A Midsummer Night's Fling (Stage Kiss Series Book 1) (10 page)

"Oh. Sure. Whenever." Maybe that hadn't been an invitation earlier? Maybe Judith just had a flirty personality?

"Tonight," she said. "After your rehearsal? The two of us could – "

Footsteps shuffled in the hallway and Judith eased back. Max seized his chance and started through the doorframe. He nearly bounced off Nicola as she rounded a corner fast.

Nicola stumbled then let out a relieved laugh. "Oh, thank goodness. I was scared I'd be late for rehearsal. Or, actually, I was scared I was going to be lost in the hallways forever and die of starvation."

"Rita sent me to find you," he lied.
 

Nicola raised an eyebrow but didn't contradict him. "Come on then, help me find my way to the main stage."

"Right. We'll talk later, Judith?" Max waved 'bye' to the director then hurried from the admin building.
 

As soon as they cleared the stairs, Nicola broke into an angry stride, her feet picking divots out of the gravel with each step.
 

"Hey," he called.

"Hey yourself," she tossed over her shoulder. "'Oh,
Max
,'" she cooed in a high falsetto. "I want some
alone time
with you."

Great
. Max rolled his eyes. "Yeah, yeah." Nicola just didn't like Judith. Which he didn't really blame her for. Judith definitely seemed . . . complicated.

Nicola whirled on him, stopping so abruptly on the path he had to grab her arms to stop his own momentum and steady himself.

She flung his hands away. "You're too talented to pull that casting couch crap, Max."

"Thank you so much for implying I have to sleep with people to get parts."

"That’s not what I – "

"Anyway,
not
that it's your business – but I'm not sleeping with her."

"
Yet
."

"And you care why?"

A flush fanned over Nicola's cheeks, but she continued to glare. She worked her mouth a few times but failed to make sound.
 

She knows she's wrong
. Max bit the inside of his cheek, fighting not to grin. Some trace of amusement must have leaked onto his face though because Nicola threw her hands into the air with exasperation. "You are such a jack ass," she snarled.

"No.
I'm
the fairy king," he pointed out, infinitely reasonable. "Gil is playing the jack ass."

Nicola crimped her mouth, acknowledging the joke but obviously wanting to hold onto her anger.

"Are we going to talk about yesterday?" he asked.

She froze and he thought she might say,
Talk about what?
but then resignation leaked into her eyes. "Fine." She made a
You start
gesture with her open palm.

"Why did that happen yesterday?" His gut was prickling, waiting to hear her answer.

"
I don't know
," she said. "We did the scene and it was just – and
you
kissed my neck first. I guess I – I had a relapse in judgment."

"A relapse? Gee
thanks
."

"You kissed me back. What were
you
thinking?"

"That I wanted to kiss you." He shrugged, uncomfortable.

"
And?
"

"And what?"

She studied him, brows furrowed, then tipped her head back to gaze skyward, her voice impatient. "It was the scene. We've always had good chemistry. The . . . thing . . . yesterday was residual of that. I needed to burn it off, I guess."

"Burn it off?"

"Get it out of my system."

"You make it sound like the stomach flu."

She soft-punched him on the arm, but she chuckled as she did it.
 

At the sight of her smile, something that had constricted in his chest loosened, making it easier to breathe. "So, Nicola
Charles
?" he asked.

"Yeah. 'Charles' is my stage name. I didn't want every casting director in Hollywood slaughtering Czerwinski for the rest of my life."

"Oh." Max used to have to worry about that, but his brother making it big had helped with the whole unpronounceable last name problem. One of the few upsides to his brother's fame. Maybe the only one. "A stage name. Good."

She scoffed. "Were you worried I was married?"

"No." Not really. Not much.

"You honestly think I would have kissed you yesterday if I were married? You are
such
a jack ass." She started down the path, shaking her head. "I should have asked for more money to do this play."

"Probably."

"And my own dressing room."
 

"Definitely."

"And some sort of cabana boy to feed me grapes in the breaks between scenes."

"Well," Max paused, putting on a thoughtful expression. "We don't have anyone like that on staff, but maybe one of the interns."

She shoved him, laughing. He caught her hand and pulled her close, slinging a playful arm around her waist. The movement was half-instinct, half-memory, but as soon as he pulled her close all of her softness molded to his body. The playfulness between them melted, steaming away. Something dark and needful settled in its place.

Her face stilled, going thoughtful, but she traced her palm up his spine, bending herself into him. Through the fabric of his shirt he could feel the heat of her hand, the gentle vibrancy of her touch. He couldn't help imagining bare skin and sweat, and that dainty, familiar hand touching him . . . everywhere. He leaned toward her, dipping his head. The need to complete this moment, to seal it with a kiss, became an actual hunger, an ache in his teeth.

But then she lurched backwards, breaking their embrace. As she shook her head, a thick lock of dark hair tumbled loose from her bun. "It doesn't work like this, Max."

Rattled, horny, frustrated almost to screaming, he released her and raked his fingers through his hair. "I know." And he did. He didn't want her back anymore than she wanted him. Not really.

Now if only his muscle memory would get that
No-kissing-No-Nicola-No-way
memo.

"We haven't spoken to each other in five years," she said, voice shaking. "We can't just pick up where we left off."
 

"I know."

"We
cannot
do this."

"Nicola." He waited, and when she looked at him he said again, slowly, "I know."

He moved away, scuffing a toe against the gravel path, avoiding her gaze as he tried to figure out how they could recapture their earlier companionship. How could he be close to her, but still keep her at arm's length? "So, um." He fought for a casual tone. "What have you been up to for the last five years?"

