Bashful Read online

  “There was no way I could reason with her, so I just fucking left.”

  “Probably not the best decision, brother,” Tucker said, pulling out his phone. His fingers flew over the glass screen.

  “You’re not texting that shit to everyone, Tuck.”

  He turned the phone toward me for a brief moment before he continued typing. “Google has hundreds of articles about girls falling in love with their gay besties, girls falling in love with their best guy friends, but nothing on falling in love with their guy friend that they think is gay but isn’t.”

  Gabe had gone into the kitchen to raid the refrigerator. He grabbed an apple and took a huge bite, the juice running down his chin. “Maybe you’re Googling it wrong,” he responded, mouth full of fruit. “Try ‘how to tell the chick I love that I’m not into butt sex.’”

  “You may not be into dick, Gabe, but you are one. Stop being so insensitive. We need to help.”

  As I sat there listening to them argue, my mind was racing. Something needed to be figured out in the next four hours, or tonight’s performance of Playing with Fire was going to go up in flames.

  Thirty-Five

  Bash

  THE DOOR DINGED AS I exited the campus store, two energy drinks in hand. I wasn’t hungover, but the lack of sleep and the stress of the day had me feeling drained. After leaving the two idiots—still arguing, by the way—at the apartment, I’d figured out what my plan was.

  I popped the tab on one of the cold energy drinks as I sat on a bench outside of the building. Pulling my phone from my coat pocket, I hovered over Callie’s name before typing a message.

  Bash: We need to talk. Can you meet me somewhere?

  Callie: I don’t think that’s a good idea.

  Her response was one I expected. She was a runner when it came to conflict, but I wasn’t letting her pull that crap today. I had questions, and she had answers.

  Bash: Better see if Professor James can pull an understudy out of his ass, then. If we don’t talk, I don’t know how I’ll be able to perform tonight.

  Callie: ARE YOU SERIOUS RIGHT NOW? WTF, BASH?

  Bash: I think I’m coming down with something. ::cough, cough::

  Callie: You’re an asshole.

  Bash: I try. Meet me at the Black Box in a half hour.

  I switched off my phone, chugged my drink, and tossed it into the garbage. It didn’t feel right to threaten the show like that, but if I had to piss Callie off in order to straighten shit out, then so be it. Nothing was going to stop me from saying my piece.

  J

  I’d been pacing back and forth across the room when Callie stomped into the Black Box in a huff. Her hair was in a giant knot on top of her head and I could see the puffiness of her eyes, her glasses unable to conceal much. She’d been crying.

  I was a dick.

  The need to comfort her slammed into me so hard it almost knocked me to the ground. I couldn’t, though—not yet, anyway.

  She shrugged out of her jacket and put her hands on her hips. “Do you want to tell me why you dragged me out of my warm bed two hours before we need to be here? Because if it’s about this morning, or last night, or whether you’re gay or straight, then I don’t want to talk about it!” Tears pooled in the corners of her eyes, but it was clear they were ones of anger, not sadness.

  “Well, too fucking bad, because we are going to talk about it. How can you be the only person on the history of this planet to be unaware of the fact that I LIKE VAGINA? My old girlfriend knew it. All the girls I banged in England knew it,” I screamed at her, my hands gesturing wildly.

  “Everyone knew except you. And how the fuck did it take you three damn years to bring it up? Maybe instead of assuming, you could’ve tried that crazy-shit called...wait, what is it? Oh, asking.”

  Her face had turned a bright shade of pink, and if steam really could spout out of a person’s ears in anger, it would’ve happened at that very moment. I didn’t care. I’d been riding her one-woman crazy-train long enough.

  “If you thought I was gay, you could’ve asked one of the ten thousand students who go to this school. You could’ve asked Tucker. But what did you do? Absolutely nothing—you’d rather be ignorant than know the truth.”

  “I thought you were still in the closet or something! I was trying to be sensitive, you dick! You never dated or talked about girls. I never saw you kiss anyone. And you’re a freaking theatre major, for God’s sake!”

