Summer Stock Page 3

  “Yeah, that sounds good.”

  “You knew, didn’t you? Who my hookup was when I told you that story about the dog?” Ryan cornered Mason outside the theater during a break in the read through. Mason lit a cigarette and grinned at him.

  “Why else do you think I made you promise to stay away from the crew?”

  “Bastard.” Ryan reached for Mason’s front pocket and snatched the pack. “Gimme your lighter.”

  “No.” Mason grabbed the cigarettes back. “Caro would kill me if you start smoking again.”

  “So I can’t get laid and I can’t smoke?”

  “You can get laid all you want. But stay the fuck away from Trey Donovan. He’s too good for you.”

  That felt like a punch to the solar plexus. “Wow, that’s a shitty thing to say to an old friend.”

  “You have no idea how many shitty things I want to say to you.” Mason’s finger came out and poked him in the chest. “Your cousin has been worried to death about you for years. Drugs, drinking, partying. God only knows what the hell else with that woman.”

  “Ali is my best friend,” Ryan gritted out. “And she’s a brilliant actress.”

  “She’s in rehab, and you should be too.”

  “I’m not— God, it’s not like that. I don’t even really like all that shit. I just . . . I just went along with Ali. Sure, I’d do a bump here and there, but I’m not some cokehead. Hollywood is a hard place. It’s hard work.” He ran a hand through his hair. It sounded like he was complaining about a life other people envied, people like Mason, who instead of directing movies, was directing summer stock in North Carolina. “It’s harder for women, like it is for black guys.”

  Mason’s head came up at that. “What do you know about—”

  “Ali needs to let go sometimes, but she never knows when to stop. I was there to protect her. That’s what friends do.”

  “Friends don’t get each other’s cars impounded because they stashed their drugs in them.”

  “She paid to get the car back. It’s not like it stayed in the impound lot forever.”

  “The car she borrowed from you.”

  This conversation was getting nowhere. Nobody seemed to understand Ryan’s relationship with Ali, and very few people seemed to try.

  “Why do you say Trey is too good for me?”

  Mason dropped his cigarette on the ground and stepped on it, then picked it up and tossed it in the garbage can. “He’s not the kind of guy you should be toying around with. He’s— Ah shit, Ry. I can’t talk about his business. I care about him a lot. Caro and I both do. You can’t even decide if you’re gay or straight. He doesn’t need to be dragged into your identity crisis du jour.”

  “I’m neither. I’m not gay, and I’m not straight. It’s pretty fucking simple. I’m bisexual. And you know what, Mason? You of all people should know what it’s like.”

  Mason rolled his eyes and crossed his big arms over his chest. “I don’t want to keep fighting with you. Keep your hands off the crew and your ass out of the papers, and maybe, just maybe, I’ll forgive you for the heartache you’ve given your cousin.”

  “What about the heartache she’s given me?” Ryan scowled. “You don’t seem to mind that, do you?”

  “You’re a spoiled brat. One time in your life you didn’t get what you wanted.”

  “I wanted my best friend to come to California with me. I wanted a new life for both of us.”

  “She didn’t. She likes our life. And it didn’t take you long to find a new best friend and flaunt her on the pages of every gossip rag and tabloid in the country.”

  “It’s not like I try to get photographed by the paps.”

  “You didn’t try very hard not to. Let’s go. Time to read through act three.”

  Ryan was wonderful.

  Trey watched with wide eyes as the actors read through their lines together for the very first time, bringing the story to a sort of half-life. Despite his youthful charm, Ryan managed to inhabit the role of Antony like a second skin. His voice rang out, and though he was seated, he tensed and arched his body with his words, portraying the type of dynamism he’d likely bring to the stage once they began blocking.

  “Wow, he’s really good,” Trey whispered to Caro. “Is he even looking at the script?”

  “He played Antony for the first time when he was sixteen. He loves this role.”

  “He was born for it.”

  Caro laughed. “I’m glad to hear other people recognize his talent. Before he got cast on that sci-fi show, I wondered if I only thought he was fabulous because he’s my cousin and one of my best friends in the world.”

