Plan B (4 page)

“Mind if I join you?”

My first thought was to tell him to piss off, and had he still had that same strange look in his eyes from Friday night or had he just plopped his ass down at my table without asking, I’m sure I would have. But he looked almost timid standing there, and I found myself waving to the chair across from me and saying, “Be my guest.”

“Thanks.” He took the seat I’d offered, both of his big hands wrapped around his mug, head lowered.

I was all kinds of curious as to why he was here, but he didn’t say a word, he just sat there, holding that mug like his life depended on it or some shit. I wasn’t about to be the one to start the conversation since he had invited himself; I, in turn, sat there sipping my coffee and waited.

“So,” he finally said, but I thought it was a nudge to get me to say something, because that’s all he said. I just kept right on drinking my coffee.

We sat in an uncomfortable silence for a few more minutes. I’d set aside the hair-vs.-wig debate for the new should-I-stay-or-should-I-go debate. I was leaning toward going, since it was getting just a little too weird for me. I mean, who the hell invited themselves to join someone and then just sat there staring at their coffee? I was just getting ready to bolt when he finally looked up at me.

“I almost didn’t recognize you,” he said, meeting my eyes for the first time that morning. “You look different.”

Well no shit, Sherlock
, I almost responded.
Baseball cap, no makeup, hoodie instead of girly coat
—
of course I look different, you moron
. Instead, I settled for, “Mmm hmm.”

“I was drunk the other night. Not that I’m using that as an excuse, but….” He cleared his throat, his cheeks turning pink. “I’m really sorry for what I said. I mean, I assumed you were gay by the way you were dressed, but it still didn’t give me the right to say what I did.”

“I am gay.”

“But I thought….” He shook his head, a small smile curling his lip. “Okay, I deserved that one.”

“Yeah, you did. So are you? Is that why you were asking if I sucked dick?”

Lance’s eyes went impossibly wide. “Who, me? Umm… no,” he sputtered. “Why, do I look gay to you?”

Actually, I’d seen gay guys who were a hell of a lot more masculine looking than Lance. Big fucking body builders who were total bottoms, chubby bears, twinks who were badass Doms. Hell, I’d met one drag queen who made real women weep with how beautiful and feminine he was, and he was totally straight. Obviously, Lance was one of those yahoos who believed gay was a lifestyle and all the rest of the stereotypical bullshit. I briefly thought about explaining all this to him, but I realized I didn’t really care what Lance thought, and after the weekend I’d spent obsessing over him, I was relieved by that realization.

I downed the last of my lukewarm coffee and then grabbed my bag. “Relax, no one would peg you for gay.” Asshole? Yes. Gay? Doubtful. I stood and shouldered my messenger bag. “I gotta run. See you around.”

“Did I offend you again?” he asked, jumping to his feet.

“Not really. I need to get to rehearsal.” I should have said yes and stormed out, but I knew my mistake the moment his face lit up when I mentioned where I was going.

“Katie mentioned you were a theater major. That’s cool.”

“Thanks.”

“I’m heading that way myself. I’ll walk with you.”

“Why? I mean, no offense, but why?”

Lance shrugged. “I just figured if your best friend was going to be dating Katie, we might as well get to know each other.”

“Katie handed you your ass, did she?” I said with a smirk.

“Uh, yeah. You could say that.”

I chuckled as I headed to the door and stepped out, Lance right on my heels. “Well, I’ll let you off the hook and tell Bo you apologized and were a perfect gentleman.” I turned and offered my hand. “I’m sure you and I won’t be running into each other just because my friend is dating your sister. See you around.”

Lance took my hand, but instead of shaking it, he held onto it, his gaze heavy on mine. “I’d like to get to know you, regardless,” he said. “Plus, I’d like another chance to prove first impressions aren’t always true.”

I tried to think of something to say, but the way he was looking at me had me all messed up in the head. He said he wasn’t gay, but I would have sworn the look in his eyes said he’d eat me up if he had the chance. I really was losing it. Brushing it off to an aftereffect of a confusing and weird weekend—or maybe to being more nervous about the upcoming production than I realized—I pulled my hand free from his and nodded.