  Turning away from her, I slapped my palms against the black cinderblock wall. Yeah, a lot of the guys who were in theatre in college had swung for the same team, but not me.

  “So because I’m a theatre major, I’m automatically into guys? Way to stereotype, Callie. Real fucking nice.”

  “That’s not what I—”

  “Not what you meant?” I spat, pushing off the wall. “Jesus, get off your high horse.”

  “Get off my ass, Bash!” she shrieked. “Do you think it was easy for me? Knowing—no, thinking I was falling for my gay best friend, who also happened to be the king of mixed signals?”

  She stomped over to the risers and planted herself in one of the chairs. Removing her glasses, she rubbed her eyes with her palms and sighed.

  “I never said anything to you or anyone else because I was scared I’d lose you. If I didn’t bring up your sexual preference, it’d be easier to convince myself I had a chance to change your mind.” Her voice contradicted the words escaping her lips.

  I wasn’t sure how one could sound spiteful, honest, and defeated all at once, but she’d done it.

  Callie rubbed her hands on her jeans and stood. I crossed my arms as she made her way to the door and picked up her coat, folding it over one arm. “This isn’t going anywhere, Bash. We’re stuck on this carousel of he-said-she-said and what-ifs,” she remarked, her fists clenching tightly.

  “So that’s it? You’re giving up?”

  “I’m not giving up. I’m tired, Bash. Tired of this ride. I want off. I’m exhausted, and it hurts too much. It’s not supposed to hurt.”

  With that, she walked out the door.

  Thirty-Six

  Callie

  I’D LEFT MACARTHUR IN A frenzy, the desire to crawl back under my covers and cry a little more before the show hitting me fiercely. Knowing I needed to be back to get ready in an hour, I settled for meeting up with Evie at Chet’s. She’d know what to do. I needed sustenance if I was going to go another ten rounds with Bash before the show.

  When I got to the restaurant, Evie had clearly just arrived as she was still shrugging out of her coat. I wanted to give her a minute, let us both settle into our seats and get our drinks, but that didn’t happen.

  “Hey,” I said, my lips twisted, full of words that needed to leak out.

  “Hey?” she questioned tentatively. “Everything all right, love?”

  I sat down on one side of the table and she matched the action oppositely. She was staring, waiting, and as it was with all best friends, she totally knew I was about to drop a bomb. Hesitantly, I opened my mouth.

  “I had sex with Bash last night.”

  She didn’t respond immediately and I took that as a cue to start my story. I stopped enough for us to order our food but not again until I was done regaling the past twelve hours.

  “I know I’m the voice of reason for you—and who let that happen, by the way,” she said and we both laughed. “I just need a moment to absorb this information.” She reached across the table and held my hand. Just as she opened her mouth, the waitress returned with our food. Before speaking, Evie dipped her spoon into the bowl.

  “Shit, that’s hot!” Evie stuck her tongue out, fanning it with her hand. “Warn me next time!”

  “Soup is hot? Sorry—soup is hot.”

  “Shut up and eat your grilled cheese, woman.”

  She blew on the spoonful of broccoli cheddar soup in front of her before tentatively placing it in her mouth. “I still can’t believe you had sex with him.”

/>   I was about to agree with her, but she slammed the spoon down on the table and screamed.

  “Oh my bloody hell, you had SEX with him! And he’s straight!”

  Heads around us turned at the volume of her voice.

  “Sorry ’bout that—all is fine over here,” she shouted, patting my forearm and looking around the room until we were no longer the focus.

  Ugh. Is there a hole around here I can crawl into? Because that would be super.

  She slouched over the table, her voice a mere whisper now. “How could we have missed that?”

  I ripped off a piece of my grilled cheese, dipping it into the side of ranch before I popped it into my mouth. “You probably missed it because you weren’t looking at him the way I was.”

  “Well, no, but I’m not naive, either. I knew something was off. I just can’t believe we were such plonkers.”

  I tilted my head, confused.

  “Right—idiots.”

  “Wow, thanks. Thank you. You’re so nice.” I seethed. “Remind me why we’re best friends again?”

