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

all night. I wasn’t about to go after them and get locked in the costume shop ever again. Thinking I was the only one to see their secret rendezvous, I turned to Will. That’s when I saw the lasers in his eyes searing into the back of Bing’s retreating head. His face, where it was a red flush a minute prior, was now fiercely white. His expression was a mixture of contempt, disappointment, and frustration. He appeared derailed from the present by whatever occupied his thoughts and with a conflicted aura, he turned to me and said, “I forgot what we were talking about.”

11

Red and Black

Will

This woman was messing with my head. I found myself engrossed with thoughts of her, wondering what her agenda might be, imagining her in a mini skirt, or lost in the aftershock of that kiss. A stage kiss, nothing more. I had done thousands of them.

But in the lobby where we were rehearsing our choreography, it was something different altogether. There were no cameras. There were no boom operators or grips mulling about. There was only Beth.

She smelled of coconut lotion and the clean scent of shampoo, and my resolve was about to crumble. I needed some distance and hydration. A cold shower would have been ideal. And that’s when I noticed Bing and his leggy soprano sneaking off somewhere and all I saw was black. Black. The color of my gloom. Red. The blood of angry me. If Bing didn’t appreciate what I was doing for him, I wasn’t responsible for the consequences.

With regret boiling in my veins for all I’d done for Bing, I turned back to my dance partner. There she was, incessantly staring at me with her delicate hand resting on her hip. Those tight leggings clung to her body like fresh paint. Black. The spandex of her pants. Red. I thought I’d catch on fire. Black. The darkness of my heart. Red. The blushes of her skin.

Stop. Stop it. I told myself. No more Les Mis. What were those SpongeBob lyrics? That would do the trick. I had to say something, or my regrets wouldn’t be limited to just helping Bing.

“I forgot what we were talking about,” I admitted. Something, something, pineapples in the sea…

“We weren’t talking at all,” she replied coyly. “I don’t think there are two people in all the world who have less to say to one another than you and I.”

I frowned. I had to admit talking about the weather was safer than talking about feelings. The more we talk the less we have to say. Wise words on her part.

“We were attempting small talk,” I said.

“We were attempting the lift,” she retorted and held out her arms and curled her fingers into her palms. “Let’s go.”

“Wait,” I exclaimed. “I’m not ready.”

But she was already charging toward me as I set my water bottle on the floor. I was en route to straightening my body when I turned to find her forehead crashing into mine.

“Rolf!” she cried as she reached for her face. “That hurts like a Mother Abbess!”

I could sense a quiver in her voice and the signs of tears being repressed. Still, I couldn’t help from being amused at her choice of language.

“What is that? Why do you do that?”

“Do what?” she groaned. “Head-butt movie stars?”

“No. You shout out stuff from shows. Like some sort of Musical Theatre Tourette's. You did it the other night when we were locked in the costume shop. Is it for luck? Like the opposite of saying the M word?”

“The M word?”

“You know,” I whispered. “The Scottish play!”

“Macbeth?”

“Shhh. Don’t say that.”

She laughed, actually laughed, thankfully forgetting the pain on her forehead.

“That’s a stupid superstition,” she said, waving her hand dismissively. “Just like the hype about the Wailing Ghost in the Cry Room.”

I had heard the rumors about the theatre ghost. There were so many conflicting tales about it over the years, I’d lost track. It used to scare me as a kid, though.

“Are you going to make me guess?” I asked impatiently.

She smirked, probably enjoying my confusion. After a short pause and a little flush of pink to her cheeks, she admitted, “I don’t like curse words. They just sound so vulgar to my ears.”

“So you replace them with showtunes?”

“Musical theatre characters,” she corrected. “Today is my Sound of Music day.”

That was one of the oddest and cutest things I’d ever heard.

“So let me get this straight. All day today, if you want to cuss, you’ll yelp character names from Sound of Music and only Sound of Music?”

She nodded energetically. “Yes. And tomorrow might be a Sweeney Todd day. I usually go by the first expletive of the day.”

This took me aback with amused admiration.

“Do you ever repeat days?” I asked.

“Now you’re just making fun,” she said with a pout. “Let’s try that lift.”

“You can ask me something about myself if that makes you feel better,” I said, trying to appease her. “Then you can make fun of me.”

Her eyes narrowed into slits, and she tilted her chin up to meet my gaze. If I knew this girl at all, she was taking her time to think of some wisecrack to throw me off, but she surprised me by her serious tone when she said, “You told me the other day that once someone’s on your… Burnt List, they’re on there forever.”

“That’s true,” I admitted. Where was she going with this?

“What does one have to do to get on that list? Is jealousy a good enough motive?”

“I don’t think I’ve ever been jealous of anything or anyone my entire life.”

“Are you sure about that?”

“Where is this coming from?”

“I’m just trying to figure you out,” she said.

The feeling was mutual.

“And what’s your impression so far, Miss Bennet?”

She shook her head. “I don’t think you want to know the answer to that question, Mr. Darcy.”

Black… Ugh. This girl would be the death of me. I picked up my water bottle and, in an attempt to sound calm, said,