"Ah. Well." She rubbed the back of her neck, restless. "I've pretty much been on tour for the last few years."

"Tour?"

"Musicals."

"You always did want to do more singing."

"Oh, I don't know if you heard: my mom re-married and moved to Florida. The new guy's a rabbi."

"Is he?" Max laughed. "Your mom has a rabbi fetish."
 

"Tell me about it." Nicola's dad had been a rabbi. He'd left her mom for another woman and abandoned Nicola to move to another state.

Max kicked a toe through the dirt. "Is your dad . . . do you see him much?"

"Nope. He's still in DC. He calls at Passover and Yom Kippur. Is your mom still in town?"

"Yes." He blew a quick breath out, which was a bit easier now the air wasn't charged with the electricity of their attraction. "With his paycheck from
Fortune's Fool
, Peter bought Mom a house. Actually, he bought her
two
houses because the first one was too big for her. I live in the big one now. It's sort of become a boarding house for the RSF. Lachlan and one of the other company members, this guy Abe, rooms with me. You haven't met Abe yet." The key was to keep talking. Or babbling.
Whatever it takes
.

Kissing her would be fatal. Neither one of them could walk away from that. Not again.

She peered up at him, her brown eyes bright and beautiful. "And your acting career? I mean I – once Peter made it so big I was surprised you didn't get more work. Hollywood loves siblings."

"After you and I . . . " He winced and chewed the side of his cheek. Did he really want to tell her about his fall from grace? His blacklisting in Hollywood? How he couldn't get a job outside the RSF? All the ways he had so spectacularly fucked up his life when they broke up?

No. Not really
. "Few years ago I decided I wanted a break from the screen," he said. "I wasn't exactly getting juicy roles. High school football player . . . "

"The love interest in that coming of age weepy. What was it called?
Summer Kisses
?"

Warmth flushed through him. "You saw that?"

She cleared her throat. "Well no. But a bunch of my friends were obsessed with it when I was on the
Wicked
tour."

"Oh." He worked to keep his voice normal and not at all disappointed. After all, would he have gone to see a movie starring Nicola right after they'd broken up?

Yes
. His brain replied at once. Hadn't he watched that one Pringles commercial she'd done on endless repeat on YouTube for months? Missing her. Torturing himself –
 

She was staring curiously at him, maybe worrying she had hurt his feelings. He hurried to fill the conversational lapse. "After
Summer Kisses
my agent suggested I try some theater. I auditioned here at RSF for a part in
King Lear
. I got to play Edgar." His first part sober and he'd tackled Shakespeare. No wonder his reviews had sucked but still, "I loved it. It was like coming home."

She bit her lip, her voice flattening out. "Home."

"Yeah. I mean, I do other work when I can get it. I've got a big hamburger commercial coming out soon. But this is the place I'll always return to. This is home."

"I shouldn't have taken this part," she murmured.

He touched her shoulder, just a small brush with his fingertips, and he softened his voice. "Maybe not. But you're stuck, Nic."

She nodded, not looking at him.

"So," he said, "how do we make this work?"

"I guess we get through it as best we can. And remember all the reasons we're apart."

"Right."

She jabbed his chest with her finger. "Like
you're
irresponsible."

He caught her hand and held it. "And you're controlling."
 

"And you party too much."

"And you're antisocial."

"And we make each other miserable when we're together." She blinked her gaze up to meet his and gently tugged her hand free.

He grinned. "I'm not miserable right now."

"When we're
dating
, jack ass."

"I did miss you, Nicci." He reached to tuck that errant strand of hair behind her ear.

She slapped his hand back and jabbed him in the chest again with her finger. "
That
. None of
that
. Look at me." She grabbed his chin and dragged him down to her level. "I'm a bad-tempered, needy, controlling harpy. Right?"
 

As she released him, he rubbed his jaw and shot her a dubious expression, but she just jutted her chin out, forcing him to play along. With a sigh, he pointed at himself. "And I'm an immature, reckless emotional-fuckwit."

"Yes."

"Right."
 

Her face screwed up in an adorable frown. "Are we
really
going to try this? Be friends?"

He studied her, and fought his first instinct which was – OK
yes
, to kiss her. Instead, he tried to project as much confidence as he could into his voice. "Yes. We are friends now." He grabbed her hand and gave it a loose, flapping shake. "See. We shook. It's official. Just friends."

"OK." Nicola flashed him a weak smile then strolled off down the path. He watched her go, forcing himself not to ogle her so-pattable ass in its tight jeans.

Because friends don't ogle friend's asses
.

Friends
.
He sighed.
Great
.

"I quite like her, Max." Lachlan's voice floated out from the tree line behind him. "What
is
an 'emotional-fuckwit'?"

Max let out a grunt of annoyance. "Lachlan."

Lachlan leaned around the edge of the tree trunk he'd been lurking behind. He pulled a cigarette from behind his ear, stuck it in his mouth and used what looked very much like Tierney's lighter to set the end aflame.
 

"Does Tierney know you have that?" Max asked.

Lachlan blew a stream of smoke out through his nostrils. "She knows I pick her pocket when she pisses me off." He offered Max the pack of cigarettes.
 

Max shook his head 'no,' even as his nerves jolted, craving the nicotine so bad his mouth watered.
Damn
. He hadn't had a cigarette in three years and now he was craving them? Stress no doubt. He glanced over in the direction Nicola had disappeared. Maybe a little sexual frustration too. "Shouldn't you be at rehearsal, Lach?"