As Nicola followed Max up the stairs, she kept flicking her gaze back and forth between his broad shoulders and taut ass. She swallowed, her stomach all shivery. We had sex today. The thought was odd, chilling. The day had been so long, taken such an odd turn, their earlier interlude together seemed far off now. But I'm sleeping in his house tonight. His bed must be close by –
"Nicola?"
"What?" She blinked. "Oh. Yeah. Yes to the washer. Can I borrow something to sleep in?"
Max blinked once. Very slowly. Then he shook himself. "Sure. Shirt and boxers OK?"
"They always were before."
A muscle next to his eye ticked.
She flinched. Right. Perfect time to remind him of that.
But then Max grinned. "You ever planning to give me my Caltech t-shirt back?"
"Ha!" She set her hands on her hips. "Are you ever going to give me back my New York panties?"
"Nope. I have fond memories attached to those."
Me too. Her throat prickled. She'd worn them the first time they'd made love, and then, in a silly, loving mood, she'd gifted them to Max as a remembrance of the night.
"Do you remember that warm-up tongue twister we used to do before R&J rehearsals?" he said and wiggled his eyebrows.
Nicola soft-punched his arm. "Yes. You dick."
Max sing-songed the tongue twister back to her, "'You know New York, you need New York. You know you need unique New York.'"
"Bastard." Nicola choked on a bubble of laughter. Max used to make excessive eye contact with her during warm-up, only the two of them understanding the private joke attached to "New York." After their first night together that particular tongue twister had never failed to make her break out in giggles.
"And what happened to my underwear today, panty thief?" As soon as the words were out of her mouth she wanted to call them back. Did she really need to remind him they'd slept together a few hours ago?
"I'll get those back to you soon." Max slowed in front of a closed door. His eyes were heavy-lidded, his voice rough as he swung the bedroom door open. "This'll be your room tonight."
Suddenly, that afternoon felt incredibly near, immediate, like she'd been kissing him, loving him only a second ago. "Max – "
His phone jangled, loud and discordant. Max fumbled the cell free of his pocket, glanced at the screen, then swore.
"Who is it?"
"Peter."
"Oh." Peter probably hates me, Nicola realized. And that was fair. If she had a sibling they would hate Max. Still, the thought was depressing. When she was with Max it was so easy to let herself forget why they were apart, what they had been through.
But sex, or any physical intimacy, was too dangerous with Max. No matter how great a fuck he was. Better to go downstairs and attack Lachlan if she was that desperate for a man.
She glanced at Max as he denied the call and typed a text to his brother instead. Her throat tickled, a lump forming there as she admired the man he had become, his handsome face, his amazing physique, the warm summer blue of his eyes. She padded into the bedroom.
Gazing around, she stood there blinking, feeling like she'd been teleported into a bed and breakfast. The wallpaper was a jolly yellow stripe and the room had a small window with red and green plaid curtains. The bed had a swirling wooden frame with a red and gold floral comforter as well as a profusion of matching throw pillows. It looked a bit like the bed was vomiting up throw pillows actually.
The room was cheery but narrow – the queen sized bed nearly filled it up – but the room had its own small bathroom and a closet. Peter had to be making mega-bucks to have bought this place and not even live there.
Max shoved his phone into his pocket. He breathed deeply once, in through his nose then out through his lips.
Nicola retreated toward the bed, folding back the covers, tossing the throw pillows on to the room's window seat. "Max, why were you so quiet about Judith?"
"What?"
"In the car and before. You've been weird since Isabelle announced Judith was taking over Midsummer. Aren't you happy? If this is giving Lachlan more chances to suck up then it's giving you the same chances too."
His feet shushed across the carpet as he moved toward her.
She cocked her head to the side as she studied his frowning face. "I know why I'm scared to work with her, but why are you?"
"I don't know," he murmured. "There's something off about Judith. I can't quite . . . Well, it's been a bitch of a day."
"Understatement."
"But it wasn't all bad, was it?"
She wet her lips. "No."
He ran his palm over her arm. "You better go to sleep."
