Page 29 of Broken Romeo
A nauseating wave of horror slams into me. He doesn’t.
Nolan Brooks doesn’t even know my name.
“I… it’s…” Nolan stutters. If not for his clearly airbrushed spray tan that probably cost more than my monthly utilities, I think I would have seen a blush form on his perfectly sculpted cheeks.
And my cheeks, without any golden stain on my skin to hide it, turn red hot. I swallow down the embarrassment, and it festers in my stomach.
Even as his co-star, literally the only other human on stage with him in this show, I’m still wildly unmemorable. The man who almost just kissed me can’t remember my name despite the fact that we met, shook hands, and introduced ourselves just two days ago.
Oh, God. I think I’m going to be sick.
“It’s Kate,” I say quietly, glancing at him through my thick web of half-lowered lashes.
Nolan’s eyes go wide, and he offers me a grateful smile. “Yes! Kate. That’s right. I’m sorry, Kate.”
Holden whips around, standing in my face. He doesn’t say a word and doesn’t have to. The rage that had been directed at Nolan ricochets right back where it belongs—directly at me.
After all, is there any doubt about who he truly hates here?
I can’t bring myself to look in Holden’s eyes, so instead, I fixate on the rapid rise and fall of his chest.
“Everyone out!” Holden shouts. “Rehearsal is over for the day.”
I bring my gaze up, dragging it over the thick column of his throat, his ticking jaw, and prominent aquiline nose until I connect with his eyes. The intensity in his stare catches my breath.
He points to me; his profoundly dark eyes search mine. “Except for you, Katherine. Character study begins in five minutes.”
He spins and walks away.
What the hell just happened?
Nolan shifts uncomfortably in my periphery. “Hey… hey, Kate.”
It doesn’t even register that he’s talking to me. I stand there, numb. Humiliated. And I’m not even sure why.
“Kate,” Nolan says again and brushes my arm. “Hey, you okay?”
I give him my best, most convincing smile, and nod. “Yeah. Of course.”
“I’m really sorry about that.” He scoops up his phone and keys from the lip of the stage. “I’m the worst at remembering names. Seriously.”
I follow him numbly down the stairs and off the stage. If I have a five-minute break, I’m not going to spend it up there in the spotlight.
“It’s really okay,” I assure him.
And truthfully, it is okay. Yes, we’d been on stage together for three rehearsals, but acting is weird. Spending that time together reading a script is not the same as actually hanging out with a person for two days and not knowing their name. Maybe he needs to continuously think of me as Skyler to get into character.
Or maybe that’s what I need to believe in order to excuse him for not remembering my name.
Nolan’s chuckle drags me out of my own self-deprecating thoughts. “This one time, I was in a show with Kristin Chenoweth—and I swear to God, I completely blanked on her name one morning when we ran into each other getting coffee before rehearsal.”
I roll my eyes and laugh. “Okay, you’re laying it on a little thick. No one forgets Kristin Chenoweth.”
His brows arch, and he raises his hand into the air as though he’s a schoolboy waiting to be called upon. “Oh… I do. I called her Chrissy.”
I hiss a breath through my clenched teeth. “Ouch.”
“Exactly. So, to prove a point, she called me Norman for the rest of the run.”