Bashful Page 17

  In the reflection, I watched as she put a hanger on the rod with so much force that I swear I saw it bend.

  “Don’t even get me started with her. We were fighting down here during the show, and instead of talking through it, she cleaned up the makeup station and freaking left!”

  I guess fights were the same in all relationships.

  I felt bad; the soft-spoken Melissa I knew and loved had never sounded so agitated. It must’ve been one hell of a fight. Looking around the room, I found she really was practically done—with the exception for the costume and accessories I was still wearing. She was probably waiting for me to undressed so she could leave.

  “I’ll take care of my own stuff, Mel. Seriously. Go home,” I insisted, tipping the bottle of toner upside down onto the cotton ball. She gave me a hesitant look, her squinted eyes shifting to the assigned space where my costumes belonged. Oh, come on. I may be childish sometimes, but I know how to use a hanger.

  “Don’t give me that look; you know I’m tidy. I’ll take care of your fabric babies. Go figure things out with Tess.”

  Resigned, she picked up the last few scattered items and threw them in a linen laundry bag. Hauling it over her shoulder, she walked to the door. After requesting—and making me repeat it back to her—that I turn off the lights and lock the door before I left, she was finally on her way out.

  Her footfalls echoed in the distance as I stood and retrieved my phone from the cubby area, reading through the five missed texts on the screen.

  Mom: [photo attached]

  Dear God. The picture staring back at me was my poor dog Zeus sitting pretty in what appeared to be—oh, Mom, this is batshit, even for you—a toga, chewing on a lightning bolt chew toy.

  Mom: I know you won’t see this before the performance, but your brother wanted to wish you an electrifying performance tonight! Get it?

  Her mythology obsession knew no bounds. My poor dog.

  Avoiding a response, I looked at the next.

  Evie: How did tonight go, love? I’m at the bar, with a drink on-order for you when you get here.

  My fingers flew over the keys.

  Callie: You know those dreams I used to have about being naked on stage? It was that much of a nightmare.

  Evie: I hope you weren’t actually naked...

  Callie: It may have been better if I was—maybe the crowd would have reacted slightly better if they got a view of my ass. Honestly, it was horrible. Bash and I were just so off.

  Evie: Oh, love. It’ll be okay. You know what? I was going to stay up here until Garrett finished his shift, but I’m coming home instead. I’ll bring home cheese fries and we’ll open a few bottles of vino and watch crappy reality TV.

  She really didn’t need to do that. She and Garrett were attached at the hip, and I didn’t want to get in the way of that, even if I really needed some emotional therapy right now.

  Callie: Girl, don’t worry about it. I’ll be fine. Enjoy your night with Garrett!

  Evie: Who do you think you’re talking to? LOL. I know what your I’m fine means. On my way home in five minutes, no arguing!

  Ugh. No amount of convincing would keep her away.

  After putting away the cleaning supplies and wiping down the counter, I slipped off my shoes and costume jewelry and stuck them into my drawer. I languidly traveled behind the screen and began to undress; Evie’s ‘five minutes’ really meant twenty, so I could take the extra time to compose myself and unscramble my thoughts. Unzipping my skirt, I shimmied out and hung it carefully, smoothing the fabric before hanging it on a hook.

  Bash and I really needed to talk again. I knew it, felt myself projecting it to him while we were onstage tonight. There had to be a way to apologize, to clear the air without ruining what we had before I screwed it up. All conflict aside, I loved him and I wasn’t going to let him go without a fight.

  Wait—did I just say I loved him?

  I LOVE him. I love Bash.

  I needed to get to him. Quickly, I wriggled into my jeans and pushed my feet into my boots before threading the buttons through my costume top. The blouse was over my head and I flipped it inside out to hang back up when I heard a small tap-tap-tap behind me.

  “My my, Miss Miller. It seems as though I keep finding you alone.”

