Backstage Romance: An Austen-Inspired Romantic Comedy Box Set Gigi Blume (fantasy books to read .txt) 📖

laughed. “That crazy Spanish language, always mixing up consonants.”

“Right. I knew that,” I said with a nervous laugh. “How annoying.”

“That’s what I’ve always thought.”

“Is it short for something?”

“Spanish consonants?”

“Your name.”

“No… just Jorge.”

“Oh, yeah, of course. Duh.”

His eyes smoldered, surveying me from my toes, lingering on my hips and teetering from my face to my chest in unveiled interest.

“I’m Beth,” I blurted. “That’s short for Elizabeth. Some people call me Lizzie. Actually, only my parents call me Lizzie. So just Beth.”

He was silent, just looking at me with his head tilted to the side like he was trying to figure me out. It made me a little uncomfortable, and when I’m uncomfortable, I talk way too much.

“I thought I was alone. If I had known you were here, I would have never… I mean, I didn’t mean to disturb your work. Do you work here? What do you do? I’m an actress. I’m in the cast of Pirates, but we’re still using the rehearsal studio. Are you building the set? It must be hard to erect something like that. It’s really big!”

One brow shot up on his remarkable face, and he let go of me, stepping back an inch. I immediately felt the cool air on my back where his hand had been, oddly missing the contact. But then he enclosed his hand on mine and nudged me softly toward the wings.

“It is really big,” he said with a wink. “Would you like to see it?”

I nodded furiously and followed him backstage, passing a forest of trellis and scrim. I looked up to the fly system. It was so high, it made me feel small. He took me past counterweights and pulleys, through the crossover behind the scrim and into a large, cool room smelling of sawdust and fresh paint. I loved that smell. It reminded me of building sets in high school and college to fulfill my tech requirement.

Jorge led the way with his arms stretched out.

“And this is where the magic happens.”

He spun around to see how impressed I truly was, and it hit me. This guy was smooth. Real smooth.

“Oh, I get it,” I said, shaking one finger. “You’re good, I gotta hand it to you.”

“What?”

“I almost fell for it.”

“Fell for what?” he whimpered. “I don’t understand.”

“Come on. Look at you. No shirt. Low-fitting jeans. You appear out of nowhere with your ripped abs and foxy simper and bring me to ‘where the magic happens.’ Oh, pah-leez. That line must work on lots of girls.”

He looked at me, marveling my words for a long, still moment, and he appeared so out of sorts, I suddenly regretted my verbal diarrhea. But then he laughed, and I regretted opening my mouth at all because it sounded so ridiculous once the words were out there, hanging between us.

“I’ve known you for like, two minutes.” He laughed.

“I know. Sorry. I don’t know why I said that. I watch too many movies, I guess.”

“I mean, if I were to have my way with you, I’d wait at least a half hour.”

“Ha ha.”

“It’s one of my rules. No swimming after meals and wait a half hour before seducing girls.

“Okay. Now you’re making fun of me. That’s fine. I deserve it.”

His laugh simmered into an amused sigh and his lips curved into a smile that reached his sparkling eyes, provoking that dimple to make an unguarded appearance. His eyes searched mine, and an electric charge sparked and turned my innards into molten lava. I felt like one of those chocolate cakes with the drippy center. Why did this guy make me feel like food?

I didn’t notice how he closed the distance between us, but he was suddenly close. I had known the man for less time than it takes to brush my teeth, but I felt in that moment, as his presence shared the energy surrounding my body, I wouldn’t protest if he didn’t wait a half hour before swimming. I was a rule breaker like that.

His eyes traveled over my figure, and he sucked in a sharp breath as he said, “Do you like my vessel?”

“You… your what?”

His eyes flashed with mirth, and he grinned ruefully as he repeated, “My vessel.” He inched closer to me. “Do you think it’s large enough?”

“Whaa—”

For the second time in our short acquaintance, he closed his hand around mine and guided me to follow him. This time, it was to the other side of the scene shop where there were various projects in different degrees of completion. He stopped in front of the unfinished structure of what looked like the beginnings of a boat and gestured to it with an air of accomplishment.

Oh! His vessel.

“Is this the pirate ship?”

He moved around it, stroking the wood with reverence.

“Not just any pirate ship,” he said, wagging his brows. “This boat is automatic, it’s systematic, it’s hyyydromatic…”

“It’s greased lightning?”

“I’m trying to convince Stella it needs a fuel-injection cutoff and chrome-plated rods.”

“You should totally do it,” I said with enthusiasm.

“You think?”

“Paint it cherry red and put some thirty-inch fins on the back. The pirates could wear leather jackets.”

He laughed. It was a contagious one. “The girls could dress like the Pink Ladies.”

I had a eureka moment. “We are brilliant,” I said. “We should do a Pirates of Penzance/Grease crossover.”

“I’d actually pay to see that.”

I felt such a connection with this person I barely knew, but it was like I’d known him all my life, like our meeting was destined.

“You see, it was serendipity, me bumping into you,” I said, making light of the chaos going on inside my mind. “We could make a million dollars with our brilliant ideas.”

“Just a million?”

“Or maybe we’d go bankrupt,” I teased.

He retrieved two wooden stools from an alcove overstuffed with props, and giving me one, perched himself on the edge of the seat and leaned forward, offering me his full attention.

“So, Beth, short for Elizabeth but hardly ever Lizzie, tell me something about yourself.”

“Me? There’s nothing to tell. I’m boring.”

“You’re anything but boring. Why did you