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I sucked in a breath and felt Dawson’s fingers tighten on the sides of my face. “You and me later,” he said in a promisingly low voice, but it was enough for the microphones to pick up. The audience roared, and my face flared with heat. When he let me go, I almost stumbled back, but he grabbed my wrist and pulled me to my spot at the table.
The rest of the show passed in a blink. When it came time to take our bows, I barely remembered to step forward hand in hand with him the way our director had indicated to take advantage of our newfound fame as the kissing couple. The crowd stood and whistled when we bowed together, and I was grateful for Dawson’s strong grip in mine.
It was surreal. Being celebrated onstage was always exciting, but doing it while holding Dawson’s hand was ten times better. When we walked offstage, he turned and gave me a big hug before joining in the usual celebration backstage after a particularly good show.
After everyone cleaned off makeup and changed into comfortable clothes for the interval between shows, we gathered in the green room, where someone had laid out platters of sub sandwiches, chips, and fruit. Early on in my theater career, I’d thought it was a sweet gesture from show management, but I’d quickly learned it was their way of keeping you inside the theater and ready for the evening call time.
Either way, we tended to enjoy it with plenty of gossip and games depending on what kind of mood the cast and crew were in on double-show nights.
Tonight, John had already pulled out one of our favorite games we’d dubbed, “How good of an actor are you?” It was a giant velvet bag full of cards with silly prompts on them. People took turns answering a prompt by telling the truth or acting. The rest of us had to guess if it was real or not. It was like a chaotic version of two truths and a lie.
“I say our lovebirds have to go first,” John said, shoving the bag at Dawson’s chest. “Here ya go, Lucky. How good of an actor are you?”
Dawson smiled good-naturedly and pulled out a card. “Craziest place you ever did it,” he read with a sigh. The room filled with hoots and laughter. Thankfully, Dawson didn’t make eye contact with me because I might have turned even redder than I already was.
“Craziest place I ever did it,” he murmured while thinking. Someone in the room joked that there must have been so many of them, it was hard to choose. “Nah,” Dawson said after a moment. “Just the one. The broadcasting booth at my high school stadium during the championship game.”
Letty laughed. “Acting. He’s acting. No way that kid did it somewhere he might accidentally moon everyone.”
Dawson laughed and shook his head. “Not acting. It’s true.”
John’s mouth opened, and his eyes widened. “You had sex in the booth during the game?”
I knew what was coming before he did it. Dawson blinked innocently at John and said, “Sex? Who said anything about sex? I thought it meant asking someone on a date.”
The room erupted in more laughter mixed with booing while Dawson handed me the bag with a wink. “Your turn, Trigger.”
Everyone settled in with a plate of food and bottles of water. The green room was full of ancient, overstuffed sofas and random hand-me-down chairs that seemed like they’d been here for generations. Everyone had their “usual” place in the room after all this time, and I realized how many hours we’d spent together as a team.
As a family.
I knew these people better than I realized, including Dawson. My heart felt full.
I reached into the sack and pulled out a card.
“What’s your dream role?” I read aloud.
Various people shouted their suggestions while I thought it through. “When I was ten,” I said with a sheepish grin, “I wanted to play the king in The King and I, but only because I had a crush on James Volt, who played the role at the time.”
Dawson snorted beside me. “Truth. Man’s hot as fuck.”
Letty from makeup made a sultry “Mmhm” sound.
I sighed. “At the risk of sounding cheesy, my dream role is Trigger DeCaro. I can’t imagine wanting to be anywhere else right now with a different show and a different family.”
Everyone groaned and sniffed. Several people leaned over to hug me or ruffle my hair with a murmured “We love you, too,” and John held up his water bottle in a toast.
“To a full year of Not My Alfred! Hear, hear!”
We shared our cheers before I made John take a turn with the prompt bag. His question was about food, and it started a whole discussion about who hated and loved what foods.
