Behind the Scenes

Chapter Seventeen

"I didn't know what I wanted to do until I was seventeen. My grades weren't great, so my English teacher--who also supervised the after-school theatre program--offered me extra credit if I went out for the end-of-year play."

          Joe's breath whispers softly against my ear as he talks. He traces loops with his pinky finger along the bare skin of my hip. 

          "And that's when a big-shot producer saw you and said, 'You're gonna be a star,'" I say, doing a terrible job mimicking a New York City accent. Joe's chuckle rumbles against my back. 

          "Not quite, but it was the first time I ever thought about doing something long-term. I applied to LAMDA and got in."

          "What's LAMDA?"

          "The London Academy of Music and Dramatic Art. It's a drama school."

          "Fancy."

          "Mmm. And expensive. It cost my parents everything they had to send me there, so it had to be more than a hobby for me, else I couldn't go."

          "They must've really believed in you."

          He shrugs one shoulder. "I like to think so," he says, "but they're good parents. Even if I'd been shit, they wouldn't have told me. They just want me to be happy."

          I turn my face toward his and plant a kiss on his jaw. 

          "You're lucky," I tell him. 

          "Your parents aren't supportive?"

          I sigh. "Yes and no. They're good parents, but when it came to my life after high school, I didn't have quite the same experience as you. But back to LAMDA."

          Joe scratches his chin beneath his beard. 

          "Well, I worked hard, and in my final year I got cast in a television drama before I'd even graduated. I actually had to miss graduation because I was filming. I thought I'd made it."

          He goes silent for a beat. 

          "And then?"

          I feel him smirk against my ear. 

          "And then my character got killed off after the first season. It sucked, but I thought it'd be easy to get another role after that. Then three months passed, then six. Nothing. It was a year before I booked anything else. Let's just say it was quite the rude awakening."

          His pinky drifts along the top of my thigh, scattering goosebumps across my navel. 

          "Yet, here you are."

          Joe kisses my shoulder.

          "I'm nothing if not persistent." His lips trace a tattoo over my neck, where he speaks against my skin. "Plus, I don't scare easily."

          I tilt my head back and rest it against his shoulder. I wish there was a way to capture this moment to hold onto it forever, frozen in perfection. I am Cinderella at the ball, and midnight draws ever near. My heart aches knowing that every kiss brings us closer to goodbye. 

          Joe grabs my waist suddenly. It's where I'm most ticklish, and I squeal. He yanks me closer and bites my shoulder.

          "Your turn," he whispers, then pecks a kiss on the same spot. 

          I groan. There's nothing I hate more than talking about "my story," probably because I've told some variation of it at least a hundred times. I don't even have to think about what to say before telling it; it's practically muscle memory by now. My mouth opens to form the words I know by heart, the litany lined up and ready to go on my tongue. Nothing comes out. The words have jammed in my throat.