Bashful Read online

  “Hey there, love. How did it go? Did you win the hearts of the judges?” She tucked the menus back behind the ketchup before pulling out the jelly packets and stacking them into a pyramid.

  “Directors, dork—and I don’t know. You’re right about them judging, though. My appearance, the way I move, the way I recite the words. It won’t help to worry about it now. It just depends on if my performance fit the vision Professor James has for Quinn.”

  “Wow. You’re being awkwardly mature about this. Have to focus on something besides a certain bloke, yeah?” She slurped her shake and nudged me with her foot.

  I flicked her jelly pyramid over and stuck my tongue out.

  I folded my arms over the table and face-planted into them, rehashing the bar night with her again. I didn’t know how she hadn’t stuck the straw through my eye, since this was the third time I’d brought it up since it’d happened. She’d seen it from a different perspective, and I needed more overanalyzing. She indulged me, listening to every minute detail once more because she loved me. Or because I was buying her food.

  The waitress came back and set down the pie and fries in front of me, my mouth salivating. Sticking my fork into the pie, I shoved a bite into my mouth as I spoke.

  “I pushed too hard. If I do it again, I’m going to lose him as a friend forever this time.”

  “I don’t know what to tell you, love. I’ve never seen him act like that with another girl. He had you glued to his body, for Christ’s sake.” She shook her arms in the air, as if what she was saying wasn’t emphasized enough already. “His custard slinger was about to bust out of his jeans.”

  Suddenly the Boston cream pie wasn’t appetizing. I pushed it away. I really needed to keep her off the Internet.

  “Trust me, I remember. What am I supposed to do? I thought my feelings were out of control freshman year. Now it’s...different. Now everything is all wrong. He barely looked at me today.”

  She pushed her milkshake in my direction with a sympathetic smile. “You finish. You need it more than me.”

  Seven

  I GLANCED OVER AT MY alarm clock again, the minutes passing like hours the entire night. The cast list was going to be posted at nine tomorrow and then I’d be able to breathe again. My plan was solid—I’d wait until I had enough time between classes that if I didn’t get the part, I could go back to the apartment and ugly cry.

  An option that seemed fairly reasonable and not at all dramatic.

  Fighting against my sheets, I flopped one leg outside of the covers. My usual habit of listing all the Duggar children to fall asleep—my version of counting sheep—had not cured my restlessness.

  I forced myself upright and shoved the comforter down past my legs. Padding into the dark hallway, I skimmed the wall with my fingers as a guide to get to the kitchen for a glass of water. Sipping, I glanced over at the counter where my charging phone was lighting up with a notification.

  Bash: I know it’s late, but I can’t sleep. You as nervous as me about tomorrow? You’re probably not, that’s stupid. You’re going to get Quinn.

  Bash: Okay, so...good night and break a leg on the list tomorrow.

  My heart thudded in my chest as I checked the time on my phone. His text had been sent just a minute ago, which meant Bash was awake, too. This was the way with us—connected yet always apart. Thumbing the screen, I tapped out a response.

  Callie: Hey. I’m up.

  Bash: I hope I didn’t wake you.

  Callie: No, no. Same as you, can’t sleep. Have any tips that’ll help me travel to dream land?

  Bash: Nothing that has worked. It’s too bad Tuck isn’t here. He gives good snuggle.

  I smirked at the message, wondering which of those two was the little spoon. Cuddling sounded like the perfect segue into relaxation right now. I’d sneak in for a sleepover with Evie, but she was a kicker at night. I’d always wake up the following morning with marbled purple splotches on my calves, and nobody had time for that.

  A ding shook me out of my restless haze.

  Bash: You know, as friends, I feel the need to be completely honest with you about something.

  Oh God. Oh God. He was going to finally come out.

  In the middle of the night. He was giving me ample time to mourn.

  He’d tell me he had a rich, hot boyfriend across the pond, or that he was in love with Tucker. He’d explain that night at Loxley’s, informing me he was high on bath salts or something before showing up, and that it was just for shits and giggles. I stared at those three little text dots with bated breath, willing him to say anything else.