  “He’s on TV? He’s the guy I signed an NDA for?” Trey searched his memory for the name. “But the form said ‘Bryan something.’”

  “Yeah, Bryan Hart. That’s his stage name. Ryan’s his real name. So you mean to tell me you were having drinks with one of Hollyweird’s most eligible bachelors, and you didn’t even know it?”

  He shook his head and watched as Ryan hissed out the words “You all did love him once” with such passion and anger that the building seemed to shake with it.

  “I only watch sports. I’m a bro cliché.”

  “Explains why he likes you so much. He’s used to people wanting to use him for his fame. If you didn’t recognize him, he would have found it easier to relax with you.”

  Her statement caught him by utter surprise. “He likes me?”

  “You couldn’t tell? He doesn’t flirt with just anybody. I mean, I can’t say for sure, but you could probably totally hit that.”

  Trey had been lifting his water bottle to take a swig and jerked it away from his mouth before he could spew it across the room and embarrass them both. “Um.”

  “Oh my god, you did. You boned my cousin. Why does no one tell me anything?”

  Trey slumped back in his seat. “He ran out of my house in such a hurry he forgot his pants. I don’t think he found my performance as impressive as I find his Mark Antony.”

  “I am dying to hear his version of this story.” Caro cackled. “Oh, I think you are exactly what he needs. But wait—what did he think of Ferdy?”

  “Um. I didn’t introduce them. We were busy, and Ferdy was out back when we got home.”

  Caro’s eyes got huge. “Ryan is absolutely terrified of dogs. You’ve got your work cut out for you.”

  Trey glanced at the stage. Terrified of dogs? But Ferdinand had been in the living room that morning after, and Ryan hadn’t said anything. He’d . . . oops. He’d just told Trey to keep his underwear. The yellow briefs Trey had found all chewed up in Ferdy’s bed. Oh hell.

  Ryan’s phone buzzed in his pocket during the read through, but he didn’t get a chance to check his messages until they were done. Standing in the darkened hallway at the rear of the theater, he slid his phone from his pocket and read the text from Ali.

  Hi, you. I’m doing better, just really brittle right now. I feel like I’m going to break and then I realize I already did, and this is what getting put back together feels like. Please don’t stop texting. I’ll answer when I can. I miss your voice. Leave me a voice mail sometime, okay? Say hi to West next time you see him.

  He smiled and hit the Call button. When her voice mail picked up, his words poured out. “Hi, Al. I miss you. We did the read through of the first play today—have I ever mentioned how much I love Julius Caesar? Well, I do. Let’s have a movie date and watch the Brando version when you get out. Movie marathons and then me cooking breakfast while you do whatever it is you do on your computer in the mornings. I love you. Be good. Don’t break.”

  A clatter down the hallway made his head jerk up as he ended the call. “Who’s there?”

  “I’m sorry.” The gravelly Savannah drawl brought a smile to Ryan’s lips even before Trey stepped into the little circle of red light by the fire exit sign. “I was looking for you to apologize. I didn’t mean to eavesdrop.”

  Trey was bigger than Ryan, with a wo
rk-hardened body and a sexy roll to his gait, but something about him reminded Ryan of a nervous horse. Ryan had once spent weeks on a farm, learning to ride for a film role that had mostly ended up on the cutting room floor. His horse had been a quiet brown and white mare with a longer list of production credits than he had—a real professional horse—but some of the others in the stable had been rescue animals, hand-shy and edgy. Trey moved with the same watchful care.

  “It’s okay. I was just leaving a voice mail for a friend. Why do you think you should apologize?”

  “Do you tell all your friends you love them?” Trey’s gaze skittered aside, like he didn’t want to hear the answer.

  Ryan realized then what it sounded like—like he was calling a lover. And he’d slept with Trey. “That was Ali. She’s my best friend. And she needs to hear it a lot right now. I swear, I’m not an asshole.”

  Trey’s face turned pink. “Caro told me you’re scared of dogs. I’m sorry, I should have warned you about Ferdy before you fell asleep the other night. And I’m really sorry I called you an asshole. You didn’t deserve that.”