"Right."
The corners of his eyes tightened with amusement. "Don't kiss me."
"I wasn't going to." She eased onto her tiptoes, tilting toward his mouth.
"Liar," he whispered, his lips brushing against hers.
"Hey, Nic, I got some PJs for you." Tierney banged into the room, knocking the door against the wall. "Do you sleep on the right or the left – oh."
Max and Nicola sprang apart. Not fast enough, apparently. Or maybe too fast.
Tierney sauntered into the room, violet and green hair pinned up, wearing a long pair of men's flannel pants and an oversized Eton College Fencing Team t-shirt. One of her winged black eyebrows was cocked. "Sorry, did I interrupt?"
"Shut up, Tierney," Max muttered.
Tierney pulled up the covers, hopping into the plush bed with a Cheshire cat smirk firmly in place.
Nicola's face flamed hot, and she whirled away. "Laundry, Max?"
"Right." Max fluffed his fingers through his hair. "That way. Through the hall, behind the double doors. Well. Good night . . . everyone. Let me know if you need help with the wash, Nic." He shut the door behind himself.
As soon as the door clicked close, Nicola fell face first into her pillow. "Don't say anything. Please, Tierney?"
Tierney scrunched down deeper under the covers. "I didn't see nuthin'."
"Thank you."
"You know Judith O'Fallon is trying to bone Max, don't you?"
Terrific. Nicola sighed. "I had my suspicions."
"Well," Tierney's voice quavered with suppressed laughter, "no matter what, tomorrow is going to be an interesting day."
***
As he reached his own bedroom, Max's phone rang again. After a glance at the screen, he answered it, "Verpiss dich, Arschloch."
"Warum redest du auf Deutsch?" Peter said.
"Because the sentiment isn't forceful enough in English," Max snarled, switching back from German. "Why are you calling me at – " He glanced at the hallway clock. " – eleven? Don't they give you enough movie star shit to do in Montreal?"
"Vancouver. We wrapped filming for the night, and I had an urge to check on you. How are things? How's Nicola?"
"Who told you I was with Nicola tonight? Was it Tierney? I didn't think she had your number." A resonant snore sounded from next door. Max glared at the wall and remembered Lachlan had Peter's phone number. They were drinking buddies when Peter was in town. Max growled. "It was the British prick, wasn't it?"
"What makes you think I'm calling about Nicola?"
"Because you're cock-blocking me. This phone call: pure cock-blocking."
"Lachlan thought he had a good shot with her the other night," Peter said. "Then you showed up. Sounds like I'm not the only one doing some cock-blocking."
"Lachlan never had a shot with Nicola." I think.
"So he was imagining things? Because you remember our deal, right? No Nicola."
Max wet his lips. If the movie star thing ever fell through Peter could get good work as a meddling Jewish mother. So Peter did not need to know what had happened that afternoon between Max and Nicola. At all. Ever.
I wonder if I can get my hands on Lach's phone and delete Pete's number. Max assumed a belligerent tone. "Lachlan was drunk off his ass the other night, Peter. I wouldn't believe everything he says."
"Right." Peter didn't sound convinced. "But still: no Nicola for you. No kissing. Nothing."
"I will not be kissing Nicola anytime soon, Petey." Never mind Max had been about two seconds away from kissing her in the bedroom. "Cross my heart. Now get off the damn phone. I want to go to sleep."
"No kissing?"
"Do I give you shit about your love life? No kissing, all right?"
A long pause ensued then Peter said, with a frightening heartiness, "Hey, I might be coming home soon for a visit. I wrap filming in a few days, and I have a break between projects."
"Can't wait."
"And, remember, if you lie to me I get to punch you in the face. Gute Nacht, kleiner Bruder."
"Gute Nacht, Arschloch." Max hung up and stared at his phone for several long, despairing minutes. Peter coming for a visit right as Max was trying to work through things with Nicola?
"Scheisse." He fell face down on his bed, fighting to go to sleep. And fighting equally hard not to think about Nicola lying only two rooms away.
