Bashful Read online

  I ignored the laughs coming from my two evil friends and watched Bash’s reaction. The beautiful dimple was nowhere to be found, and his hand was clamped around his glass so tightly his knuckles turned white. His jaw was ticking so hard and fast I worried he’d grind his teeth to nubs. Maybe he wanted to make a move on Jordan, and he was annoyed I’d cockblocked him.

  It’d be impossible to ask him what was going on in that head of his with those two cackling behind me combined with the volume of the music. Settling for a distraction, I stepped behind his seated frame and began massaging the tension out of his traps a little harder than necessary.

  “Relax, or I’ll make you relax,” I joked, leaning in close so he’d hear me over the music, my voice low and menacing as I worked my thumbs into the muscle.

  He remained silent, but after a few more minutes, he was pushing his body into my hands while I worked out the knots.

  Bash pivoted on the stool and crossed his arms. “Thanks for de-Hulking me. I’m sorry I was being a dick.”

  “Not a problem. I’m used to dicks.”

  He covered his face with his large hand, shaking his head in disbelief. I blushed. “Not what I meant.”

  His smile quickly fell, morphing into something somber. I didn’t like it.

  “You weren’t careful back there, you know. Why don’t we get out of here? We can go somewhere and talk.”

  No. It wasn’t the night for serious talks—it was the night for all of us to loosen up and have fun. He was trying to pull the protective big-brother crap he used when we were freshman, and I didn’t need another lecture on giving my number out to guys. I may’ve been naïve freshman year, sure—that much was evident when I fell for a guy batting for the other team. But I was different now. I’d hooked up, dated, and lived to tell the tale without his help. I wasn’t that little girl anymore. I didn’t need his lectures.

  Lifting onto my toes, I placed my hands on his shoulders and leaned in to his ear. Unfortunately, that meant his damn cologne invaded my senses again. Seriously, was he just wearing pure pheromones tailored just for me?

  Take me now, sailor.

  Crap, crap—no. We’re in a bar.

  And he likes boys. He. Likes. Boys.

  Shaking out of my stupor, I pulled back quickly and got my mind out of the gutter. “Later, okay? Let’s go dance.”

  I tugged the sleeve of his Henley T-shirt, turning up my lips when he polished off his beer and stood. Stepping into the crowd, I struggled to find an open space, but I was too short to see over anyone’s head. Bash moved next to me, enveloping my waist with one arm as we moved through the writhing bodies.

  It’s Bash, Callie. Don’t get excited.

  His wide palm splayed over the side of my waist and his thumb circled my hipbone. My throat went dry. I felt the pressure of his grip ebb and flow, each tender movement sending shockwaves to my core. I swallowed roughly. Maybe dancing was a bad idea.

  He found a small gap in the throngs of people surrounding us and guided me in, the crowd swallowing us as quickly as it opened. Bash twisted me around, my back against his front, shrinking our space even further. My cheeks reddened and that same flush crept down my neck. I’d never ‘dirty danced’ with him before.

  The bass in the song intensified, my heart beating in time with the pulse of the music. A light sheen of sweat coated my skin and I fanned my face. It was hard to discern if it was from the sheer volume of people around us or simply the man grinding into me. Who was I kidding? It was the latter. Squeezing gently, Bash clutched and gripped the fabric of my dress at my hips, pulling me until I was flat against him. I was dizzy with the intensity of his heat—of his hard planes and my soft curves finally joined in this way. My eyelids fluttered closed and I focused on the music instead of the blazing chemistry blistering my skin.

  I don’t know how much time had passed, but it felt like I was somewhere else. Nothing mattered to me in that moment—not that Bash was gay, not that I had a date next week with someone new. All I cared about was this second, this simple moment where I felt something and I knew he did, too.

  The song morphed into a slow jam and I wanted to test the delicious, torturous waters. I couldn’t help but grind further into him, shockingly surprised at the amount of rhythm he had. That’s when his dick hardened behind me.

  I didn’t know I could get that sort of reaction out of him.

  It feels good. Don’t question it.