  The gigantic beast was named Ferdy. “Oh. You mean his name’s not Pork Chop or Killer or Grendel?”

  “Killer?” Trey chuckled, and the sound triggered a sense memory for Ryan—hands skimming down his sides and spice in his mouth. “More like Cupcake or Kitten or Ludo—he’s the biggest baby on the planet.” He stepped closer, into Ryan’s personal space. A big, callused hand cupped Ryan’s jaw, thumb skimming across his lips. “I’m sorry he scared you.”

  Ryan’s chest tightened as Trey’s face filled his vision. Soft mouth quirking in a smile. That crooked nose and the mismatched ears. He bit his own lip to keep from groaning as blood rushed to his groin.

  “Apology accepted,” he murmured, stepping back, away from that achingly intimate touch, that big muscular body. He’d made a promise to Mason.

  Trey’s eyebrows pulled down in obvious confusion, then his face smoothed out. “Well. I guess I’ve said what I came here to say. We’re going to be working together; I didn’t want you to think I think you’re an asshole.”

  “Okay.” Ryan’s heart pounded too fast in his chest. He wanted to grab Trey and haul him back against his body, taste those lips in rough kisses and feel those hands everywhere. “Um, good. I don’t think you think I’m an asshole.”

  Trey laughed, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Good. I’ll see you around, then.”

  As he walked away, Ryan watched the slow roll of his hips and ass and wondered how the hell he was going to keep his promise to Mason. He glanced down at his phone again. If only he could talk to Ali for real.

  “There you are!” Caro came around the corner. “I’d almost forgotten how much you love this hallway.”

  Ryan smiled up at his cousin. “I will never live down that time you caught me kissing Katie Nixon back here, will I?” Never mind how he would have felt if Caro had caught him back here a few minutes earlier, with his promise to Mason inexorably breaking at the touch of Trey’s hand on his jaw, thumb teasing, electric as a kiss.

  “Well, you’ve grown up a lot since then. Come on, we need your measurements for costumes. We have togas and one-size-fits-all costumes from past shows that will work, but some stuff we’re going to have to get new or have made.”

  “Gotcha.” Ryan followed his cousin, taking one last peek over his shoulder at the red circle of light under the exit sign.

  Trey and Caro were drawing up set plans with the lighting director, a petite, quiet woman named Viki, calling out for sandwiches at lunchtime and working straight through. By late in the afternoon, Trey was having trouble focusing. He wasn’t artistic. Sure, he could build things, and he was good at visualizing what something should look like before it was done, but Viki and Caro were talking about shape and color and shadows in ways that went over his head. It was exhausting.

  “We’re losing him, Vik.” Caro was half-sitting, half-sprawling across the stage floor, an open notebook in front of her. She kicked out at Trey’s foot. “What are you thinking?”

  I’m thinking that I should have kissed your cousin when I had the chance.

  “It sounds good. The purple thing.”

  Viki laughed, a low chuckle. “I meant about setting it up so we can use the same sets for Much Ado.”

  He mulled it over. “They’d have to be pretty stripped down, but I don’t see why we couldn’t. We could put some pieces on wheels and . . .” Grabbing the sketchbook, he let his hand and pencil explain his vision for the sets, sketching it out in bold strokes.

  Caro sat up and watched, nodding.

  “Yes. Like a three-dimensional puzzle that can be reformed in different shapes. How much is it going to cost?”

  “The lumber costs won’t be much more than a regular set.” He shrugged. “Hardware costs are going to depend on how many pieces we lock together. Good, locking wheels are absolutely vital. I don’t know. I’ll price it out and get you a quote.”

  “Give it to Mason. He’s in charge of the budget.” Caro glanced up toward the door to Mason’s office, just visible through the curtains. A wistful little smile tilted her lips. “I’d better go see how he’s doing. He wanted to cast Much Ado after seeing the first read through of Julius Caesar. If I know him, he’s got Ryan’s name penciled in at least four different places and he’s trying to pick one.”

  “Ryan won’t play Benedick?” He wasn’t sure why he pictured Ryan in the romantic leading role, but he did.