Chapter Fourteen
The next day dawned sunny and warm, the California spring having made an early retreat. The weather forecast said temps would hit the nineties by the weekend. Still, as Nicola sat in the audience chairs of the outdoor theater, it wasn't the rising temperature that made her sweat.
Judith O'Fallon appeared cool and calm as she addressed the Midsummer cast from the stage. A sort of Patrician serenity emanated from her, reminiscent of a marble statue. Her long, sleeveless gray maxi-dress and heavy gold jewelry contributed to this impression.
"I want to say before we start today," Judith began, "how happy I am to be working with all of you, even though the circumstances are problematic. I know we are all sending our best wishes to Rita, but I also know she wants us to put on the best damn Midsummer production we can. That's my goal, and I want to say that I will be executing Rita's vision of the play. This isn't my Midsummer, it's hers. So let's all make it a good one, eh?"
"That was fairly rousing," Nicola muttered to Lachlan as they sat together in the audience.
"It's no 'Once more unto the breech' but it'll serve its purpose, I think," Lachlan replied.
Judith reclaimed their attention. "I want to work today in blocks, to get a sense of the individual arcs for each set of characters. Can we start with the fairies, please? Going from Puck's first entrance."
"Come on, darling," Lachlan said. "That is literally my cue." He pushed to his feet and strutted onstage. Nicola trailed reluctantly after him.
Judith had been hyper critical of her performance during their "working sessions." What would happen with Judith running the whole show? It was too late to recast Titania.
Isn't it? Nicola swallowed.
***
"No I'm sorry, Nicola, but just I wouldn't go up with the intonation on that line. If you're going to ignore the verse, my dear, at least do it on purpose. . . "
"Nicola, no! You're playing the general emotion of the speech. Go deeper, more specific. Use the language . . . "
"No, try something different there . . . "
"No, I think that choice is wrong . . . "
"No, that doesn't work . . . "
"No, do something . . . "
"No . . . "
And no. And no. Nicola's performance was one big NO to Judith. Everything was wrong, every acting choice, every word. Nicola was going to have nightmares about this rehearsal with Judith's crisp, cool 'No's' ringing in her head like blows. Nicola had moved from performing to simply surviving. Shaky, off-balance, she crossed toward Max to deliver her next line, "'But she being mortal of that boy did die – '"
"No," Judith cut her off. Again. "You're over-playing the emotion here. With Shakespeare, the language can be used to convey the emotions better than all your crying and weeping can. Use the text. Start again." Judith thumped back in her seat, a disgruntled expression on her face.
Nicola's stomach quivered with nerves. Her hands trembled as she opened her mouth to start.
"I'm sorry, Judith," the stage manager said. "We need to take at least a ten. The union."
Judith made an impatient noise then flipped her hand. "All right. See everybody in ten."
Nicola seized her chance and bolted offstage, but instead of heading into the green room, she climbed into the "forest" behind the stage. She found a shady, screened spot behind a row of small trees. Wanting some privacy for her nervous collapse, she thought she might as well have a pretty view in the meantime.
Why did I take this part? She fell to her butt in the cool dust and drew her knees up, hugging her legs.
"Nicola."
She shaded her eyes and glanced at Max. Her gut fired with irritation. She'd promised Max a talk, but one emotional wound for the day was enough. Still, she did owe it to him. With a sigh, she said, "OK, Max, I know we need to have The Talk. We need to discuss things – "
"Fuck the Talk. Nicci, are you OK?"
"What?"
"I don't know what's wrong with Judith," he said. "She shouldn't talk to you that way. Rita loved what you're doing with Titania. So do I."
Nicola puffed out a laugh and patted the dirt next to her. "Cop a squat, friend." The trees had shaded her cranny, and the air blew at least ten degrees cooler than in the pouring sunlight where Max stood.
He dropped next to her, his broad shoulders rubbing against hers as he squeezed into the remaining smidgeon of shade. He bumped her with his elbow. "Well?"
"Well?"
"Are you OK?"