  Behind me, a voice dripped with patronization, sending shivers up my spine. I spun around, using my hoodie to cover my chest. His arm was propped on the doorframe, his knuckles relaxed after knocking on the frame. His other hand fidgeted in his pocket as his gaze traveled over my bra and stomach, slime and disgust left in its wake.

  “No one but us,” he said brusquely, turning his head back to the empty hallway.

  “Professor James.” My voice trembled. “I didn’t think anyone was here.”

  He stepped forward, the jingling of metal in his pocket setting a sinister scene. Oh God, not again. He was going to touch me this time—or something worse—I felt it in my gut. Hands shaking, I moved farther behind the screen, clamoring to pull my hoodie over my bare chest.

  He tsked and ambled closer. Such slow, tempered steps. He was stalking me, playing with me like I was prey. “You know, Calliope, when I recommended you practice your physical acting, it was more of a demand than a suggestion. You made me look inexperienced tonight in front of my colleagues.” He edged forward, caging me into the corner. Panic flooded my body as I watched him lift his hand, touching my arm.

  “What do you think we should do about that? A young actress as beautiful as you”—he rubbed my upper arm slowly, methodically—“should be aware they need to go to the farthest lengths to get ahead in this industry.”

  He winked, and any ounce of courage left in me fluttered out in waves. I wanted to scream, to shout for help, but I hadn’t heard another voice since Melissa had left. Would anyone hear me?

  Get away. Fight. Do something, Callie.

  I remained frozen, unable to move.

  “It’s a shame you didn’t listen to me,” he spat harshly, his hand gripping me hard enough to bruise. He brought his face closer to mine, sniffing along the length of my neck.

  I wanted to throw up, to punch him, to do anything. Why couldn’t I move?

  “Fear not, Calliope. I’ll make sure you learn the real way to get ahead.”

  I whimpered, tears forming. “P-please, Professor James, don’t do this.”

  Thirty-Nine

  Bash

  TONIGHT SUCKED.

  I’d quickly changed into my street clothes after the disaster of a performance, desperate to get the hell out of MacArthur. It was better to keep my mood away from everyone else—one wrong word and I wouldn’t be capable of keeping my cool.

  But as I walked through campus, a heavy knot formed in the pit of my stomach. Did Callie already leave? Did someone walk her to her car? I knew how skittish she was at night. I’d seen the terror in her eyes that night after our first Black Box rehearsal. Fighting or not, her safety was more important than my stubbornness. Her everything was more important than my stubbornness.

  Doubling back, I hustled through the open doors and down the stairs toward her, toward my girl. She needed to know the truth—that I was falling for her. I was pretty sure I’d fallen all the way in already. As pissed as she made me, the good outweighed the bad, and the past could stay there. I would fix this.

  I moved toward the girls’ dressing room with purpose, fully prepared that she may not be there. Regardless, I’d find her tonight, make sure she was safe, and then kiss the shit out of her. All the words could come later, after this nagging feeling left my stomach.

  That’s when I heard a male voice.

  And then hers.

  I halted in front of a cinderblock entryway that led to another room, holding in my breath. Backing into the shadows and out of sight, I peered past the corner to witness him sauntering toward her and growling, “no one but us.”

  That motherfucker.

  So that’s who Callie was running from that night. I sho
uld’ve known our piece-of-shit director had no fucking boundaries. I’d witnessed the way she never spoke to him, never made eye contact with him during rehearsals. I can’t believe I didn’t see it. My blood boiled and I wanted nothing more than to march in there and beat the shit out of him—hell, I still wanted to. Mind racing, a myriad of scenarios went through my head and I knew there was only one way to get out of this without consequence. I quickly hit the button on my phone and waited.

  Anger had never coursed through my veins so hard, pumping into every nook and cranny until my adrenaline caught fire. The fierce need to protect Callie, the magnitude that I was standing here was nothing compared to what I’d do if I didn’t have to worry about the repercussions. As soon as I heard her whimper, the rage magnified into a ball of fire. Nothing was going to stop me, evidence or not. No way was that bastard going to hurt her. I stepped out of the shadows and into the room.