  I didn’t know how much farther I could push whatever this was, but I didn’t want this feeling to stop. Taking a chance, I rolled my head back onto his shoulder, my hooded gaze set on his as I brought my hand up to his face. Grazing his stubble, I trailed my hand lower, scraping his neck ever-so-gently with my nails. He bit his lip as my hand moved to my own chest, entranced with the pattern I was tracing over my décolletage.

  Bash’s Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat and he squeezed his eyes shut. Every nerve ending misfired, our bodies desperately connecting at as many points as possible. His hands released my hips and traveled upward, gently squeezing my body through the thin fabric of my dress. Onlookers would’ve witnessed the crossing of dancing into dry-humping, and I didn’t care.

  Thumbs circled the underside of my breasts and I inhaled rapidly—I needed oxygen to make my head stop spinning. I pushed my chest out and pressed into his hands, unashamed desperation for his touch winning the battle going on in my head. Go higher, Bash, please. Fireworks burst into my thoughts as Bash’s mouth met my neck. Holy fuck.

  His warm breath pebbled my skin as he dragged them up and down my neck.

  “Bash, please,” I whispered. Give me more.

  I wouldn’t be able to take it much longer. The throb between my legs had grown from a dull ache to a drastic need. I had two options; turn around and screw Bash in public, or go home and hang out with Bob.

  My eyes flew open as my arm was wrenched forward by someone pulling me through the crowd. Whoever it was must’ve had a death wish, because I was going to kill them.

  I shook desire from my brain as Evie yanked me near the DJ booth.

  “I think I just got pregnant watching you two,” she whisper-shouted.

  “I think I did, too.” My shoulders sank. Dammit. Why do I do this to myself?

  She faced me full on and appraised me. “Are you sure he’s gay, love? Because that was basically indecent exposure.”

  “As sure as tacos are life.” I peeked over my shoulder. My body was still on fire. I absentmindedly rubbed my neck where he’d kissed me, my hands trying to memorize the places on my skin that still had synapses firing.

  “Damn. Such a shame,” Evie said flippantly, beckoning the DJ with her finger and a wink. She lifted her hand to his ear, whispering a song choice while pointing to Tucker. The DJ’s laugh lines crinkled as he nodded, going to his laptop to transition into whatever music selection she’d asked for.

  The volume went low and the spotlight overhead flicked to the stage. Evie’s face had morphed into a psychotic twist of delicious torment as she faced our flamboyant knight.

  “Ladies and gents, we’ve got a surprise performance for y’all tonight! Who wants to see some action?”

  The crowd went crazy as the DJ hit a button, the spotlight moving to Tucker.

  “Tucker Garrison, everyone! Let’s give him a hand!”

  Screams erupted when the spotlight found Tucker strutting near us, the beam following him as he climbed the steps to the small stage. He stopped in the center and straightened his tie before facing the brick wall behind him.

  Tucker was fearless as “I Touch Myself” by Divinyls started overhead. I cracked up at the obnoxious, overtly sexual dance moves he’d improvised—they outshined anything that could be choreographed. Rubbing his nipples through his shirt had driven the crowd crazy and screams echoed through the bar. Bumping hips with Evie, I knew this was exactly what I needed to get out of my own head.

  Until I knew, I just knew Bash was beside me once more, anger radiating
off his body. I tried to look for any tells, but his face was a mask, no emotion to be found. Did I push him too far? Piss him off? Did he think I was making fun of him with my dirty dancing? It took two to tango. He was just as guilty. If he was pissed, then that was bullshit.

  I froze, unsure of how to react. He stared at the stage, watching Tuck make a mockery of himself, a fake smile on his face as he whistled and cheered. My instincts wanted to turn and kiss the shit out of him, but a quick glance at his ticking jaw proved it’d be better to just pretend our dance never happened. Being around a pissed off Bash was not bringing up my mood.

  I took one last look at Evie, who was matching Tucker move-for-move, and faded slowly into the crowd.

  §

  Callie: Got an Uber back to the apartment. Left some water and aspirin on the counter for you. xoxo

  Evie: I wish you had said goodbye. You really freaked us out. You sure you’re okay?

  Callie: Freaked you out? Sorry...just had to get out of there. Too much bass.