  “Because every blond all-American girl needs a brunette British bird. Plus, you know that’s not how I meant it. If I’d paid attention more, I would’ve seen the signs. He only had eyes for you, love. It all makes sense in retrospect.”

  She wasn’t kidding. Now that I knew the truth, every single confusing moment of the past three months were made clear. I had blinders on around him, choosing only to see what I wanted to see. He was right about what he said when we argued—everything would’ve been easier if I’d just asked him outright.

  There was always a flip side to the coin, though. We could’ve dated freshman year, but let’s be honest—it probably would’ve ended the same way. He would’ve still gone to England and I would’ve still been heartbroken.

  I shook my head. It didn’t matter. I couldn’t undo the past.

  “The only thing I can do now is move forward,” I responded with fake confidence. “To moving forward without him.”

  “We could always reach out on Tinder again, find you someone new.” She winked, tapping her glass against mine.

  I’d rather chew off my own arm than go through that again. “Hard pass.”

  She slapped her palm on the table. “Fine. Or, you know, you could try a little harder with Bash. Why are you so willing to throw it away? You fell for him and held onto those feelings for bloody years. And now you have a chance, a real chance with the guy you want, but you’re so stubborn and scared that you’d rather let him go than fight for it!”

  Her face was flushed and her chest was heaving, and I wanted to cry at her outburst. I’d always appreciated her bluntness, but what she’d said was a little too real.

  “Not all of us are lucky enough to find the perfect guy in a matter of minutes at a bar!” She recoiled, visibly upset at my attack. I was an asshole to take my frustrations out on her.

  “I’m sorry, Evie. I didn’t mean it like that.”

  “I know. And you’re not wrong—I did fall in love in minutes. I want that for you, too. You deserve it, and it just seems like you finding out Bash is straight the same day you had sex was like fate. You shouldn’t give up yet.”

  We finished our food in silence, both of us aware that the tone was too serious for daytime conversation. She let me accept the quiet with understanding, knowing I needed more time to absorb.

  With a peck on my cheek, she paid both of our tabs and left Chet’s, most likely on her way to meet Garrett.

  It’s okay, Garrett. She’s a good one to keep around.

  Thirty-Seven

  I BROKE AWAY QUICKLY AFTER our stage kiss that night. And that’s what it truly was this time—a cold, unmoving stage kiss. Bash was tight and stubborn, and I was frigid and angry. It was palpable. Once I was safely hidden in the eaves offstage, I reflected back on the shit-show that tonight had been.

  To say that the show sucked would be an egregious understatement. The audience wasn’t reactive, I missed a cue due to a costume-snafu—never trust a side-zipper, by the way—and the chemistry between Bash and me was abhorrent. That one, I wasn’t surprised about. Overall, it was the worst fucking performance I’d ever had in my life, and that included the time I played Laurie in Oklahoma! with the flu.

  It was time for curtain call, and I wanted to be anywhere but here. Sweat clung to my skin underneath the hot lights, and I was still reeling from the tightness of the kiss a few minutes prior. With the prompt from the cast already on stage, I plastered a fake grin on my face and moved with confidence toward the gap in the center that was left for Bash and me. He moved purposefully slower from the opposite side so we didn’t meet at the same time.

  Seriously? This was what he was going to do?

  Normally, the two leads joined hands and lifted them in a dual bow—this time, I felt nothing but air. The bastard was refusing to put on a show.

  Don’t let him affect you, I thought, my smile fading. Crap. Don’t let him affect you!

  We each gave a second—separate—bow and I stared at the curtain as it fell on our second performance. I didn’t even stop to congratulate the rest of the members of the cast before stomping out to the lobby to meet my parents. Yeah, my parents had come tonight. I should’ve told them to come tomorrow for the matinee.

  “Congrats, sweetie! Did you get my text earlier?” my mom said, enveloping me in a hug.

  I broke away, confusion in my features.

  “Um...no? But if you said ‘good luck’ instead of ‘break a leg,’ now I know who to blame.”

  “Calliope, you were great,” she insisted, patting my shoulder.