  It took all of four strides to reach him, and I gripped his jacket with my fist and ripped him away from a visibly shaking Callie. Her eyes shone in fear as tears rolled down her cheeks.

  “I’d ask what the hell was going on in here, but you’ve made it pretty fucking clear what was about to happen, you disgusting piece of shit.” I shoved him out of the way and rushed to Callie, placing my hands gently on her cheeks and studying her. Her chest was heaving as she gulped for air and I brought her closer to my chest.

  My thumb stroked her skin softly, wiping away a tear. I soothed her as best as I could, whispering my worry. “Hey, you’re okay, you’re okay, I’m here. Are you all right? Did he hurt you?”

  She shook her head, silent tears soaking into my shirt.

  “Sebastian—” I heard behind me, the confidence in his voice causing me to rage all over again.

  I kissed Callie’s forehead with the faintest trace of my lips before I turned, stalking toward Professor James. With force, I slammed my palm into his shoulder and backed him up against the wall.

  “You assaulted her. You harassed her. I’m reporting you, asshole. There’s no way you’re getting away with this,” I spat through clenched teeth.

  “Take your hands off me, son, or you’re never going to step onto this campus again. I’ll make sure of it.” He seethed.

  I released him, crossing my arms and blocking the doorframe in case he tried to leave. Callie was still behind the screen, peering anxiously at me as Professor James stood straighter and put his hands in his pockets, an icy smile growing on his face.

  “Assault is a very serious accusation, Sebastian. One I’ve had claimed against me in the past, as a matter of fact. The funny thing about that”—he squinted, and a hateful chuckle escaped his throat—“is that I’m still here. That student’s claim was thrown out and she left in the middle of the semester without any of it marring my name.”

  “You see, the thing about being a theatre professor in a position like mine is that I know a lot of people, and my acting experience can convince just about anyone of anything,” he snarled. “Your word—and Miss Miller’s word—against my own? Sorry, son. It’d fall on deaf ears. I wouldn’t suggest that.”

  If he called me son one more time, I’d knock him out. He didn’t deserve to call anyone that.

  His eyes flew to my hand, clenched and ready to strike. “Now a student assaulting a professor? That would have serious ramifications. I’d suggest you two walk away from this and never speak of it again. You wouldn’t want to lose your credibility so close to graduation.”

  His words were a verbal blow straight to my head. The worst part about assault was what happened when the victims were silenced, made to feel guilty about something that was never their fault. Callie didn’t deserve that, and I felt awful for the girl he’d done this to in the past. I couldn’t—wouldn’t—let him get away with this again. I’d rather lose my degree and risk a potential investigation than let him think he was walking out of here without repercussions.

  “Walking away is not going to happen.”

  Lifting my fist from my waist, I prepared for the worst when Callie rushed across the room. She clasped her hands around mine, her once-fearful eyes now alive with fire and frenzy.

  “Let me do this, Bash. I need to do this,” she whispered, reaching around my waist to wrap her arms around me in a quick hug.

  I watched her intensely, remaining close enough behind her that if she needed backup, I’d be there. She stomped toward him, her frame tense and worked up. “What you’ve done is a direct reflection on the kind of person you are, Professor,” she spat. “I’m not going to let you do this to me or another girl EVER again! We deserve better!”

  Pride burst through me when Callie found her voice. There’s my girl. That pride grew to exponential heights when I watched her lift her boot swiftly and kick Professor James straight in the junk—hard.

  Forty

  Callie

  I WATCHED AS THE RAPEY-BASTARD’S knees buckled and he went down in a collapse of limbs and groans.

  “I’m going to tell everyone on this campus who you really are. Believe me, I won’t stop until the dean, your colleagues, and every student I’ve ever met know about the professor who disrespects and takes advantage of his students,” I seethed, my chest heaving. I jerked slightly when sinewy arms wrapped around my frame, relaxing instantly when I realized it was the only other person in the room. Someone who wouldn’t hurt me. Someone who always made me feel safe.

