by Witt, L. A.
Swallowing hard, he focused on the screen again. Focused his eyes, anyway. His mind was having no part of it.
Of course he’d had thoughts about Levi since the first time he’d seen him as Chad Eastwick on the big screen. And of course he’d fantasized about him after they’d met. But now that the article was out there, now that they’d had a conversation that skirted the laughably hypothetical possibility of them hooking up and all the reasons that would be a disaster, he couldn’t get it out of his head. As if the conversation had been some sort of incantation that made a fantasy into something nearly tangible that just needed a little nudge to become real. It was like his mom telling him to stay out of the package of cookies she’d put in the top shelf of the pantry when he was a kid. It hadn’t seriously occurred to him, but now that someone had mentioned it . . .
Levi hadn’t come out and admitted to being gay. For all Carter knew, Levi’s silence on his history with Anna meant there was a history there. And even if he was gay, there was no guarantee he found Carter the least bit attractive.
But that sure didn’t stop Carter from wishing.
Chapter 9
If there was one thing Levi had learned after directing half a dozen shows at the playhouse, it was that rehearsal times were more of a suggestion than anything. The people involved had jobs and families, not to mention inevitable snafus like malfunctioning cars and late ferries.
So it didn’t really surprise him when Wednesday’s rehearsal, originally scheduled for six thirty, started at quarter past eight. Between Marti’s late babysitter, Jennifer getting stuck in traffic on the way back from Port Angeles, and Shannon’s shift running two hours over, just getting everyone into the theater had become a comedy of errors.
Normally, he didn’t bat an eye. He was probably the only member of the company who wasn’t on a schedule, so he was usually patient with those who were.
Lately, though? Not so much.
For the past week and a half, he and Carter had been burning the midnight oil watching the kinds of films no one else ever wanted to watch. Old, obscure, weird—anything. Tonight, they were supposed to meet up again, but that didn’t look promising. As the actors for the next scene gathered onstage, Levi glanced at his watch. Shit. Well after nine, and they still hadn’t run through the last two scenes of act three. And considering how shaky that scene had been the last few rehearsals, they couldn’t afford to skip it tonight.
Which meant they were going to run well past their usual time. Which meant there was no way he and Carter would make it back to his place before it was too late to watch even a short film.
Heart sinking, he texted Carter:
Doesn’t look like I’m getting out of here on time.
Damn. He hadn’t even realized how much he’d been looking forward to their movie nights. It had been ages since he’d known someone who appreciated film the way he did. Someone who loved nothing more than chilling with the cats and a Coke in front of a black and white with subtitles.
Another night, though.
He was just about to put his phone in his pocket when it buzzed.
No problem. A moment later, Prob. no time for a movie, but I can meet you there.
He eyed the message. Then, Your call. We should be done by 10ish.
Almost immediately, Carter wrote back, See you soon.
Levi smiled as he pocketed his phone. Maybe they wouldn’t have time for a movie tonight, but at least he’d get to see Carter.
And why the hell did that make him feel like he was in high school again? He could barely keep himself from grinning. Of course he knew damn well where the feelings came from, just like he knew damn well why he hadn’t been able to sleep after Carter had left last night. Or the night before. Or the night before that. He couldn’t act on it, though, so no one else—least of all Carter—needed to know.
If there was anything that could take his mind off Carter and this giddy feeling, it was a stage full of actors who still couldn’t quite grasp their scene. He was as patient as possible—they were in this for fun, and it wasn’t Broadway, for God’s sake—but there were moments where he could empathize with a few directors he’d worked with in the past. He’d always thought Leo Tate was batshit crazy and had a hair-trigger temper, but tonight, he was beginning to understand why the man had thrown his notes in the air and stormed out of the auditorium once or twice a week. The mental image made him laugh, which relieved enough of the frustration to keep him calm and collected.