  Liar.

  I stepped away and was immediately met with a faceful of roses, lilies, and my favorite, poppies. Not something that was easy to get in Michigan year-round, but somehow my parents always found a way to incorporate them in each bouquet they brought to a performance of mine.

  My dad handed them off, hugging me as well. “It was good,” he remarked, a knowing look breaching his features.

  Leave it to Dad to do the dirty work, Mom.

  He gave a knowing look to my mom, who was busy fixing an errant bobby pin in my hair. “Brenda, I’d actually like to take a look at the stability of that last set a little bit more. Do you mind bringing the car around?”

  My mom’s eyes danced between us, a knowing smile on her lips.

  Bullshit. He didn’t care if that damn set fell down on top of me. I knew right then what was happening—even at twenty-one, you were never too old for a Dad talk.

  We moved through the groups of family and friends conversing with cast members until we reached the doors of the empty auditorium. Stopping at the first row of seats, I fell into the red velvet and closed my eyes.

  “You don’t care about the set, do you?”

  I opened one eye just a smidge to see what my dad was doing. He had passed me by, climbing the steps another row and sitting behind me and two seats over.

  “Callie, Mom and I love you very much, you know that. What you may not know is that even though you aren’t a kid anymore, we can still read you like a book. What we watched tonight was not the girl”—he coughed—“woman, we know you can be. What happened up there?”

  Shame flowed through my cheeks and I hung my head. My dad really didn’t need to know about Bash and his straight tendencies—or that he had sex with his daughter and left—or that I’d never been so wrong about something in my life. That I regretted my mistakes.

  “It’s nothing,” I said, picking at my cuticles. “It was a crappy day, that’s all. Bash and I got into a fight this morning and it obviously affected our performance.”

  “Doesn’t sound like ‘nothing,’” his deep voice countered as he leaned forward in his seat. “Why did you fight? Were you fighting over the same boy? He is the one who likes other fellas, correct? Or was that Tucker?”

  Déjà vu hit me at the same time the tears did.

  “That’s just it,” I sniffled, turning around to fac
e him. His face was long, a mixture of confusion and concern etched into the age lines. “I was wrong on so many levels, and we can’t get past it.”

  I held back tears and waited for a response with bated breath.

  My father furrowed his brow before leaning toward me, lips pursed. “Girlie, if there’s one thing I’d hoped to knock into that head by now, it’s that if you mess up, you do your best to fix it. Is he important to you?”

  So, so important. “He is.”

  “Then get yourself together, make a plan, and fix it.”

  Sniffling, I wiped the tears from my eyes, careful to avoid too much mascara smearing. My dad’s talks always cemented one thing for me, most of all—what I thought I needed to hear was what I already knew myself.

  Thirty-Eight

  WITH A FINAL WAVE, I bid my parents farewell from the sidewalk in front of MacArthur and turned on my heels. I itched to get downstairs—literally, the cake makeup had been on too long—and back into my normal clothes. Moving swiftly past the few remaining lobby-loiterers, I hustled down the steps and into the dressing room.

  I didn’t even bother looking into the mirror before ripping a makeup removing wipe out of the package and swiping it over my cheeks. Rubbing harder, I focused on Melissa in the mirror as she sorted through the haphazard hangers piled high with discarded costumes.

  “Doing okay over there?” I asked, pulling the wipe away from my face and looking at it with disgust. The foundation and blush had transformed the white cloth into a dull, dingy brown.

  She sighed, righting the fabric and smoothing the wrinkles. “Two of my crew members bounced out after intermission and I was so annoyed that I let Jamie leave, too,” she vented. “Whatever. I’ve finished putting everything away faster without them anyway.”

  After the third wipe, the oily makeup was still coming off by the crap-ton and I plopped down in frustration. “No more cake-face unless it’s actual cake in my face,” I said angrily, reaching farther down the counter for a bottle of toner and cotton balls. “Speaking of makeup, where’s Tess? Why didn’t she help you? FYI, helping isn’t just girl friend code, it’s girlfriend code.”