  Evie: Or too much Bash...

  Callie: Yeah, that too. Love you, night.

  Throwing my phone onto the bed, I pulled off my dress, wincing when I smelled his cologne permeating the fabric. There was a battle waging in my head, confusion warring with horniness, guilt, and something else. In the farthest corner of my brain there was a perky cheerleader wielding pom-poms screaming ‘he totally loves you!’

  She’s really fucking annoying right now.

  I slipped on a tank top and crawled under the soft down comforter. Sinking deeply into my mountain of pillows, I rolled to my side and fitfully fell asleep.

  Fingers trailed lazily under my shirt in slow circles, inching upward toward my chest. His thumb brushed my nipple, shooting tingles straight to my core. I watched as he gathered the sheets in his fists, teasing the fabric slowly down my body. Fully exposed to him, Bash peppered kisses on my ribs, nipping at my sensitive skin. His lips danced around my belly button, my arousal heightening as his warm tongue traced my hipbones. Writhing under the pressure of his body against mine, I lifted my hips, desperate to make contact where I needed it the most. He worked my breasts, massaging with his skilled fingers. I gasped for air and closed my eyes as his other hand traveled beneath the hem of my panties. We both stared at his hand working me softly with hooded eyes. I was going to combust if he didn’t get inside of me soon.

  “Bash, fuck, please....” I groaned, unclenching the sheet below me and reaching for his jeans.

  My door slammed open, hitting the wall with a thud. Evie stood in the backlit hallway and assessed me lying there, my own hand in my underwear, before she quickly shut the door.

  “Oh my fucking God, Evie! Announce yourself!”

  She was SO getting Ex-Lax in her morning smoothie one of these days.

  I pulled my pillow over my face and screamed. All I wanted was a little relief, and she killed it in two seconds flat. Mortified, I covered back up as she spoke through the hollow wood.

  “Christ, I’m SO sorry, Callie! I heard you talking, and—and—I’m really smashed. I’m so sorry. Sorry. I’m going to go to bed now and hope my dreams are as bash-full”—she giggled, hiccupping—“as yours.”

  Six

  IT WAS AUDITION DAY AND my stomach was rolling as bad as when I was twelve and rode the tilt-a-whirl too many times at the carnival. Outside of classes, my time was spent pouring over the monologues from Playing with Fire. Days escaped me as I stood repeatedly in front of my floor-length mirror, practicing deliberate movements that conveyed as much emotion as my tone did.

  My decision to hole up in my apartment had absolutely nothing to do with Bash. By nothing, I meant only eighty-five percent. Okay, ninety-five, but I’d never admit that to anyone.

  It’d been two weeks since our night at Loxley’s, and it’d taken serious evasive maneuvers to dodge him—so many that I could’ve probably left college to become a ninja. I made it to every class a little bit early or a lotta-bit late, since Tucker and Bash were in or near most of them. Out of sight, out of mind, right? Wrong. Reminders of him were everywhere I went, and even the safety of my own home didn’t stop him from haunting me.

  He’d be at auditions. I couldn’t avoid him anymore, even if I wanted to.

  Huffing out a shaky breath, I left my apartment and made the trek to MacArthur. Time to make it or break it.

  §

  Classmates loitered in the hall, holding packets of paper in their shaky hands. Focused, furrowed brows adorned their glazed-over faces as they studied the material. They spoke aloud to no one, to their feet, or to the wall—literally. Theatre majors preparing for an audition probably looked so strange to outsiders. I could only imagine someone walking into this hallway and witnessing a group of adults acting like those zombies who didn’t know how to run, grumbling to themselves and not making eye contact. They’d walk right back out, stealthy as fuck, so they wouldn’t get bitten with whatever disease we’d been inflicted with.

  I signed up with the student assistant before taking a ‘cold read’ from the stack next to him. It didn’t matter how prepared you were with your monologues; cold readings were the impromptu part of auditioning. We were given minutes to memorize scenes from the script that were hand-picked by the director, and if you screwed it up, you had no chance at the role. A tiny blip of preparation was all we got to prove we could play the character and do it convincingly. In truth, we all bullshitted to the best of our ability and hoped we fit the mold the director wanted. To make matters worse, Playing with Fire was being directed by Professor James. If I didn’t rock every single part of my audition, I was screwed.

