Page 28 of Broken Romeo
I’m no longer pulsing for him, aching in the way I was moments ago. I’m rapidly turning back into Kate—awkward, dull, girl-next-door Kate.
I register the sound of applause, and when I glance into the audience, I find the few members of our production team clapping for our performance—not seeming to notice the way I’d completely broken character at the end.
My stomach drops. As good as their applause feels, I don’t deserve it.
Even still, this feeling. This is why I put myself through hell and back. Why I’m a damn glutton for punishment and keep coming back time and time again to an industry that’s misogynistic and body-shaming and shreds my confidence to pieces. Because in the same breath that it can ruin me, it can also offer a high that no drug can ever reproduce.
Their applause is like the warm sunshine hitting my face after an icy cold dip in the ocean.
Nolan holds up a hand. “Hell yeah, New Girl!”
I stare blankly at his palm. Like an idiot, it takes me way too long to register that he wants me to high-five him.
With his hand still in the air, he leans closer, whispering, “It’s called a high-five. It’s what people do when you’ve done something awesome.”
I snort an incredibly unattractive sound as my palm connects to his.
Holden climbs the stage, taking the steps in long, fast strides. And he’s pissed.
I cringe. Here it comes: a lecture if I’m lucky, but more likely just straight up yelling at me about breaking character and fucking up the scene.
With flared nostrils, Holden sweeps past me, his arm brushing mine. “What the hell was that, Brooks?”
When Holden bypasses me, he curves his arm around my waist to position me out of the way.
The moment his hand connects to my waist, I gasp, shivering at the electric current that pulses from the tips of his fingers. The sensation races up my body and tingles in the tips of my breasts.
If Holden feels anything at all in that simple touch, he hides it well.
His arm falls away from my waist as he goes nose to nose with Nolan. “You don’t do a stage kiss without—at the very least—prior approval from your castmate! You should know better.”
The room settles into a static silence, the applause around us halting, as Holden glares at Nolan.
Everyone but me seems completely taken aback by Holden’s sudden and seemingly erratic outburst. And somehow that shocks me more—that they don’t know him like I do.
Had he managed to control his angry outbursts over the years? Is this a habit he suppresses just fine unless he’s in my presence? There wasn’t a student in class with us my freshman year who didn’t know not to set Holden off.
Moody, they’d called him.
That was one word for it. Another word? Asshole.
“I’m sorry,” Nolan says after an exacerbated sigh. “We were in a really good zone. I just got caught up in the scene.”
“I don’t want your excuses,” Holden snaps. “Apologize.”
Nolan’s hands clamp to his hips. “I just did apologize—”
“To her. Not me.” Holden points at me over his shoulder, and Nolan blinks rapidly, his eyes landing on mine.
“I’m sorry,” he says, and it sounds genuine enough to me.
“It’s okay.” I don’t want any trouble, especially not with Nolan freaking Brooks, but I’m abruptly cut off by Holden’s palm swinging in front of my face to shush me.
“Her name,” Holden says.
“Excuse me?” Nolan asks.
“What’s her name, Nolan? You’ve been working with her for three rehearsals now. You should at the very least know… her… name.”