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

was a female leprechaun, and she liked to perform gymnastics whenever I thought of the kiss. So I resorted to the French fries on pizza tactic to squeeze her out.

“Are you upset I pushed him away?” I asked. She looked horrified when I told her I stopped the kiss by pulling his hair. I didn’t mention the biting. Even I thought that went too far.

“Upset? No! Not if you really don’t like him. Maybe you could have been a little less violent, but hey. These things do happen.”

She threw on a little Italian inflection with the last sentence.

“But you think I shouldn’t have brought up Jorge?”

“No. You spoke your mind, that’s all.”

“You might change your mind once I tell you what happened the next day.”

I told her how Will brought me the letter at work on New Year's Day and his explanation of his history with Jorge without mentioning Georgia. That alone was enough to give her pause. Jane had a hard time recognizing the bad in anybody and could hardly believe someone could be so selfish. She kept asking questions, trying to find a way for both Jorge and Will to be in the right. She was sure there must be some mistake. That perhaps it was just a big misunderstanding like every single episode of Three’s Company. Somehow, she still held out for that final scene where the truth was revealed and everyone laughed about it.

“I’m afraid we’re going to have to choose which man to believe,” I said as though I was Morpheus with a blue pill in one hand and a red pill in the other. “There’s only enough virtue between them to make one good guy and as far as I’m concerned, the needle has been swaying more toward Will lately.”

I saw her start at that, so I quickly added, “And it has nothing to do with that kiss.”

Or did it?

After a few moments of thought, she shook her head.

“Poor Will. He must have been upset after you told him off. It was probably hard to trudge up painful memories in writing you that letter.”

“Thanks a lot.”

“I’m sorry,” she said with sincerity. “I’m sure it’s upsetting for you, too.”

“Nope. Not at all.” I put on my big girl grin. “I’ll let you be upset for the both of us.”

“And poor Jorge,” she went on. “He seemed like such a nice guy.”

“Well, you know what they say about books and their covers.”

“Jorge has a really nice cover.” She nodded enthusiastically.

“Yep. But Will is the better book.”

She sighed and shook her head even more. “That’s enough metaphors for me.”

I agreed. “What do you think I should do? Should I say something to Stella?”

“No,” she said seriously. “Will would have told her if he wanted her to know.”

She was right. The story of Georgia’s encounter with Jorge wasn’t my secret to tell. It was a personal matter Will told me in confidence. Besides, now that the set was finished, I didn’t think Jorge had a reason to return to the theatre.

Jane watched me for the next few days, periodically checking the freezer for a stash of Chunky Monkey. When she didn’t think I was looking, she rummaged my usual hiding places for candy bars like an obsessed parole officer. I came up clean every time. If she were clever, however, she’d have searched my car for discarded pizza receipts. Since she left for New York, the house was quiet, and I rebelliously let the fast food evidence pile up in my garbage can.

I looked at my underwear-clad figure in my closet door’s full-length mirror. Had I put on some pizza weight? Even though the charity event was casual dress, I didn’t want to look bloated. I decided to go for a loose, flowery ModCloth dress and a denim jacket. The ensemble was very forgiving around the middle, but it made my legs look awesome—especially in strappy sandals. I wore that dress to auditions a lot. It had cap sleeves, a low, gathered, scoop neckline and empire waist that made my girls appear more perky. Believe me, those poor little pebbles needed all the help they could get.

As much as Stella’s charity event was a welcome distraction, my thoughts would often wander back to Will. I was so harsh on him and frankly was a little embarrassed how much I pigeonholed him into a stereotype. He wasn’t Brett. He wasn’t even the same species as Brett.

The silence in the apartment only made that voice in my head seem louder. Plus, I was convinced that little leprechaun in my belly was drunk.

I turned in my two weeks’ notice to Sir William Lucas with a quiver in my voice. Oddly, it was one of the hardest things I’d ever done. The look on his face alone made me feel like I’d just dashed a child’s dreams by telling him there’s no such thing as Santa Claus. But Charlotte was supportive, proud even. Mom was angry it took me so long. I could hear her chattering on about it in the background when I called Dad. He only laughed and whispered into the phone, “If you need money, I have a bit stashed away.”

I assured him it wouldn't come to that.

I had to admit, after several weeks of the tiring schedule of two jobs, I was at a loss for something. I had far too many quiet hours alone to pine over Will. I had to stop myself a few times when I tried to define what I felt. I wasn’t pining. Definitely not.

To prove my point, I did what any perfectly indifferent person would do. Stream all his movies and have a binge-watching marathon. With popcorn. I was fully prepared to hate every single one of them. But I didn’t. I was actually really invested in the storyline and sympathized with the characters. I just had to know what would happen to them in the next installment.

What had gotten into me? Had I somehow lowered my standards for entertainment? Was it