  No pressure.

  Students filtered in and out through the closed doors of the theatre every few minutes, their faces a myriad of emotions. Some high-fived friends in elation, while others accepted defeat with forlorn glances. I cringed as a guy from my musical theatre class exited the auditorium and slapped himself.

  Like, actually slapped himself. In the face.

  The stage wasn’t the only place where actors got dramatic.

  I was distracted with the thought until a familiar scent rushed past me. Bash sauntered through the hall without a second glance and scratched his name on the signup sheet, the poor assistant wide-eyed at his abruptness. He turned and gave the slightest nod, so small that it would have been invisible to anyone else. My stomach dropped to my feet, like I was waiting at the top of a rollercoaster right before it went down that first big hill. All of that avoiding did nothing to ease the tension radiating between us.

  “Calliope Miller,” the student assistant called, holding the door with one hand and his clipboard in the other. Shoving my monologue book into my backpack, I exhaled deeply and walked into the Julian Theatre.

  Climbing the steps to the stage, I gave myself time for my eyes to adjust to the brilliance of the lighting overhead. Lifting a hand to shade my face, I greeted the four Theater Arts professors sitting in the audience in front of me. I cleared my throat and clasped my hands.

  “Hi, my name is Calliope Miller and I’m here to audition for the role of Quinn.”

  “Hello, Miss Miller. We’ve asked you to complete a two-minute monologue and to read a side from the script. Are you prepared for that?” I could see Professor James’ smug sneer even partially blinded by the lights. Whatever, he could eat a dick. The red velvet chair he was sitting in clashed terribly with his mustard yellow sweater. And I was going to rock this audition.

  “Yes, I’m looking forward to it. Thank you all for this opportunity,” I responded eagerly, polite and confident as I waited for their prompt to begin. Actors had to command a room of hundreds, if not thousands of people, but the first audience was right now. I had to win over three people in this auditorium to remain in the competition for the part of Quinn. If I didn’t convince them of my versatility, I could be sure Professor James would cross my name off without a second thought.

  “You may begin.”

  §

 
; Anxiety floated off my shoulders and dispersed into the air as I exited the building with a spring in my step. My audition had gone better than I’d expected it to, even garnering an encouraging smile from Professor James himself. I shrugged my backpack higher on my shoulder and headed for the parking lot, excited to fill my belly with a celebratory carb load. I wondered if Bash had gone in yet. I’d never seen him act in a part larger than the chorus in two musicals freshman year. According to Tucker, he was extremely talented but shy when it came to performing in front of large crowds. Something about all the eyes being on him.

  Maybe he didn’t realize the confidence that oozed out of him, or the natural charm that he possessed, or that people wanted to look at him.

  Or that he was as attractive as a freaking magnet.

  It was near the end of a long audition day and those directors were probably already casting in their heads. He needed to rock it out if he wanted a chance. Turning my keys in the ignition, I started my car and shot a quick text to Bash, hoping to ease any nerves he had.

  Just because it was weird right now didn’t mean we weren’t friends. Friends needed to support each other.

  Callie: Hey, just wanted to tell you to break a leg, buddy. :)

  Bash: thanks...buddy.

  I’d hoped his response would make me feel a little less uneasy about the state of our friendship, but all it’d done was add to the sinking feeling in my stomach. Fighting the urge to overthink his text, I queued up my after-audition playlist on my phone and pressed play. Nelly’s “Country Grammar” blared through my car’s sound system as the adrenaline from the stage—and from Bash’s text—left my body.

  §

  The diner was practically empty, save for the two elderly gentlemen at the counter, coffee and pie in front of them. I spotted my best friend sprawled out in a giant corner booth, sipping a chocolate milkshake covered in whipped cream and sprinkles. It wasn’t fair that she could eat things like that and still remain a skinny bitch. All of my calories came with a price. The waitress came by and I placed an order for Boston cream pie and a side of fries.