Page 8 of Rebel Romeo

My gaze lifts to meet Holden’s eyes, the devastating heat in them more familiar than they should be. Goosebumps lift on my body as his tongue darts out and he wets his lips.

“It’s your line, Katherine,” he says knowingly. The quiet rasp of his voice rumbles across the acoustics of the theater. Low and growly, it’s sexy in a way that isn’t trying and it burrows inside me, curling around my spine.

The fact that he can still turn me on without laying a finger on me, even with another woman’s hand on his thigh, pisses me off to no end.

Except it’s not Holden I’m mad at. It’s me. The fact that I let him get into my head. The fact that I let him affect me—affect my performance.

Tension twists through my gut, but I grit my teeth and force my attention back to Nolan. “You say that now,” I try again with my line, but it’s stilted. I’m stilted. Holden and Missy are in my head and I’ve lost the raw, natural emotion that Nolan and I had in this scene two minutes ago.

The curtain has dropped. The magic has fallen.

I clear my throat and rub my hands over my eyes and try again. “You say that now, but when is weakness ever beautiful?”

Fuck. It’s not good acting, but at least I got my line out.

I hate how easily I’m distracted. I’m flappable. I hate how when one little thing goes wrong in the audience, my focus completely shatters.

Did I expect for a full Broadway audience to be silent throughout our entire performance? No. Of course not. There would be whispering and laughs and gasps and, hell, probably even a few cell phones going off.

That’s what live performances are all about. I used to be able to act through anything. I used to have intense focus.

Until Holden.

Holden ruined it.

Ruined me.

Nolan pulls me closer to him and I both envy and admire him for being able to stay with the role so easily, especially considering Missy is his ex-girlfriend, too. “Crying isn’t weak. If anything, being vulnerable is the bravest thing you could ever do.”

I’m supposed to wriggle away from his hold as Holden had staged for me to do.

But it doesn’t feel like enough.

Not for the pain and jealousy and anger bubbling deep inside me. The anger and resentment of having to see Missy and Holden together every day if I want my dreams of performing on Broadway to come true.

It’s not fair.

It’s not fucking fair.

With a frustrated growl, I yank my arms away from Nolan and shove his shoulders.

Hard.

Too hard.

He isn’t ready for the intense change of blocking and he stumbles backwards, his heel catching on the corner of the bed. “What the—ow!” he shouts.

He falls to a seat on the bed and cradles his foot.

“Oh my God.” I rush over to him, falling to my knees. “What have I done? I’m so sorry! Are you okay?”

“What the hell, Slugger?” Nolan laughs as he speaks, but he can’t hide his wince either. As much as he’s trying to not show it, it’s obvious he’s in pain.

I glance down at his heel to find a massive splinter poking out.

Holden is on the stage beside me in seconds.

“What the fuck was that, Kate?” he asks as he drops to kneel beside me in front of Nolan. “You were supposed to pull away from him and cross stage left. Not shove him halfway across the room.”

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