  Home.

  “Oh, and, James?” Bash spoke, pulling his phone from his pocket. “I recorded it—all of it, from the minute you started harassing Callie.” He dangled the phone in front of him, the recording clearly visible on the screen. “Whatever leg you thought you had to stand on is gone now. You’re done.”

  I love him.

  He was going to throw his education out the window to protect me, even though he had evidence in his pocket. He would’ve done that—for me. It took everything in me not to kiss him at the exact moment.

  “Since you’re so fond of suggestions and demands, Professor, I highly suggest you don’t show up to the performance tomorrow. I’ll make sure security is there just in case.”

  He groaned, rolling on the floor with his hands still cupping his crotch. I squealed internally. Hopefully he’d be icing his nuts until the dean of Michigan College called him in for a statement.

  “Bash?” I asked, grabbing my purse and putting my glasses on. I wanted nothing more than to be done with the professor and be alone with him. “Can you drag him into the hallway? I promised Melissa I’d lock up.”

  As soon as Bash removed the trash, he intertwined his fingers with mine and didn’t let go until we reached his apartment. Still reeling from everything that went down, I turned the ignition off in a daze.

  “Hey,” he whispered, and I turned my head. Reaching his arm out, he tucked a small strand of hair behind my ear. “You’re safe.”

  Even though I knew tomorrow was going to be the beginning of a very lengthy, very taxing battle, his words soothed my battered nerves. Maybe the recording wouldn’t be admissible, or maybe Professor James was right when he spoke of his clout with the administration. All I knew right now was that he didn’t deserve any more of my time tonight.

  The person who deserved my time was sitting right next to me, patiently waiting for any semblance of a response. Blinking my thoughts away, I gave him the first genuine smile I’d felt today.

  “You came back for me,” I murmured, adoration in my eyes. He smiled back as I unbuckled my seatbelt and reached for the door handle. “Just sit right there, okay? It might be too soon for jokes, but we’ve had enough drama today. I don’t need you falling when you get out. We wouldn’t want to make a hospital trip on top of everything else.”

  “Too soon,” I screamed, giggling at his attempt to lighten the mood. His built frame was on display thanks to the headlights and I admired it as he rounded the hood and opened my door. He offered his hand, helping me out of my seat before grabbing my bag and tucking it into hi
s side.

  “Come on, Sweets. Let’s go inside and get warmed up—put something in you.”

  Giggity.

  “You really need to stop thinking out loud, woman. I meant coffee, some food, maybe a shot.”

  “Damn it.” I felt my cheeks redden. Apparently, even in the most stressful times, my inner twelve-year-old-boy came out.

  After unlocking the door, Bash and I walked in to see Tucker and Gabe huddled close on the couch, covered up to the neck with throw blankets, their gazes fixed on the television.

  “You’re home late,” Tucker droned, still glued to the TV. I’d already hung up my coat and taken my shoes off before he finally spoke again. “Where were—oh, CALLIE! I take it you two made up? What did I miss? A little nookie after the show? What about—”

  I could tell that Bash was getting agitated. We hadn’t even figured things out between us yet, and it wasn’t going to happen if nosy-nelly stayed here. Tucker was nosy, but thankfully he was also easily distractible.

  “Are you guys Netflix and chilling? You’re awfully close on that couch,” I implied.

  Bash chimed in as he walked to the kitchen. “I’m surprised they aren’t sharing one blanket between them.”

  “Blame Tucker! He’s the one who insisted on this movie. I’m never going to be able to sleep tonight! The horror!” Gabe put both palms on his cheeks and dropped his jaw.

  When I had enough of his theatrics, I turned to look at the movie they had chosen.

  “Are you kidding me?” I slapped my palm to my forehead. “Labyrinth? You’re telling me that David Bowie in a pair of spandex tights is going to give you nightmares?”

  “Any guy in a pair of spandex tights is enough to give me nightmares. Plus, he’s always got balls in his hands,” he argued, shuddering.