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Christian
It’s dark by the time I get home and even though I opted for water instead of alcohol while I was out, the headache behind my eyes is intense. It’s been a long, tiring week, but even with the headache, even with the ache in my muscles, I’m fuckinghappy.
While I’m so much more confident on stage than off, it’s not often I make it through an entire performance seamlessly, but today was like magic. Feeling competent always catches me by surprise, which is why I love performing so much. I have time to practice the moves, over and over, until they become muscle memory and I can switch off my brain.
If I don’t think through my next step, I’m going to end up on the floor, but performing takes that uncertainty away. I always know what my next step will be. The music, the costumes, the makeup … it’s like I’m someone else.
Plus, the swell of applause from the crowd never gets old. My cheeks hurt from how hard I’ve been smiling.
One day I’d love to book a talking role—I’m not leading guy material—but I remind myself it’s baby steps. This is the firsttime I’ve ever been on stage for a show as large as this, before now, all my experience has been small, local productions and a few understudy roles. This is big for me, and I’m trying to drink in as much of the atmosphere as possible in case this never happens again. I’m still not convinced it wasn’t a complete fluke. Or a mistake.
Every good thing in my life always comes with that undercurrent ofwhen will it end?I’m always waiting, always preparing myself for the inevitable decline. I’ve been on this cycle for my entire life, every good moment is followed by a crash. Some small, like not booking a job I’d thought I’d nailed the audition for, and some large, like my family kicking me out. I’d been naive to think they’d be accepting in the first place, but I’d never thought they’d go that far.
I shake off the melancholy and remind myself that this is what I’ve been working toward, and while it’s here, I’m allowed to enjoy it. If the rest of our performances are like this week was, I swear I’ll never come down from this high. We might not be selling out the theatre, but the people who have come to see it have enjoyed themselves. It’s the visibility that’s a bitch. There’s only so much marketing that can compete with the big productions.
It’ll be sad to go back to the monotony of real life, but at the moment I’m so far removed from that it’s hard to remember. Besides, I’m not sure how soon that’s going to happen when I have Émile and his crazy plan to return to.
I jog up onto our shadowy front porch, and almost jump out of my skin when someone moves in the dark.
“Umm, surprise?”
The familiar British accent has a smile splitting my face. “What are you doing here?”
Émile doesn’t answer at first, just takes a step closer so I can make out his face in the light coming from the dining room. His eyebrows are knotted, lines around his eyes tense.
“What’s wrong?” he asks. “Don’t you want to see me?”
“Of course, but we’re meeting up tomorrow.”
Apparently that isn’t the right thing to say because the curl at his lips drops. “I should have waited. My apologies.”
“Yourapologies?” I laugh at how stiff he sounds and catch him around the waist before he can run off. It’s not until I tug him against me and meet his wary eyes again that the most ridiculous and amazing thought hits me. “You didn’t miss me, did you?”
“Don’t be absurd. How on earth could I miss someone I’m planning to marry who looks adorable crashing into cakes and sexy when he gropes my cousin and then blows me off for an entire week because he haspassionsthat he wants to follow?”
I’m smiling as I nod. “He sounds like a total asshole.”
“Complete and utter twat. Who I maybe missed. Just a little, of course.”
“Of course.” My chest feels like it grows too big, warmth surging through my limbs and pooling in my fingers. “Maybe … maybe the twat missed you a bit too.”
His smile trembles back to life and mine is still out of control. I wish I could avoid those thoughts and the way they tumble out of my mouth becauseI’mthe one who set the damn rules between us. For good reason.
If it was up to him, we probably would have had a repeat by now. Maybe a lot of them. But he’s not the one who pressed himself up against me. He’s not the one desperate to feel his hair. Hungry for the feel of his tongue against mine.
My large inhale is filled with his sharp, crisp cologne, and it’s a real effort to take a step back from him.
I slip my hand into his, my fingers slotting perfectly between his fingers, and then I tug him toward the door.
“Well, you’re here now. Might as well stay over.”
“Only if you insist.”
I shake my finger at him. “But no funny business.”
“Agreed.” He drops his voice as we step inside. “But I suppose I should tell you there’s nothing funny about you naked and on your knees.”
I half laugh, half sob as I drop my head back. “Fuck, you’re making this hard.”