And he had to give them credit. They really were busting their asses to get it right, and though opening night was creeping up fast, he had complete faith they could get this thing together in time. If they were able to work out all the bugs of that insane adaptation of Guys and Dolls last winter, this would be cake.
At a little past ten, he was satisfied enough with the scenes from the third act and called it a night. As the cast gathered their things to leave, he went backstage to check in with the crew, who were still struggling with the sets in between trying to either upgrade or completely avoid the playhouse’s aging pulley system.
As Levi flipped through some bids for an upgrade, Jack said, “The only companies we can get in here to do the work before opening night are Seattle based.”
Levi shrugged. “If we have to pay more, then—”
“It’s not budget that’s an issue. The Seattle companies are all three-plus hours from here. If the system fails right before a show, we’ll never get it fixed in time.”
“Damn.” Levi scowled. “Well, we’ll get it done before the next play, but for this one, we might have to do without.”
Jack grimaced. “With that many set changes?”
“I’m afraid so.” Levi glanced over the bids again, then handed them back. “I know it’s short notice, but I’m thinking we might want to rethink the entire set. Go for something minimalist.” He pointed at the rigging and catwalks high above their heads. “The new lighting equipment is functional and versatile, so maybe we can use that to our advantage.”
Jack looked up, pursing his lips. “I can talk to the lighting tech.” Meeting Levi’s gaze again, he added, “You’re the director, though. You tell me what you want on the stage, and we’ll make it happen.”
“I will. I’ll have notes for you tomorrow night.”
“Sounds good.”
Levi picked up a clipboard with the notes for the current set design. “Opening night is in three weeks. Ideally, I’d like the stage completely ready to go within ten days. That gives us time to make any changes in case we have problems.” Levi tucked the clipboard under his arm. “Any reason we won’t be able to pull this off?”
“Not if we keep it as basic as the last few shows,” Jack said. “Get us the details soon so there’s time to get what we need, and we’ve got this.”
“Perfect. You and your guys can go ahead and call it a night. I’ll get started making notes for the new design.”
“All right. G’night, boss.”
“G’night.”
The backstage area quickly cleared out. Levi wanted to follow them, especially since every minute he spent here was one less he could spend with Carter. But with the prospect of overhauling the set in too little time, he couldn’t justify bailing quite yet. Maybe just a few notes to get Jack started, and then he could leave.
He was about to text Carter and beg for another twenty minutes as he stepped onto the stage. As he thumbed the message, he glanced at the rows of plush red seats. They were all empty except one, and when his gaze landed on it, his heart jumped.
“Carter.” He slid his phone back into his pocket. “Sorry about that. We ran even further over than I thought we would.”
“It’s fine.” Carter stood and came down the aisle toward the stage. “We were shooting late anyway. I just got here myself.”
“Shooting late again?”
“Shooting late always.”
Levi grimaced sympathetically. “Well, give me another ten or fifteen minutes tops to
make some notes about the set, and I’m all yours.”
Something flickered across Carter’s expression, but then it was gone, and he coughed quietly. “Don’t worry about it.”
“There’s probably not much point in going back to my place this evening.” He sighed. “By the time we get there, it’ll be pushing midnight.”
“Damn.” Carter gestured over his shoulder toward the lobby. “Well, there’s a couple of places in town that are open late. If you want to grab a drink or some coffee . . .”
Levi tried his damnedest not to look surprised at the invite. No sense pointing out to Carter that a late-night cup of coffee was dangerously close to an excuse to spend time together, which was dangerously close to—
He cleared his throat. “Sure. Yeah. I, uh . . .” He waved a hand at the sets behind him. “Like I said, I need to wrap up a few things here. Won’t take long.”
Carter smiled. “I can wait.”
“Great, thanks.”
Before Levi could turn around to inspect the sets that needed to be finished in the next several days, Carter said, “Like being up onstage, eh?”
Levi chuckled. “Can’t say I mind it. You ever do live theater?”
