Behind the door, Liam says something I can’t make out. We’re in the dressing room, backstage left. Racks and racks of costumes line one wall; a row of mirrors and lights line the other. Two doors lead to the actual changing rooms.
Denise bites her lip. “Well, come on out and we’ll take a look. It’s just me and Jackson here. If you’re comfortable with that.”
The door swings open. Liam steps out, and I have to try really hard to not let my jaw drop.
Dr. Lochley’s going for a sort ofvaguely-apocalypticpost-modern vibe for the show, so people are in distressed jeans andtank tops and T-shirts. Liam’s in a pair of low-slung black jeans with the right knee ripped. And that’s it.
My mouth goes dry.
I’ve seen him shirtless before, in a Speedo no less, but that was with the whole Natatorium between us. Not close enough to touch.
He’s too tall, taking up all the space and all the air in the dressing room. His chest is the same alabaster as his face, though it looks carved, his pecs firm and strong, rising and falling with his breath. The cords of his neck slope gently into strong shoulders. The warm overhead lights turn his abs into a valley of shadows. The jeans are low enough to show the V leading from his hips to hiscrotchlower waist.
“Are these okay?” He tries to catch my eye, but I look at his knees instead.
I’ve lost all power of speech, but thankfully Denise speaks up.
“Turn around. Let’s see the fit.”
Liam does so, and I can see exactly what years of swimming have done to his back, because it’s Dorito-shaped, with little dimples at the bottom of his spine.
Right above the flattest ass I have ever seen in my life. I’ve never had a close-up look before. Despite what swimming has done for his back, it hasn’t done anything for his ass.
Denise steps closer to him, which is a relief, because then she can’t see mereadjust my pantsblushing.
“Are you okay if I touch your waistband?” Denise asks.
Liam looks over his shoulder, and this time he catches me studying him. My face burns hotter.
“Sure.”
Denise grabs the belt loops and tugs them up. The jeans rise three inches, exposing his ankles and probably giving him a wedgie from the way he flinches. She turns, pulls down another pair off the rack. “Try these instead?”
Liam nods and heads back into the changing room. I remember that I have lungs and start breathing again, willing my heart to beat normally and keep blood flowing to my brain and nowhere else.
Because he’s absolutely, 100 percent off-limits. He and Jasmine like each other, even if they’re still doing this weird dance around the issue. Butdamn.
“Jackson?”
“Huh?”
“Can you stay here in case Liam needs anything? I’ve got to check on the scene shop.”
“I can check—”
But she’s already on her way out. There’s a bunch of Theatre I students getting their volunteer hours by helping clean out the scene shop.
I cross my arms and pace, until the door cracks. Liam pokes his head out.
“Where’d Denise go?”
“Scene shop.”
“Oh.” Liam’s face turns a bit red. “These don’t work.”
“What’s wrong with them?”
Liam opens the door a bit wider to show me. Despite him having an ass flat as the Kansas prairie, the jeans won’t go up past his thighs. He’s in a pair of black boxer-briefs, and though the ass is flat, the front is definitely not.The image is seared into mybrain; even when I blink I see it.I keep my eyes fixed on his face.