  “Oh, that would be an obvious choice, wouldn’t it? But then David Wright would make a great Benedick, but he’d be lousy as either of the princes. Hasn’t got the body language for it.”

  “He’s going to cast Ryan as the villain?”

  Caro considered it for a minute, then shook her head. “Don Pedro. But he’s going think about Claudio awhile first.”

  “He’d be a terrible Claudio.”

  Caro laughed. “He’d be fine as Claudio. But he’ll be excellent as Don Pedro.”

  “So David as Benedick, and Ryan as Don Pedro?”

  The door to Mason’s office opened, and he strolled out, face animated. “Caro? Would Ryan be better as Don John or as Claudio?”

  Viki covered a snicker with her notebook, meeting Trey’s eyes.

  Mason stopped in front of them “Are those sandwiches?” He sat cross-legged on the floor next to Caro. “Can I have one?”

  She gestured to the tray. “Whatever you want. But they’re about two hours old.”

  “I don’t care; I’m starving.” He picked up a plate and a sandwich and started to eat, then dropped it back on the plate. “Not Claudio.”

  Caro smiled. “Nope.”

  “David could be Claudio, but I think he’d be a good Benedick.” Mason’s eyes went wide, and he clapped his hands together. “Don Pedro. Ryan should play Don Pedro. You don’t think he’ll be a diva about not getting the lead, do you?”

  Viki snorted, her eyes pinched shut.

  “Ryan has never minded not playing the lead. He’ll be fine.” Caro patted Mason’s knee. “Don’t you think so, Trey?”

  “Yup.” Trey nodded vigorously, Viki’s hysterics sparking the devil on his shoulder. “Very fine.”

  Both the women laughed, and Mason shot him a suspicious glare. Oh shit, had Caro told him?

  “I mean—”

  “I know what you mean.” Mason ground out the words. “I don’t want any drama in my theater.”

  This time, it was Caro who hooted with laughter, leaning over and burying her face on Mason’s shoulder until her own stopped shaking.

  Trey grinned at Mason, shrugging. Mason had to know as well as anybody that blanket bans on hookups in the theater was an exercise in futility. Trey and Ryan were both grown men. And while Ryan had been the one to step away earlier, he hadn’t seemed immune to the attraction between them. If Ryan was still interested? Well, Trey wasn’t about to say no.

  Ryan laced up his running shoes at six thirty Tuesda
y morning with a grim reluctance. It had taken him too long to get back into a fitness routine since coming to North Carolina. Oh sure, he’d used the weights in West’s home gym, but he hadn’t bothered with cardio. And he needed to. His career required him to stay fit. Still, he didn’t relish running under the summer sun any more than a monotonous slog on the dreadmill. He set the house alarm and then slipped out the back door, locked it, and jogged down to the deserted beach.

  Despite the sweat and the sun, Ryan enjoyed running. Something about sinking into the perfect rhythm between breaths and steps was soothing. His mind could wander while his body worked. And he couldn’t deny that the sunrise over the Atlantic was spectacular. If only he could share it with Ali—there had been lots of mornings in LA that had been the end of a drug-fueled night rather than the beginning of a new day. They’d greeted the dawn fumbling for their sunglasses and laughing as they stumbled into the house to sleep off whatever they’d taken. He didn’t miss that lifestyle, not exactly. He missed the sense of raw excitement and the intimacy of his friendship with Ali. They’d shared everything—their career highs and lows, their home, their dreams. It was no wonder people thought they were in a relationship.

  He didn’t have that kind of closeness with anyone here, not even with Caro. Of course she was still family: his cousin, his best friend and surrogate mother. But hadn’t she been the one to draw the line when he’d left for LA? Hadn’t she been the one to choose renovating a decrepit theater with Mason over following Ryan’s dreams to Hollywood? So why did Mason think his friendship with Ali was hurting Caro?

  A bark behind him pulled him up short. He turned to see Trey and his behemoth dog—Ferdy—playing in the surf. Trey lifted a hand, and Ryan circled back warily.

  As Ryan approached, Trey gestured to the dog, who sank to sit on the sand, head cocked to one side. Ryan stopped a few yards away.