“Of course. It’s just been a while.” He sighed. “Only time I get near a stage anymore is at Comic-Con and award shows.”
Levi hesitated, then leaned down and extended his hand. “Come on up.”
“Really?”
“Sure.” He beckoned. “Tell me there isn’t something addictive about being onstage even when there’s no one around.”
Carter regarded the offered hand for a moment, then clasped his around Levi’s forearm. Levi pulled him up onto the stage, and suddenly . . . Jesus.
They were face-to-face. Bright, hot lights illuminated every gorgeous detail of Carter’s features. He still had a few traces of makeup on, including the faintest smudges of what must’ve been one hell of a black eye and maybe a battered cheekbone. The color didn’t look quite so menacing now, less like an injury and more like subtle shadowing that brought out the blue in his eyes like whoa.
And neither of them had released the other’s arm.
Carter seemed to realize that in the same instant Levi did, and they both jerked back as if that lingering point of contact might suddenly turn into a live wire. The boards creaked under their feet, echoing through the empty theater, as they put a few extra inches of space between them.
“So, you’re—” Carter looked around the auditorium, as if searching for a topic of conversation, his cheeks probably hot as hell if the color was any indication. “Do you ever act here? Or just direct?”
“Mostly just direct. I’ve been in a few, but . . .”
Carter turned to him. “I thought you missed it.”
“I do. And I’ve wanted to act more, but—” Levi glanced down at his clipboard just for a reason to break eye contact. “There’s, uh, there’s no way to say it without sounding like an egotistical asshole, but I don’t want the productions here to be about me. It’s not a big secret that I direct and sometimes produce, but I don’t let them put my name on the marquee. The cast and crew work their asses off, and I want people coming here because of them.” He cringed. “That does sound conceited, doesn’t it?”
Carter waved a hand. “Nah, I know what you mean.”
“And it’s hard to find directors. We had a really sharp one for a while, but he moved to Seattle, and no one else wants to do it.” He paused. “Well, no one who has the first clue about theater, anyway.”
“Seems like they’re in good hands now.”
Levi laughed softly. “You haven’t seen me direct.”
Carter smiled and nodded toward the seats. “Actually, I have.”
“Oh.” Levi felt himself blush, and he didn’t even know why. “I didn’t realize you were back there.”
“That was kind of the idea. I didn’t want to interrupt your rehearsal.”
“Oh. Uh, thanks.”
Their eyes locked for a second, and this time it was Levi who broke away with a cough and a desperate attempt at conversation. “Anyhow. We have to gut the set and redo it before opening night, so I just need to make some notes for the crew.”
“Gut it?” Carter turned, gaze sweeping over the partially built sets. “This looks pretty good as is.”
“It looks great.” Levi sighed, shaking his head. “But the equipment under and over the stage is old. It’s screwing up the set changes between scenes.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yep. Comes with the territory when you’re using an old-ass theater.”
“I guess it does.”
Levi rested his clipboard on his arm and faced the sets. “They almost tore this place down a few years ago because it had fallen into disrepair, but we’ve been trying to update it. Only problem is, the pulley system and the hydraulics for moving larger equipment are fucked up. They could theoretically work for one or two more seasons, but it’s not safe, so we’re either replacing it or not using it.”
“Good idea.”
Gazing at the half-painted kitchen interior, Levi sighed. “So now we’re trying to think of a minimalist idea that conveys the setting without having to rebuild the whole fucking theater.”
Carter’s eyes flicked up, then scanned the stage. “What kind of setting is it?”
“Mostly house interiors and a couple of exterior scenes on a city street.” Levi glared at the half-built set. “Incredibly simple, really, but with the equipment malfunctioning . . .”
“Why not just use silhouettes?” Carter pointed at the overhead lights. “Wouldn’t take much to imply the shape of a building on the back wall.”
“That . . .” Levi blinked. “Goddamn. That might actually work.”
