Far from it. “Maybe I am.” I’m still looking at Aidan, and as I drink him in, nothing escapes my notice. The way his thick, dark hair waves around his collar, the one lock that falls over his forehead, the way his lips seem to beg me to kiss them, the sexy smolder in his eyes. I notice the way his shirt stretches over his chest, his slim hips and thighs, his long legs.
I want him so much.
I’m familiar with curiosity, wanting to know what the fuss about sex is all about, but this…lust…it’s more than I ever imagined I’d feel.
It’s a long day of rehearsals and after, I join the other cast members in the dorm. Josie and the others have decorated the room with pink bean bags, and it has become the center for all gossip.
I half-listen to all the stories about who is dating whom, and wha
t shows are closing soon. It’s futile to try to stop obsessing about Aidan, and soon, I give up, retreating to my dressing room, too exhausted to contemplate the walk home or join the others for dinner.
I’m just going to nap for a few minutes I tell myself, but I wake up two hours later to knocking on my door.
“Liz,” I hear Aidan’s voice from the corridor and jump up from the couch, giving my face a quick once over in the mirror before opening the door.
He’s right outside, one shoulder leaning on the door frame. His eyes linger on my body in a way that makes my skin heat and my heart race. I want to touch my skin to his. I want to weave my fingers through his hair. To fill my nose with his scent.
“You didn’t join the others for dinner.” His voice snaps me out of my dirty thoughts.
“Yeah…I was exhausted.”
“Understandable,” he says. “You’re in almost every scene.”
“Perks of being the star.”
He laughs. “I got takeout.” He shows me the brown paper bag. “Wanna share?”
My stomach chooses that moment to let out a loud rumble. I groan in embarrassment.
He laughs softly and follows me into the room. “I’ll take that as a yes.”
After settling in front of the dressing mirror, and turning the chair to face the sofa where I’m sitting, He hands me a pack of spicy Thai food, which I open and inhale, almost passing out from bliss.
“You like?” One side of his lips crooks upwards as he watches me, and I melt a little.
“I love,” I reply, not sure I’m only talking about the food.
We eat in silence. After a while, he turns to look in my mirror and makes a pouty face like he’s posing for a picture.
“Why don’t you act?” I ask him, laughing.
He shrugs. “I’m not a performer. Being on stage does nothing for me. I prefer to direct.”
“Being on stage does nothing for you?”
He nods, and I stare at him in disbelief. “What about the fact that you’re good at it. What about fame? Recognition?”
“I’m good at a lot of things,” he says dismissively. “I’m not planning to make careers out of all of them.”
I don’t doubt that he’s good at a lot of things, but success as a performer has been a dream for me for so long, I can’t imagine anyone not wanting it as desperately as I do. “I’m confused.”
He chuckles. “What about you? Why do you want to perform?”
“Because I’m good at it and it’s what I’ve always wanted to do. Also…” I shrug. “I want the world to know my name.”
He looks genuinely curious. “Why?”
I look down at my almost empty bowl. “Because I don’t want to be forgotten.”