  Bash: The truth is, I give good snuggle, too. ;)

  Bash: I mean this in the least pervy way possible, but would you come over and sleep with me? Could be mutually beneficial.

  My labored, panicked breath from his possible confession was replaced by pure anxiety. Bash wanted me to come over—to come over and SLEEP. WITH. HIM. Adrenaline blazed down my arms, my veins feeling like tiny sparklers. It was only a five-minute drive. And as tired as I should be, I was 100 percent awake now.

  Did I want to go over to his place? Of course I did. Was it a good idea? Definitely not.

  Feeling brave and a little dumb, I responded I’d be over soon and quietly left the apartment. If Evie woke up and found out where I was going, she’d kill me.

  J

  I wrapped my fleece zip-up tighter around my waist, my breaths clouding as they hit the night air. Goose bumps pricked my flesh as I climbed the steps to Bash and Tucker’s apartment. I’d only been there a handful of times and only when Bash was abroad. Rapping on the cool metal as quietly as I could, I glanced over my shoulder to make sure I wasn’t waking the neighbors across the hall. When the heavy door popped open a few inches, a smile and dimple welcomed me in the dim outdoor lighting.

  “Hey,” he greeted in a scratchy, deep voice. Pulling the door open further, he ushered me inside. “I didn’t know if you were really going to come.”

  “I usually follow through on my threats.” I winked, stepping into his living room and shrugging out of my jacket. It smelled like he’d lit a candle recently, the floral scent mixing with sulphur from a match being struck. Removing my shoes, I scanned the room, noting the differences in the décor since Bash had returned. Gone were half of Tucker’s sparkly trinkets and bright patterns, now replaced with more masculine décor. The strange combination of glittery tchotchke’s and subdued modern accents seemed to work, and was particularly impressive for two college guys. A large microsuede couch lined the wall facing us, adorned with throw pillows.

  Huh. I should get some throw pillows.

  “It’s not a threat if I wanted you here, Callie. I need a cuddle buddy tonight, or I won’t get my beauty sleep.” He smiled, the snark reaching his tired eyes. “Come on, let’s go Netflix and chill.”

  He caught my horrified expression and laughed. “You think too much.” Bash’s warm hand gripped mine and I shivered, still cold from the night air. “You’re absolutely freezing. Let’s get you warmed up, Sweets.”

  He led me down the hall and into his room. Soft flashes of light bounced from the TV to the walls as I took in his personal space. A corkboard near the window showcased Playbills and ticket stubs from Broadway shows. The credenza above his desk held postcards and framed photos with London landmarks in the background. He looked so happy in those pictures, and a pang of jealousy made my stomach hurt.

  What really caught my eye, though, was the large bookcase along the far wall, and I walked to it. It was filled to the brim with autobiographies and history books. I found myself staring at the bottom shelf, packed with a genre I was surprised he’d be into—contemporary romance. Crouching down to inspect further, I rubbed my fingers against the spine of one of my favorites.

  “I didn’t take you for a romance guy,” I whispered, pulling the novel from the shelf and flipping through the pages.

  He shuffled nervously, scratching the back of his head. “I’ve got more
secrets than you think.” He lowered to his knees next to me. Removing the book from my hands, he put it away carefully and helped me to stand. Pulling back the duvet, Bash gestured to the soft sheets. I climbed in and sank down, enveloped by the pure bliss that only high thread-count cotton could provide.

  “Oh my God, is this Heaven? Can I live here forever?” I murmured, turning onto my side and nuzzling further into the pillow.

  He rounded the bed with squinted eyes, watching as I sprawled my legs across the width of the bed, taking over the entire bottom of the mattress. Bash tucked himself in, gently nudging my lower half out of the way until he had about one-third of his bed for himself. What could I say? If it were a bed, I’d hog it.

  “You can, but only if you pick the perfect TV show. May the odds be in your favor,” he said, handing me the remote.

  Sitting up on my elbows, I flipped through the guide and finally settled on a show about finding the perfect house. HGTV always made me fall asleep. Thank God for late-night syndication.