As we started walking, Lance attempted to make conversation. “So are you from Michigan?”

“Originally from Royal Oak.”

“Katie and I are from Columbiaville, a little-bitty town near Lapeer. Heard of it?”

“No. I’ve heard of Lapeer though. Never been there, but I know where it is.”

“You’re not missing anything.” He chuckled. “Not much goes on out there but farming and hunting.” He scrubbed a hand over his chin. “If you’re not doing anything Friday night, why don’t you come to the game?”

“What game?”

“Michigan vs. Iowa.”

My hands were turning numb from the cold, so I shoved them in the pockets of my hoodie. “Is that football?”

“Uh yeah. You do watch football, don’t you?”

I snorted. “No, but obviously you do.”

“And play too.”

“What position?” Like I really cared, but I was all for anything at this point, even conversation about football, if it gave me an opportunity to figure out what Lance’s angle was and why he was being suddenly so friendly.

“Halfback.” Lance bumped his shoulder against me, causing me to stumble, but I righted myself quickly before I landed on my ass. Christ, he was strong. “So if you want to go, I can get you a ticket.”

His statement had me taken aback. Was he asking me to go or merely offering me free tickets? I shrugged. “Sorry, I can’t.” I wasn’t really sorry. I mean, I was curious as all hell as to why he was offering the tickets, but sitting out in the cold with thousands of crazy people watching men chase around a ball wasn’t my idea of an exciting Friday night, even if one of them was Lance. “It’s opening night at the theater. I sort of have to be there.”

We ran out of conversation after that. As we walked across the campus, I kept my eyes on the sidewalk, but I watched him out of the corner of my eye. Even though he kept glancing at me the entire way, I didn’t feel the unease I had the night of the party. And then he stopped and visibly stiffened.

“Hey, I gotta get to practice. Maybe I’ll run into you later.”

Before I could say anything, he was cutting across me toward two big guys in the distance. After only a few steps, he looked back over his shoulder and said, “I like your other look better.” Then he turned and ran.

I was speechless. I just stood there on the sidewalk, the late October wind biting at my cheeks and ears, as I watched Lance race across the lawn.
I like your other look better.
What the fuck! No straight guy ever said they liked a dude in makeup. At least not the kind I had been sporting.

So much for getting Lance out of my head. He was now securely burrowed into the center while I swam in confusion.

I
DIDN
’
T
see Lance again that week. Between classes, rehearsal, wardrobe nightmares, and wig hunting—I finally gave up and dyed my hair brown—I didn’t have time to think about him or the implications behind his last statement to me.

The thing about the theater is if you’re going to do it, you give it your all. I can tell you from personal experience there is nothing worse than screwing up in front of a live audience. You feel about two inches high, turn bright red in embarrassment, and you want nothing more than to dig a hole through the wood planks and crawl in it. However, when you get it right, you get a rush like no other, and as the curtain closed on the final show, I was experiencing one hell of a high.

The applause was thunderous, echoing off the walls of the small theater. The roar of the crowd, the screeching whistles only intensified the high. When the curtain opened once again, that sweet feeling ratcheted higher and I was flying as I stared out at the audience. Yes! A frickin’ standing ovation! I’d never experienced that thrill, at least not from center stage. My chest was all puffed out and tight, my legs a little wobbly, and my jaw actually ached from how wide my smile was. I took a bow. The show had been a total success. Each night, everyone had been on their game—from lighting, makeup, and wardrobe, actors, to the sound crew—everything just came together and flowed, culminating in the perfect final curtain for
The Boys from Syracuse
.

