I feel bad that I hadn’t realized how alone Holt is. At lunchtime he disappears when I sit with Connor and Miranda. After class when everyone else is leaving and chatting, he’s the first out the door.
Alone.
I thought that he was just avoiding me, but maybe he was avoiding everyone.
“I’ll talk to him,” I say.
She smiles. “Sometimes people put up walls, not only to keep people out, but also to see who cares enough to tear them down. Understand?”
I nod and exit the stage. As I weave through the backstage darkness, I hear a scraping noise and head toward it.
“Holt?”
I find him in one of the dressing rooms, slumped in a chair with his head in his hands. The lights around the mirror glow behind him like a halo.
I step inside the doorway. He looks so miserable, I want to tell him it’s going to be okay, but I’m not sure what to say.
“Just let me quit,” he says without looking up. “You need someone else. Not me.”
“I don’t want someone else,” I say, moving toward him. “I just think if you trust yourself, and me, we could create something really amazing.”
“Taylor…” He pushes out of the chair and goes over to the windows. “I know my limit, and this is it.”
“Just try,” I say as I come up to stand behind him. “That’s all I’m asking. I know this stuff is hard for you, but don’t quit without at least trying.”
“Is there any use in trying, when I know how it’s going to turn out? I’ll choke and bring you down with me. You’re better off cutting your losses while there’s still time to rehearse someone else into the role.”
“It’s already too late for that,” I say, watching how his shoulder muscles strain against his T-shirt and wanting to soothe them. “I know the other day I said I didn’t want you to be my Romeo, but I was wrong. It’s supposed to be you. I can’t imagine anyone else doing it.”
He puts his hands on the windowsill, and his shoulders slump as he drops his head. “Why do you have to say shit like that?”
“Like what?”
“Stuff that makes me like you. It’s fucking annoying.”
I can’t stop myself any longer, so I place my hand between his shoulder blades and rub gently.
His muscles tense under my fingers, and when he inhales, it’s loud and ragged.
“Just get Connor to do it,” he says as he turns to face me. “He’d probably cream his shorts as soon as you kissed him, but he’d get the job done.”
“I don’t want to kiss Connor,” I say. “I want to kiss you.”
He freezes, and I think he’s stopped breathing.
He studies me for a moment before taking the smallest step forward. I keep my focus on him despite every instinct screaming at me to run. He could very well reject me again, but I’ve come this far. I can’t back down now.
“You really want me to kiss you?”
“Yes. Please, Ethan.”
“You don’t know what you’re asking.” His brows furrow.
“I do,” I say, and step forward. “If this is what you need to do to see if you can play this role, then let’s do it. It’s just a kiss.”
He steps back, panic building in his expression as I move forward.
“What if it’s not just a kiss?” he asks, as his back hits the wall. “What do we do then?”
I put my hands on his chest and feel how fast his heart is pounding. A noise vibrates in his throat, and I look up to see him staring at me. The need emanating from him makes my brain fuzzy and my legs weak.
“Stop being so dramatic,” I whisper, as I run my fingers up his neck and along his jaw. “If we kissed, we’d probably figure out that our bodies are as grossly incompatible as our personalities.”
God, I’m such a liar. I’m already turned on more than I’ve ever been in my entire life. Every part of me is screaming for him to touch me. He feels amazing under my hands.
“Taylor,” he says as he weaves his arm around my waist and pulls me closer. “The one thing we are definitely not is physically incompatible.”
He pulls me against him, and I gasp. I can feel him, long and hard on my stomach. Knowing I did that to him brings me feral satisfaction.
I press closer. He closes his eyes and groans. “This is a bad idea. Seriously.”
I weave a hand into his hair. “Kiss me.”
I touch my fingertips to his lips, and they open. His breath is warm against my hand. I run my finger across his top lip, then stroke the bottom one.
So silky. Soft.
He looks bewildered. “I’ve been nothing but an asshole to you since the first day we met.”
“I know.”
He rests his forehead against mine as his hands move across my back. “I’ve pushed you away, time and again. Yet you still want me to kiss you?”
“Yes. A lot.”
He grazes his hands over my ribs, and his voice is soft and breathless when he says, “Don’t you see how fucked up this is? How bad I’d be for you?”
“I know,” I say, unable to stop looking at his mouth, “but do you want it? Do you want … me?”
Just say it. Please.
He swallows again, and whispers, “Fuck, yes.”
I stand on my toes and tug his head down. When his mouth is close enough, I gently press my lips against his.