  Bash lifted his hand, his calloused palm falling gently on my chest. Heat filled my body as he gently laid me flat before pulling me into him. I was surprised at how well my curves fit into his, considering the height difference. The smell of his body wash invaded my senses, which was not helping the war in my brain between tiredness and lust. Brushing my chest with his arm, he reached over and took the remote out of my hand. His husky voice spoke softly above me as he retreated.

  “Huh, nice choice. I thought you were a perfect girl before, but now I just may have to marry you. House hunting is always legit, especially when they have a budget of eight million and a part-time job of walking cats. Sign me up.”

  “I’d get a tropical vacation home, and my job would be a professional bubble blower.” I yawned, so comfortable now that his arm was settled around my waist. Soft laughter echoed behind me as my eyelids fell and sleep finally came.

  Bash wrapped his arms around my waist, gripping me roughly and pulling me toward him. I wiggled my ass back and forth and gripped my hand over his, guiding his fingers under my pajamas where they belonged. They skirted the hem of my panties, barely grazing the sensitive skin underneath. I ground into his hard length, the friction working in unison with the tender movements of his hand as we both worked toward release.

  Beep, beep, beep...

  I groggily searched for my alarm clock, slapping at the air while cursing it for interrupting another dream of Bash. Where’s the fucking alarm clock?

  Rubbing my eyes into focus, I realized I wasn’t in my room.

  Oh, shit. That wasn’t a dream. There was a hand in my panties and it was attached to a shirtless, hot as fuck, and—I peeked underneath the sheet—well-endowed Bash. Panicked, I jerked out of his arms and jumped out of the bed. When did his shirt come off? Maybe I wasn’t the only one who didn’t realize we were both having wet dreams. If he did, maybe I could explain the whole dick rubbing and hand-in-the-pants thing as a Netflix and chill joke, playing off of his comment from last night.

  Holy shitballs, look at his dick. No, don’t look at his dick. Get a grip, Callie!

  “Bash! Um, y-your alarm is going off,” I stuttered, creeping toward him and shaking him awake.

  Sitting up, he stretched his arms high and moved from side to side, the gesture opening the flap in his boxers. My eyes must have been bugging out of my head—shit, don’t say head—at the giant morning wood facing me at full mast. He gave me the cutest smirk, obviously happy that I stayed the night, before noticing that my eyes were bouncing back and forth between his cute morning face and something else entirely.

  “FUCK,” he yelled, rustling the comforter and adjusting himself before turning to face me.

  “Oh my God, Callie. I’m so sorry. This normally doesn’t happen. I, uh—” He stopped, scrubbing his face with his hands before gesturing lower. “He shouldn’t have reacted like this with you. It’s not your fault, it’s mine. I’m so embarrassed.”

  Okay, so the Netflix and chill joke is out.

  Tears sprung to my eyes as I stared at the carpet, hurt at his reaction. Everything that had happened between us was just fully cemented as an accident.

  He shouldn’t have reacted like this with me.

  Pain blossomed in my heart, any hopes of requited feelings pulled out like a poison. I needed to get out of here and out of his space before he saw me break.

  “It’s okay, I get it,” I sniffled quietly, the pooling of tears threatening to break through the barrier of my eyelashes. Just laugh it off, Callie. “I’m going to head out, okay? Thanks for the, uh, sleepover. May you and your boner have a lovely day,” I choked out with a garbled laugh, walking as briskly as I could into the hallway without breaking into a run.

  Oh my God, I suck, I suck, I suck.

  Yanking on my fleece, I unlocked the front door and stepped through as Bash’s voice called to me from his room.

  Eight

  EVIE WAS AWAKE WHEN I got home, shouting from the kitchen as I closed our front door.

  “Where the hell were you, woman? I’ve been worried sick. It’d be nice to at least get a text if you’re going to disappear in the middle of the night,” she griped, rounding the island and taking in my red, blotchy face. “I thought you were kidnapped or something.”

  I couldn’t hold back the sniffles.

  “Oh God, what’s wrong, love?”

