said that.”
“Is it true?” I gulped, my mind swirling through hundreds of memories of me and Brandon when we would hang out. One particular memory from not long before I proposed to Faith struck me hard. The two of us had been out at a restaurant and he’d been flirting with our waitress. At first, it had been harmless. He gave her his number and invited her to come out with us after her shift. He leered at her ass as she turned around to deliver our food, and as he reached out a hand to touch her ass, I launched myself at him, grabbing his wrist before he made contact with her. I’d always just chalked it up to the fact that he’d had too much to drink that night. But, now I wasn’t so sure? What about all the times I hadn’t been there to stop him? Hell, what about the fact that he had fucked his best friend’s fiancé and then gone on to marry her? He clearly had no moral compass… a fact I’d been ignoring for years.
But now in this moment, I knew. I knew without conf
irmation that Brandon had absolutely done what Hazel said. And if he attempted it with Hazel, God only knew how many other women in that department he had pulled that stunt with.
She shifted in her seat, averting her gaze from mine, not answering me.
I caught her chin gently, dragging those deep blue eyes back to look at me once more. “It’s true.” This time, a statement, not a question.
“Yeah,” she whispered.
I inhaled so sharply that my lungs physically hurt. “Did you tell anyone?” She shook her head. “Hazel,” I whispered, “you have to tell Laura Dercy—”
“No. I can’t. And you can’t either. Please,” she begged, tears filling her eyes.
Fuck. I hated seeing her like this. I hated Brandon. I hated him more now than I ever had for marrying Faith. This was deplorable. Inexcusable. An ego-driven asshole using what little power he had to exert it over women in his department. “Okay,” I said, knowing not to push her. She breathed a sigh of relief, nuzzling into my hand that still cupped her jaw. “Can I ask why you don’t want to tell anyone?”
“It’s pointless,” she said. “He’s no longer teaching at the school, so what does it even matter? And it wouldn’t change the fact that I slept through my exam. I still failed.” She paused, swirling her wine within the large glass. “But sometimes I wonder how many other students he’s propositioned like that.”
Her thought mirrored my own from moments ago. She shivered and I pulled my hand back, feeling suddenly terrible for sitting here with her, drinking. For touching her. It didn’t feel wrong…but it was wrong. Maybe I was no better than Brandon. “Will you at least consider telling Professor Dercy at some point? Just so they can prevent it from happening in the future?”
Hazel nodded. “Maybe. Maybe after I graduate, I’ll talk to Dercy.” Hazel glanced at me, attempting a sad smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “You know, it was his wife who told me to maybe try my hand at directing.”
My rage went white hot. “Faith told you that?” I knew Faith really well. I knew her better than I knew Brandon… maybe even better than she knew herself. And if I had to guess, she saw something in Hazel. The same incredible raw talent and potential that I saw. And she was threatened by it, so she tried to push her behind the scenes.
Hazel nodded. “We had a mid-semester meeting, and she talked about how grueling it is to be an actress and how much easier it is to be behind the scenes…”
I growled. I didn’t mean to growl like some sort of feral animal, but it just slipped out.
Hazel’s eyes snapped to mine even though she didn’t move her head. “What?”
“You are a spectacular performer. You belong on a stage. A real stage. Not just in front of boozed-up patrons. And anyone who says differently is jealous of you.”
She cleared her throat. “Look, I know burlesque seems sleazy, but it’s not. Most of our patrons recognize the art form for what it is. Yes, there are some bachelor parties who come in just for the tits, but honestly, people who want that? They typically just go to a real strip club. People come to us for ambiance. For a mood. For skill.”
I nodded, understanding what she was saying. “Even still. You had the most skill of anyone on that stage. You have the most talent of anyone in your class. Your star shines brighter than any of theirs.”
She tugged at her cotton sleeves until they were nearly covering her hands. “Yeah, right. Professionally, I don’t even get cast when I audition. And at school, I can’t get more than a glorified ensemble role.”
“And that’s why you decided to switch into stage management and assistant directing? Because your professor told you this, and you believed her?” My question hung between us like a pendulum swinging dangerously, edging closer and closer to striking either one of us.
“I have no reason not to believe her.” Her brows knitted, pulling in the center of her forehead. “For years, I tried to make a living as an actress in this city. Auditioning, barely even getting callbacks before I finally got accepted into this program. After two years of auditioning and getting nowhere, I hit a point where I just needed to pay rent. I needed money and I needed it consistently.” She looked down at her fingers, stroking the stem of the wineglass between her thumb and forefinger. She shifted in her seat, her knee bumping against mine, drawing out those strange, tingly sparks that I’d felt with her before at the club. She wore denim shorts, revealing her toned thighs that begged to be spread wide for my mouth to rest between.
Fuck, what was I doing? I had to stop thinking about her like that. She was my student for the foreseeable future. Not an available woman to be desired.
But, fuck, did I desire her...
