Page 44 of Safety Net
"Should we…um, go inside?" I asked.
Lincoln nodded. "I'll follow your lead."
I resisted the urge to pick at my nails as we walked. The sun dipped below the mountains, leaving the air cool. Monroe's Playhouse was a historic building, featuring a brownstone exterior and an old, yellowed marquee. Inside, the walls were lined with red velvet, and the floor was an elegant marble, making everything feel far more sophisticated than a small college town had any right to be. Tinsel possessed a tiny, well-known community of theatre lovers. It gave birth to a couple of big names in Broadway today and continued to nurture smaller ones.
I started up the stairs toward the mezzanine, pressing my index finger to my lips when Lincoln met my gaze. He mirrored my gesture and winked. I swallowed a laugh, stomach fluttering from the smile he gave me. He followed me so closely that I felt the heat radiating off his body. I envisioned pausing without warning on the staircase. He'd bump into me if I did. I'd feel his hard chest on my back. My cheeks burned from imagining being pressed against him. Was this how others felt when indulgingin fantasy? It was far more physically demanding than I had imagined.
I didn't get turned on by people. Arousal in correlation to someone else had been foreign to me. I learned about horniness by sneaking romance books into my library stacks in high school. I would thumb through the pages, wondering what it meant to have my core heat or how one's breast swelled at the mere sight of someone. I didn't like the thought of a stranger touching me. I didn't like the idea of someone I didn't know in my space. Except recently, every time we talked, I something in me wanted to be closer to Lincoln: no needy core or pebbled nipples but a gentle want to feel his fingers against mine.
I hoped our hands brushed when we sat in the back row and both set our arms on the armrest. I wanted to test these new emotions, see if the desire in my veins would react to his touch and be satisfied by it. But our fingers were nowhere near each other when we settled. And Lincoln didn't seem flirty. He was a million miles away. His gaze was on the stage, his eyes wide and mesmerized as he watched the actors practicing below.
I also directed my attention to the practice. I pushed away my heart's unusual flutter when Lincoln leaned over to whisper in my ear.
"Is it always like this?" he asked, voice hushed with reverence.
"What do you mean?" I whispered back, refusing to remove my gaze from the stage because he was close enough for me to notice how he hadn't shaved in a couple of days. Close enough his deep voice vibrated at a frequency that made every inch of my body alert and in need of finding the right tune to complement his.
"Being in a theatre," he said.
"Is this your first time?"
"It is. I think you've ruined me, Celeste."
My breath caught in my throat, hands itched to reach out to his. He was so close, and it was dark, and I needed to feel someone solid. And here he was, the guy who had been so consistent in how he interacted with me. Steady in how he talked to me.
Lincoln was already looking at me when I turned to him. His smile was small, and his hand rested underneath his perfect jaw. How did I not notice how perfect his birthmarks were before now? They were arranged like a connect-the-dot image, ready for me to paint a million and one designs on. Butterflies. Stars. Flowers. Hearts. Lincoln was a perfect canvas, and I could decorate every inch of his skin.
"I don't know how someone experiences something like this and ever leaves." He looked back at the stage. The band started up their next song. It must be a sound check day because otherwise, the actors would have used a recording of the music. Live music always made the experience ten times more awe-inspiring. We could feel the swell of the cello in the air. Our eardrums trembled from the pounding percussion.
There was a special kind of beauty in falling in love with a song along with someone else. The intimacy of catching each other's gaze right when the music swelled was unmatched. Lincoln was quiet as he listened, eyes widening at all the dramatic moments. Shoulders relaxing when the string section offered a sense of peace. His enjoyment made the experience ten times more memorable. It was difficult not to stare, but I wanted to watch every change in his expression. Lincoln was fascinating, beautiful, and so honest. It was far easier to let my guard down around honest people. And, I realized, far easier to want to be around them.
"I think I'll pitch a tent right here," Lincoln decided. He kicked up his feet, resting the back of his heels on the chair in front of us. "Live here until I run out of food and water."
I smiled because I'd thought the same thing the first time I witnessed live music. "How long will that be?"
"Well, there was a water fountain in the lobby, so I'm good on that." He dug into his front pockets and retrieved a box of mints and a lollipop. "This is plenty of calories."
"For a guy like you?"
"I have way more willpower than it seems, okay? I could probably last a week on this."
"You're a hockey player," I said.
"Another indication of my willpower," he insisted.
I chewed on my bottom lip, holding back a laugh. "You'd be starving before midnight."
"I'll feed off the vibes," he said.
"Ravished."
"Don't underestimate the power passion has to satiate. You've never pulled an all-nighter thanks to desire alone?" He glanced at me again; the mischief in his eyes made his expression a little dangerous.
My skin heated. I got his meaning all mixed up because I'm used to him flirting. And I'm used to brushing it off. But today, I like the idea of being teased. I wanted it.
I dipped my gaze down to my lap. "I haven't."
"I doubt that," he said. "Your music has to keep you up."