She hugged her bent legs, and rested her cheek on one knee to stare sideways at him. "Judith's right. I don't know how to deal with the verse. It's been years since grad school and I'm out of practice. Musical theater is all about the emotions. I don't know how to do this cerebral, underplaying stuff."
"You're overcomplicating things. And Judith isn't helping."
"Lachlan either."
"You asked Lachlan for help?" Max tried, and failed, to hide his bruised ego.
"He's talented and British. It seemed like a winning combination for Shakespeare."
"Lach is talented and classically trained, but he's not patient."
She grimaced in memory. "I noticed that."
"Let's do this in pieces, all right?" Max shifted to face her, crouching beside her with his hands on his knees, as if he were about to launch into some back-breaking dirty work. "We'll split the part into manageable chunks. What's giving you the most trouble?"
Nicola pressed her spine against the trunk of her tree and squeezed her eyes closed in frustration. "All of it. I thought I knew how to do this, but Judith – "
"Step by step, Nic." His voice was low, calm. "Start with one scene, one speech."
"'Forgeries of jealousy.'"
"OK. First of all: fuck the verse."
Nicola laughed, and small cracks started forming in the block of tension inside her.
Max continued, "Yes, you want to be aware of the verse in rehearsal, work on it there, but then you need to internalize the rhythm. You don't worry about the verse at all in performance. You get it inside you then you throw it away."
"Am I doing that?"
"I think you're doing it more than Judith is giving you credit for. And I think at this point Judith is more hung up on the verse than she needs to be."
The sun filtering through the leaves gilded his hair, turning the straw color to a beautiful gold. She laughed and he glanced over at her, his eyes bright blue, and he raised one eyebrow in question.
"You're different," she told him. This was, she realized, a truth which had been building inside her for weeks. Something about sitting with Max in this quiet corner of the theater under the trees had hammered the point home. She could never imagine the younger Max taking time to sit thoughtfully and parse a speech, figure things out. He'd always jumped in headfirst and pulled her along behind him, and they'd usually both ended up smashed on the pavement.
"Different?" he said.
"More meth
odical. Thoughtful. Careful." She frowned, thinking. "Centered." Yes, exactly that. Old Max had seemed to careen along off-balance, out of tune, but now he'd grown into himself. He knew who he was, what he wanted, how to get it.
Max gave a small, bitter laugh. "I was a thoughtless, careless, selfish bastard before. It wouldn't take much to make an improvement on that."
"You weren't."
"Thoughtless, careless, or selfish?" He laughed, trying to make it into a joke, but his eyes were bleak.
"A bastard. You did love me. I know you did. And I know I hurt you too."
He studied her for one long heartbeat before he glanced away. "Why did we break up?"
"You know why," she said.
"I think I know why. Give me your perspective."
She smoothed her clammy palms over her knees. "You partied so much. Your drinking. The smoking. The fighting. I thought you were gonna get yourself killed." She sucked in a deep breath then let it out, staring through the screen of trees. "And . . . "
The stage was barely visible, a few wooden boards glimpsed between two tree trunks. How easy to pretend they were alone. They had been transported to some magical fairyland where it was only the two of them. And if you can't tell the truth in fairyland . . .
"I didn't trust you," she murmured. "I held on to you so tight because I was scared you'd leave me. Cheat on me. Like my dad did to my mom."
"I'd never have done that." He grabbed her wrist, and leaned over to see her face. "I would never have done that to you."
She stared into his eyes. "I know that. I do. This was all me. I was so sure you'd break my heart somehow, but I thought I could hold the crash off if I kept you in my sight, kept you away from other people." She raked her fingers into her hair, loosening her ponytail. Her stomach was in about six different knots right now. "I got so scared after Dad split. I thought it was a matter of time before you wanted out too. So I smothered you instead."
He reached up, smoothing his hand through her hair. He tucked a strand behind her ear. "You rarely smothered me. And I put you through a lot of shit too. I don't know why you even wanted me. I was such a fuck up."
A Midsummer Night's Fling (Stage Kiss Series Book 1) Page 15