  I burst into another round of tears, shoving my phone in her hand so she could read the texts and then explaining the bare bones of what had gone down this morning.

  “I’m so fucking stupid, Evie. What girl in their right mind would fall for a guy she knows is gay? I’m a freaking sadist. Being friends with him shouldn’t be this difficult. I shouldn’t have these feelings. It’s been years and I just fall right back into the same shitty pattern. This was only going to end one way,” I cried, wiping away my tears with the sleeves of my jacket. “Plus, I’ve got to be a special kind of stupid to confuse morning wood with attraction.”

  She snuggled me into her tall frame, rubbing my head. “It’ll be all right, Callie. You’re going to be okay. You’ll find someone who deserves you and loves every part of you, including your vagina.”

  We stared at each other for a few seconds before my tears turned into howling laughter, a sure sign I was overtired and heartbroken. Evie always knew what to say to make me feel better. She pushed me into the bathroom to get ready for the day, promising a full Bash-bashing session later on. Stealing a glance in the mirror, I cringed at my salt-streaked cheeks and swollen eyes.

  Nice, I thought. My acting career can officially start right now as an extra on The Walking Dead.

  I hopped in the shower and quickly washed my hair, moving my loofah over all the spots Bash touched in an attempt to scrub the memories away.

  I left the house an hour later, my appearance slightly improved but nowhere near my normal almost-put-together self. Sulking through my first class, I zoned out until I could pack up again, my binder full of lecture notes as empty as the expression on my face. I desired nothing more than to hole up in my apartment for the rest of the day and watch crappy horror movies—obviously, anything remotely romantic was out of the question. Unfortunately, the cast list took priority over slasher films.

  My stomach was having a temper tantrum, so I hurried into the commons to buy a chicken salad wrap before I headed to MacArthur. Chewing as I walked, I contemplated the different reactions that could come from reading the cast list. In about five minutes, that list would become either one of my favorite college memories or the proverbial cherry on top of today’s shit sundae.

  J

  A small crowd surrounded the second-floor bulletin board, which was common during cast-list day. Hugs and shouts of happiness intermingled in the otherwise quiet hallway. Shaking out my shoulders, I released a fraction of built-up tension and blew out a breath. Forcing my body forward, I took a few steps as I looked nervously at my acquaintances and friends. They stared at me, their fa
ces masked in solemn indifference, not a hint as to my fate. The chicken wrap threatened to make another appearance as everyone parted for me like the Red Sea as I made my way closer to the small piece of paper held up by a single pushpin.

  Thudding in my ears drowned out the whispers behind my back. Lifting my index finger, I touched the copy paper that had the text “Playing with Fire” at the top. My glance slowly grazed upward from the bottom, my finger searching for my name until almost the very top. That’s when I saw it.

  QUINN......................CALLIOPE MILLER

  I couldn’t blink, couldn’t look away from my name—the one simple strip of text that would change my semester. My smile grew as I internally jumped up and down in excitement. I knew it would’ve been a dick move to jump up and down for real in front of students who didn’t get cast. It would’ve been akin to those prom queens who had an inkling they were going to get crowned who’d then say, “oh, this is so unexpected!” That wasn’t me. I understood that every role I won was earned by extensive practice and a whole lot of luck.

  I’d been working my craft since the third grade, when I got my first community theatre role in Annie as Pepper, and the pure elation that came with seeing my name on a list. With experience came bigger and better parts—I got more and more lead roles, in performances like The Crucible to Into the Woods. Every year, I did at least three shows and took singing and acting lessons in between. My parents never let me get overconfident and kept me humble.

  My back had been against the crowd long enough that they were aware I saw my role—either that, or I was unable to read. Quickly, I chanced one last glimpse to see who was playing my leading man before leaving.

  AIDEN.......................SEBASTIAN MOORE

  What? No.

  No, no.

  Eyes widening, I checked again to be sure. He was still there, listed right above my name. I wanted to scream at the heavens, to curse them for playing a hand like this. Bash and I were going to be spending a hell of a lot more time together, when all I needed was time apart.