She drained the last sip of her wine, then reached for the bottle, shaking it to verify that it was, in fact, empty.
I drank the last of mine as well and pushed the glass toward the edge of the bar, pulling out my wallet. I dropped some cash on the bar for my original whiskey and stood, holding out a hand for her to take. “Come on,” I said. “I’ll walk you home.”
She lifted a brow at me. “You sure that’s a wise idea?”
“I just want to make sure you get home okay. I’ll be going no further than your front stoop.”
She rolled her eyes before taking my hand and standing, slinging her purse over her shoulder. “I’m not drunk. I swear.”
I believed her…mostly. She didn’t seem drunk. Maybe a little tipsy, but not sloppy drunk. “My late mother would kill me if I didn’t make sure you got home safely. Don’t make me disappoint my mom.”
“Jeez,” she muttered, leading the way out of the bar, “I can’t say no now that you played the dead mother card.” She held the door open for me and jerked her head to the right. “I’m this way. Down in Alphabet City.”
I felt my expression shift, surprised she lived in such an expensive area. I half expected to have to take her home to Queens or Brooklyn. “Fancy,” I said.
“Not really. It was my aunt’s place and it’s rent controlled. She moved to Florida a few years ago and I sort of illegally took over the lease.”
“It’s still fancy…even if you’re not paying top dollar for it.”
We walked in silence for a few minutes, our knuckles brushing each other’s every so often. A cool September breeze blew by us and brought her scent right under my nose. A light lavender floral with just the lightest touch of something sweet—vanilla, maybe.
My phone buzzed in my pocket, the vibration loud enough that it could be heard over the quiet hum of the city around us, and I sighed. I swallowed my groan, refusing to look at the call. It was the eighth time it’d gone off since I sat down next to Hazel, and I already knew, after stupidly glancing at my inbox, that more than a few were from students about the casting. My friends were right. I needed to turn off my phone and not look at it again until the start of next week.
Hazel lifted a dark brow in my direction as we crossed over onto Avenue B. “You going to answer that?”
“No,” I answered, my voice grimmer than I intended.
“Girlfriend?”
I glanced over at her as she blinked innocently, peering at me from behind those impossibly long eyelashes. I almost laughed out loud at her not-so-subtle attempt to figure out my dating status.
Instead, I shook my head slowly. “No… no girlfriend.”
“Fiancé, then?”
I snorted a response…I couldn’t help it. It was my knee-jerk reaction when I heard someone mention marriage or weddings of any kind. “Hardly,” I replied. “Not sure I’ll ever be engaged again… and if I do, it’d better be a long engagement. I want to know I can trust her.”
Hazel’s brows creased. “You would propose to someone you didn’t trust?”
“No,” I grunted as the phone stopped ringing, finally. “But I’m not making the same mistake twice.”
She gave a low whistle and shook her head. “Wow, and I thought I had trust issues. Whoever she is, she did a number on you,” Hazel tapped her pain
ted fingernail to my phone screen.
I paused, turning to face Hazel, because I wanted one thing to be crystal clear. “If I had someone waiting at home for me, I wouldn’t be out drinking with a beautiful woman.”
She blinked, holding my gaze, locking me into a stare down with her as the warm light of the streetlamps made her skin glow in the twilight. Did she have any idea what she did to me? That those gorgeous eyes, the color of the sky just after sunset, and her pouty pink lips made my pulse pound in a way that might make a doctor think I was on the verge of a heart attack?
Once more the phone buzzed in my palm, interrupting our moment. This time, it was alerting me to a new voice message. “Okay, then,” Hazel said. “If it’s not a fiancé, or girlfriend… who keeps calling you? An ex-girlfriend?” She grinned playfully and I was pretty sure Hazel Moon is the only person in the world I would let push my buttons like this, even about such a touchy subject. No matter what the conversation, I didn’t want it to stop. I just wanted the night to continue.
“Worse,” I said. “A student.” Her gaze darkened, her mouth hardening. “One of your classmates, actually,” I added, clarifying. “Probably pissed about the cast list.” My mouth went dry when I brought it up. I didn’t want to be the one to bring it up. I wanted her to mention it to me. But she hadn’t. Surely, she had seen the cast list by now, right?
“The cast list?” she repeated. “It’s up?”
Or maybe not. “You didn’t see it yet?” I asked on a sharp inhale. Maybe my wish would come true. Maybe I’d get to see her reaction after all.
She shook her head. “Not yet, no…” she answered carefully. “I was… after waiting all week, I figured it wouldn’t be up until tomorrow.”
I shrugged, shoving my hands deep into my pockets to stop myself from doing something stupid like linking my fingers with hers. “I figured Clay and I kept you all waiting long enough. I posted it to the chat board a couple hours ago.”
I watched as she looked up at the moon, glowing bright against the darkening sky. Her fingers clutched her phone tighter and she turned it over, looking at its dark screen before dropping it down by her side once more.
Directing You Page 7