As I rose, I saw my mom and dad, standing in the second row, and that pressure in my chest grew. Dad was clapping, a huge, proud smile on his face, and Mom was bringing her hands to her mouth, blowing me kisses repeatedly. Bo and Katie were to the right of my mom and they were both applauding, Katie jumping up and down, as they hooted and hollered. I winked and bowed again as the crowd continued to applaud. When I stood once again, my eyes landed on Lance. How I had found him in this huge crowd, I don’t know. Luck? Coincidence? Whatever it was, my breath hitched when I saw Lance, his thumb and index finger in his mouth, whistling. He was dressed in a black suit coat with a white T-shirt beneath and ragged jeans. Not exactly the proper attire for the theater, but for the first time it hit me how truly handsome he was. His short hair was spiked; a day or two’s worth of dark stubble on his jaw only highlighted his perfectly white smile when he pulled his fingers from his mouth. Jesus, he looked good, and when he winked at me, my knees buckled. I mean fucking buckled and I had to lock them to keep from falling.

I could only stand there and stare at him. A simple gaze, but I felt it like a kiss to my heated flesh. A tingling sensation started at the base of my skull and worked its way down my body, until my toes curled. I wanted him. I’d lusted after guys before, but it was more along the lines of finding them hot and thinking getting up close and personal would be fun, but nothing like I was feeling for Lance. I mean, I really fucking was to the point it was crazy insane how badly I wanted him. Luckily, the curtain closed before I could make a complete fool of myself, and I was able to take a couple of deep breaths when the power he had no longer held me. I tried to calm down enough to get my shaky legs to carry me to the dressing room.

Someone from the cast—I was too dazed to know who—pulled me into a tight hug and slapped me on the back, then another and still another. I shook off the weird feeling that had ignited in me, and flowed with the crowd around me as we all congratulated each other, moving away from the stage together and back toward the dressing area.

Thirty minutes later, I emerged from the “cast only” area dressed in chinos, a dress shirt, tie, and a merino wool Ralph Lauren V-neck pullover vest. I was rocking the preppy look. This wasn’t something I normally wore—Granny bought the vest last Christmas—but my parents had plans to take me for a quiet dinner to celebrate before I headed to the cast party. However, I did spend a little extra time teasing and tousling the ugly brown strands of my hair—at least the style was cool. I also added smoky-gray eye makeup, heavy eyeliner, and lip gloss, but I told myself it didn’t have anything to do with the possibility that Lance might be in the hall waiting or with the fact that he liked this look.

The first person I spotted was Bo. “Here comes the star of the show now.” He was so loud, his voice bellowed over the roar of the crowded hallway.

I rolled my eyes at him. I then spotted my parents standing to his right and Katie to his left. I raised my hand to wave to the group, my motion halting as I swallowed hard and my hand shook a little when I noticed Lance standing next to Katie, his arm draped around the shoulders of some blonde girl I didn’t recognize. Was that a friend of his, a girlfriend? To my chagrin, the possibility of the latter bothered the hell out of me. Thankfully, he wasn’t looking in my direction, and I turned my attention back toward my parents. I didn’t want him to catch me staring at him—those damn gray eyes made me weak—and I sure as shit didn’t want to look at the bimbo curled up against his side with her blood-red-clawed hand pressed against his stomach.

I made my way through the crowd; as soon as I was close enough, my mom rushed me and wrapped me in an embrace. “You were so wonderful,” she said. I hugged her tight, feeling a swell of pride rippling through me, which only grew in intensity when my dad patted me on the back and hugged us both. He didn’t say anything—he didn’t need to. The hug and the look in his eyes told me just how proud he was of me.

Bo was the next to congratulate me with a manly knock of his knuckles against mine, followed by a squeal and a brief hug from Katie. For a second, I entertained the idea of grabbing my mom’s hand and rushing to the door, but knew it would be rude to ignore Lance. He’d come to watch the show, even waited afterward to see me. The strange feelings I had about him doing crazy things to me were not his fault, but my own scattered brain creating these problems. I manned up and forced myself to look at him. Lance had a wide smile as he extended his hand to me, thankfully using the arm he’d had draped over… ah, who cares? “Awesome show, Danny.”