“Yes, they’re looking for extras, and no, I don’t want to drag you to a cattle call.”
“Then what’s the point of this conversation?” A thought suddenly occurs to me, and I eye him suspiciously. “You dohavea point, don’t you?”
It’s a fair question. He doesn’t always. He lives to jerk my chain in the way that only best friends can do.
“Impatient much?” He stuffs the rest of his donut into his mouth and washes it down with some of his iced coffee.
“I’ve got theater history with Dr. Zimmer in half an hour.” Only Ian gets away with calling her Dr. Z. Then again, he gets away with just about everything. It’s that ginger charm. “And I need to grab another latte for the road before I go.”
That class can be a real snooze fest. Even though I’ve always been a straight-A student, I prefer the performance-based classes to the more academic ones.
“I’m sure she’ll tell you in class, then.” He starts to get up.
“Oh, no you don’t.” I grab his arm, yanking him back down. “We’re friends. You can’t leave me hanging like that.”
“Fine, be that way.” He’d come across as a whiny little brat if it wasn’t for the self-satisfied grin on his face. “I’ll tell you.”
He pauses for dramatic effect, then—finally—gets to the motherforking point he’s been dancing around for the past five minutes. “They’re not only looking for extras. They’re looking for two principal roles. Two males, eighteen to twenty-two, to play a gay couple. And they want to use Moo U students.”
He’s right. That is big news. We don’t get many opportunities to audition for real, professional parts way up here in Burlington. It’s not one of the big hubs like New York or Chicago or Los Angeles.
“When are auditions?”
“The end of the semester.” He finally notices the crumbs on his shirt and brushes them off. “So we’ve got plenty of time to work on our ice skating.”
My heart drops to my stomach. Or feels like it does. “Skating?”
“Didn’t I tell you? It’s in the breakdown. Two males, eighteen to twenty-two, must skate well.”
“Uh, no. You left that part out.”
He looks at me like I’ve grown a second head. “Youcanskate, can’t you?”
“Sure,” I lie.
Well, it’s not a total lie. I’ve skated before. Once or twice. So badly I spent more time on my butt than on my feet. The last time I fell, my mom accidentally skated over my hand, and I wound up with six stitches.
“You don’t sound so sure.”
“I may be a little rusty.” If by rusty I mean completely hopeless.
“I bet I know someone who’d be willing to help rub that rust off.” He waggles his eyebrows. “If you know what I mean.”
His gaze drifts to the door, and mine follows. Adam stands just inside, unzipping his team jacket. It must have started to rain since I got here because his jacket is dotted with droplets and his dirty blond hair is so damp it looks almost brown.
I may love gingers, but there’s something about Adam’s ashy curls that does it for me. When he lifts an arm to run a hand through them, my fingers itch, wanting to do the same. To satisfy my curiosity. Are they smooth and soft, like I imagine? Would they slide through my fingers like silk?
He takes the jacket off, leaving him in yet another tight T-shirt, and my mouth goes dry, making me wish I had that second cup of coffee already. Today’s shirt has a picture of two crossed hockey sticks with the sloganDon’t Puck With Me. It does an exceptionally good job of showing off his impressive pecs and even more impressive biceps.
I drag my eyes from his fine form back to Ian, who’s looking at me with an amused expression. I’m glad someone finds this funny. I thought—okay, hoped—being in class with Adam twice a week for the past two weeks would dampen my desire for him. You know, kind of like the opposite of absence making the heart grow fonder. But it hasn’t. Not one teeny tiny little bit. “Adam is not interested in rubbing off my rust. Or anything else.”
“Are you nuts? That guy is totally into you. He’s always giving you puppy dog eyes from across the classroom. And your chemistry when you perform together is off the charts.”
Okay, I doubt the first—I’m pretty positive Adam’s still annoyed at me for not switching his classes, so I’m the last person he’d be into—but the second one I’ll concede. I’d have to be blind, deaf, and dumb not to sense the energy when Dr. Frost pairs us in class. But I’ll go to my grave denying it.
I sneak another glance at Adam. He’s in line now, studying the menu on the chalkboard behind the register, totally oblivious to my existence.
“You’re the one who’s nuts,” I tell Ian, lowering my voice to make sure no one overhears us. “I don’t even know if he’s into guys.”