Carter smiled. “I’ve worked on a production that used that method. If you need a hand with it, let me know.”
The thought of having Carter here, even as a stagehand, made Levi’s heart thump. He could barely stomach the idea of his parents coming to watch the play. With Carter in the same building, he’d be lucky if he knew which way was up.
“I, uh. Thanks. My guys can probably handle it, but if it’s . . .” Words. Say words. He cleared his throat. “I’ll keep it in mind. Thanks. Again.”
Carter nodded, seemingly unfazed by Levi stumbling over the English language. “Don’t mention it. My schedule’s a little crazy with shooting, but I’m happy to help if I can.”
“Great. Good to know.” Levi tried to go through the various sets in his mind, mentally cutting out the silhouettes they’d need, but who was he kidding? His concentration was shot. Had been since the second he’d realized Carter was here.
He had all day tomorrow to figure this crap out, so he jotted a quick note on his clipboard. “Okay. I think I’m just about ready to get out of here. Let me leave these where the crew will find them.” He headed toward the front and center of the stage, where he and Jack often left each other notes and information.
Behind him, Carter said, “So, uh, there’s another article making the rounds on the set.”
“Another—” Levi froze. He swallowed as he laid the clipboard on the lip of the stage. “What are they saying?”
Carter rolled his eyes. “Someone saw me having lunch with Hunter Easton the other day, and they spent half the article speculating about what you thought of me hanging around with him.”
“Seriously? They spot us walking together once, and suddenly I’m Mr. Territorial Boyfriend?”
“You know how it is.” Carter shrugged. “If you’re snapped in the same frame, you might as well be engaged.”
“Yeah, that sounds about right. So what is everyone on the set saying about it?”
“Eh, just gossip.” Carter waved a hand and laughed, though it sounded forced. “I mean, people can talk all they want. Two guys can be friends, right? Even if one’s gay?”
“Of course. Why not?”
Carter studied him for a moment. “Only one of us is gay, right?”
Levi froze. Standing there, center stage and under the hot lamps, where only one person in the universe could see him, he had never felt so out in the open. It wasn’t just the overhead glare heating his skin right then. The whole world had sometimes stared into the fishbowl Hollywood had dropped him in, but he’d been able to shut them out. Carter’s gentle scrutiny was inescapable.
“Uh . . .”
“You don’t have to answer.” Carter offered a reassuring smile. “I mean, I’m curious, but . . .”
Out of habit, Levi normally would’ve looked around, making absolutely sure there was no one else here except for them, but he couldn’t pull his gaze away from Carter. He didn’t want to, no matter how damning this relentless eye contact might be.
A board creaked under Carter’s foot. The space between them narrowed. Levi needed to move closer as much as he needed to retreat, and both canceled each other out, freezing him in place.
“I’m sorry,” Carter said softly. “I didn’t mean to put you on the spot. I’m just . . .”
“Curious.”
Carter nodded.
“Well, I guess with the rumors circulating”—Levi finally broke eye contact—“it wouldn’t be right for me to let you get blindsided.”
“Blindsided?”
Levi took a breath. “If it ever comes out . . . so to speak . . .” His throat constricted. He’d avoided the words for so damned long, his stomach threatened to revolt at the prospect of finally saying them.
Carter came closer. Levi didn’t look at him, but he could feel him there, entirely too close to him on the lip of the stage, under the same hot lights that were bringing sweat to Levi’s hairline. “Your secret’s safe with me.”
Levi lifted his gaze. He wanted to say “I haven’t said a thing” or play stupid with “what secret?” but Carter’s eyes stopped him in his tracks, and he didn’t know a single straight man who would’ve stared back at Carter like this for five . . . six . . . seven seconds.
Carter swept his tongue across his lips, startling the fuck out of Levi. Before he could berate himself for being so jumpy, Carter blurted out, “Would it be weird if I admitted I’ve had a crush on you since I first saw Tin Horse?”
